Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Six

A featherlight tickle grazed the tip of her nose, and her entire face scrunched at the irritant. When the tickle returned, Surina grumbled aloud, bringing the blankets over the top of her head, until a sweet, bell-like voice rang out.

“I guess I’ll just have to eat all these delicious muffins on my own,” Leirie taunted, the taps of her feet growing fainter as she pretended to walk away.

In their many years of friendship, Leirie hadn’t gotten any better at lying, and likely never would. Rolling her eyes, Surina shoved the blanket away with both arms, forcing a mask of disinterest.

“What kind?” she questioned flatly, but didn’t really care. Her tongue had already begun salivating at just the thought of food.

“Chocolate, of course—and blueberry. Malachi made them fresh this morning,” Leirie droned, twisting the plate like she was a shopkeeper showing off her wares.

Malachi was the keep’s head cook, and a fantastic one at that.

A smile twitched at the corners of her lips, and she broke on the first whiff. “Maybe just one ,” Surina sighed.

Wasting no time at all, Leirie plopped onto the makeshift bed—a somewhat comfortable settee that Surina used for nights like last.

With the plate between them, she happily plucked a chocolate one from the bunch, stare narrowing as she studied the lavender silken gown Leirie wore. Much too nice for a day of training.

“ What ?” Her friend’s voice was muffled through a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

Surina took a bite, too, shrugging off her friend’s question with a roll of her shoulder, but Leirie wouldn’t relent.

“Start talking, or regret it.” Leirie’s ominous threat materialized as she plucked out a whole blueberry, aiming it at Surina.

“You never wear jewelry to training.” Surina studied her friend’s face, noting the soft drags of kohl along her eyelids. “And since when do you line your eyes? Is there a boy you haven’t told me about?”

They were well past the age to be considered for courting, but like Cyril, Leirie’s father was extremely protective. Since her friend was the only living child from Ophellius’s late wife, Surina could hardly blame him.

“ You’re one to talk.” Leirie chuckled, making true on her promise by flicking the fruity morsel, and the stinging impact made Surina hiss.

Luckily, she’d prepared her own ammunition, repaying her friend with a chunk of chocolate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leirie just brushed off the delicacy, and Surina was kind of hurt to see it wasted. “Fynn, obviously. He practically sprinted after you last night.”

Another exception to the no mortals allowed after dark rule was Leirie, since her father was the Duke of Cillica, a duchy along the Bay of Mythil. Cillica was a massive port city, and by the way her friend described it, a bustling paradise with waters as blue as the sky.

“He did not…” Surina floundered her defenses as she recalled Fynn, rushing up behind her, pleading for a quick moment. Even after she’d insulted his father in front of everyone. “He was just being polite.”

“If that was just being polite, I want to see what he does when he actually likes a girl.” Leirie pretended to swoon, laying the back of her hand on her head and everything. “I mean, did you see his smile ?”

“ Oh my gods ,” Surina groaned, sacrificing another chocolate chip to end Leirie’s yearning. “Sounds like someone needs a dunk in the pond at training to cool off all of—” she waved her hands haphazardly in Leirie’s direction, “— that .”

Her friend’s face fell with the joke. “This is where I should probably tell you I won’t be at training today. For a while, actually. Papa wants me to start learning some of his responsibilities at court, so I can act as an ambassador for Cillica.”

“Wow, Leirie, that’s…” Great? Shitty? Surina wasn’t sure how to feel. It definitely meant she’d never see Leirie. Or at least not as much as she did now.

What had she expected though? For things to remain as they were forever? If Cyril had any faith in Surina, she would be receiving similar training to be a proper heir, but she was just a placeholder for when his children would take her title. And just because there was no future for her, that didn’t mean there shouldn’t be one for Leirie.

Placing her unfinished muffin down, Surina stretched forward, taking Leirie’s hand in hers—they were chilled from the autumn air. “That’s great, Leirie. It’s obvious your dad trusts you if he wants you to take on so much.”

“Yeah…” Leirie whispered, squeezing her fingers before withdrawing them from Surina’s hold.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited for something like this.” Leirie had always been hardworking, willing to go the extra mile for any task her father entrusted her with.

“I might have to go back to Cillica for a while.” Angling against the back of the settee, Leirie tilted her head up at the clouded skies. “‘To relearn the Cillican culture,’” Leirie joked in a deepened voice, imitating her father. “He thinks I’ve been around court for too long.”

She wouldn’t lie, days without Leirie were painstakingly lonely, since she was practically Surina’s only friend here—no, she absolutely was —and without her, Surina had no one to talk to. Galen wasn’t the best company, and Dahlia was just as busy as Cyril on most days. She understood Leirie’s hesitation to leave, though, not having gone to Cillica since her mom passed away a few years ago.

“He’s right, you know.” Surina readied her hands in the event that Leirie moved to pelt her with another blueberry. “All the snooty air of the palace…I think it’s gotten to your head,” she quipped, hoping to ease the gloomy silence.

Leirie’s eyes narrowed in on her, looking like she’d rather throw an entire muffin instead. “It has not. If anything, it’s you rubbing off on me. Like now, making me late to meet with my dad.”

Once she shoved another bite of muffin into her mouth, Leirie hopped up from her place on the settee, smoothing out the wrinkles of her slender gown.

“Before you go, can I give you Fynn’s cloak, in case you see him? You know, since I’ll likely be chained to my bedroom until the Solstice, after last night’s disaster.” Shoving the folds of the five blankets she’d brought out last night, Surina rifled through the crazed nest.

“Sure, and if it makes you feel any better about the dinner, I had to sit between Lady Giselle and my dad, and she was in a particularly flirtatious mood...” Leirie’s voice drifted off, as if images were resurfacing.

Pausing her search for the cloak, Surina glanced up at her friend, looking for any hint that she was joking about her father being hit on by Lady Giselle, but there was only horror. “You’re right. Your night was worse.”

They both nodded in unison, and a frantic hush grew as Surina brought her attention back to the bed, haphazardly tearing through layers and layers of ivory and cream fabric—the prince’s cloak was nowhere.

“Fynn’s cloak, I—” Standing up from the lounge, shivering as she left the warmth of the covers, Surina scanned the balcony. “I swear it was here when I fell asleep.”

“You slept with his cloak?” Leirie looked like she was struggling to keep back whatever tantalizing remark she was bottling up.

Surina snorted, waving her off. “Don’t look at me like that. It was freezing last night, and I used it as a blanket.”

“Mm-hmm,” was all her friend said, but it was enough to get the point across.

“The wind probably took it.” Slapping a hand to her forehead, she groaned loud enough for the sound to echo from the walls of the keep. “ Fantastic . So I yelled at his father and lost his cloak.”

“I’m sure someone will find it,” Leirie offered. “But I have to go, Suri. Meet me for dinner tonight?”

Surina mumbled her agreement, too distracted with her third attempt at digging through the blankets, during which she found nothing, apart from soft waves of mint and pine.

◆◆◆

After spending extra time in the bath after training, Surina’s muscles finally eased up a little after hoisting mountains of rock over her head. She was hardly late, only by a couple minutes, but Moira wouldn’t excuse the tardiness.

Earth always seemed to tire her more than air or water, and she wondered if it was because earth was heavier than the other elements. It made sense.

Moira made her take another shot at controlling all four at a time. She failed miserably with flame. Again.

When she reached for fire, there was always that same wall of resistance—a wall that closed around her the more she pushed to shove it down, bringing forth the fiery eyes of that wretched beast, along with a sweltering flash of heat in her blood.

Rounding the last corner of the east wing, thoughts of her failures ended as her stare fell on the tall, oak, double doors of the library just at the end of the corridor. She was supposed to have dinner with Leirie, but when she and Galen had stopped by her friend’s room after training, Leirie was still out running errands for the duke.

Surina told Galen she would remain in her quarters for the evening, so he could just take the rest of the night off, but with still no word from Cyril on her punishment for embarrassing him last night, she decided this might be the last chance to replenish her personal bookshelves before a potential lockdown commenced.

The hem of her gown flitted over the smooth marble floors. A slate gray that was only a few shades darker than the keep she rushed across. While she technically was supposed to have Galen with her when outside of the west wing, Surina wasn’t really breaking any laws if the sun was still out, fleeting as daylight was. Besides, he’d be pissed if she asked him to get back into his gear just to follow her to the library.

She probably shouldn’t have wasted so much time in the kitchens, but after expending all her energy at training, she’d needed to eat. Malachi had just finished garnishing a delicious soup when she popped in—and his son, Frasier, a fourteen-year-old halfling born from a human mother, was practicing his bread-making skills. Obviously, Surina had to test each one. The honey roll was her favorite, so she grabbed two more before thanking the males and making her way to the east wing.

Shoving the last of a roll into her mouth, she reached for a ringed handle on one of the doors, peering over her shoulder before giving it a tug. It groaned in retaliation, so she opened it just enough to slip through.

Most of the White Keep was beautiful, but the library was truly a work of art, and not just because of the books. Opening up into a colossal, domed space, a stunning masterpiece of the beginning of Orlanthe adorned the ceiling.

Seros and Eira sat on either half of the dome, day and night, portrayed as glowing divinities, surrounded by their original creations—fae and humanity. Eira was shrouded by the night, stars, and the moon. On the other half of the dome, Seros shone with sunlight and the blue sky of day. Hanging from the center of the dome was a shimmering silver chandelier with candles casting a warm hue on the painting.

Towering shelves were built into the marble walls, containing thousands of books and journals. A large staircase off to the side of the vast space spiraled up into a second floor that traveled along the walls of the library, housing their older volumes of works from centuries ago.

Unsurprisingly, the library was empty. It almost always was, considering most fae had likely lived through all of what was within each book. She didn’t mind the vacancy, though. That just meant fewer people to get in the way.

Knowing exactly which section her favorite books resided in, Surina strolled over to the side of the library housing the fictional titles she loved so much. Dragging a finger across the rows of leather spines, she quickly realized there weren’t many she hadn’t read—some more than once.

Plucking a few from the shelves, about ready to leave with three books she settled on, a gleaming reflection caught her eye. Shifting flashes of green and bronze glistened between two brown leather texts. “What the…”

Curiously, she was already stretching towards the strange book before the question could fully leave her lips. The second her fingertips made contact, she yelped, leaping away from the sensation. Immediately, she recognized it—a texture Surina would never forget.

Dragon scales .

Closing her eyes, she curled her fingers into a fist, while taking in a deep breath. Without thinking too much about how someone would obtain such a material, her eyes flung open and she yanked the book from its place.

Sure enough, as she laid a palm flat against the grooved surface, the smooth glide of it beneath her flesh, she confirmed that it really was bound in dragon scales.

Flinging it open to the title page, she was a little disappointed to find that the title was: A History of Thesia .

While she’d already read a lot on Thesia, Surina couldn’t recall any of her previous history texts being bound in dragon scales, and already that made it a far more interesting read.

Plopping down in an armchair that sat close to the fireplace, she crossed a leg over the other, angling the scaled book so she could read the pages in the fire’s light.

Most of what Surina went through in the beginning was history she already knew. Like Seros’s creation of the seraphim. Before they were cursed into scaled dragons, that is—made to protect the rest of the world from the armies of Draegar.

Draegar had been an evil fae who was cast from Avarynth, the home of the divines, for murdering Eira. Her soul now rested in the Eyre—the afterlife—where she welcomed souls of the departed, cleansing them before their ultimate rebirth.

It was said that, before her death, she would hear the prayers of her followers, and the gods would visit the lands of Orlanthe upon her request. Now, with the faerie realms sealed off from the rest of the world, prayers and souls could enter, but only souls would return. Never an answer to their prayers in the form of the gods.

Continuing through the book, Surina skimmed over sections of random geographical facts—like the creation of the Thesian Mountains by a powerful earth seraphim, and how the Bay of Mythil came to be.

A yawn that morphed into a lengthy, feline stretch was her body’s way of saying it was time to call it a day—or night. She wasn’t really sure how long she’d even been reading, now almost a fourth of the way through the text.

Surina turned over the page, finishing up a paragraph, but a drastic change in handwriting on the opposite side drew her eyes in.

The amulet of life, forged by Seros as a gift to his beloved daughter, Isla, heir to life and champion of creation. A conduit crafted to shield the realms from the temptation of shadow and the extinction of light.

She’d never heard of Isla being referred to as the heir to life, nor as a champion. To be fair, though, there wasn’t really much to be found on Isla, aside from the part she played in Draegar’s undoing. It was a little sad, considering she was a divine, like her parents. One of three.

With the champion lost to shade, a herald of life was chosen as courier and protector. Upon such blood, Myrah draug rests, only to rise with the sun. Crowned by twin flames, Dawn will emerge, and with her, the endless night.

The page ended. She flipped the papers around the verse—only more history of Thesia after the Fairlights took the first crown. She read it over and over in her head, twining the chain of her necklace around a finger as she contemplated the delicately written texts.

“ Myrah draug ?” It was… ominous, to say the least, and definitely another language. One she didn’t recognize. Her eyes fell to the silver crescent, and she laid the moon into the palm of her hand. It looked similar to the one in her dream, how it pulsed to life with a mesmerizing crescendo.

“The amulet of life,” she whispered, dragging her thumb across the etched moonflower.

Surina couldn’t stifle the laugh that pierced the library, bouncing across the towering walls and back to her ears. Now she knew it was definitely time to call it, if her exhaustion was linking a crazed dream to some nonsensical information in a book. How could dawn and night emerge together? That didn’t even make sense.

Slapping said book closed, she ran her fingers along the bizarre texture. The scales were smooth, yet harder than any crafted metal in existence.

As Surina rose from her spot by the fireplace, she choked on a scream when she found a darkened silhouette waiting for her by the doors to the library.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The copper-haired prince spoke softly from the shadows, lifting his palms up in a show of surrender. “I was only walking past, and I thought I heard you laughing.” He glanced around the library, no doubt looking for another person who would have made her laugh.

Surina flushed, and the warmth seeping through the fabric of her gown from the fireplace mingled with it, making the heat almost unbearable. She casually slid the scaled text behind her back, not wanting to explain why she would have such a book, considering most works regarding dragons had been removed from Thesia when the dragons were.

“I was doing some reading and found something unexpected.” Praying there would be no follow-on questions, Surina finished her excuse with a smile.

The silence was deafening as Fynn stepped from the dark, gracefully strolling into the glow of the library, wearing similar attire to last night’s, though not quite as formal—and there was no cloak.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Surina piped up, following his movements towards her stack of books left on the oak table nearby. “But since you’re here, I should thank you for lending me your cloak.”

“No need,” the prince replied, running a hand along the titles of each book.

If she thought it was impossible for her skin to turn the same shade as an apple, she certainly didn’t think it now, as a blooming red consumed her hands.

“Well…” she fumbled for words, but the more he assessed Surina’s book selection, the less she was able to say. “About your cloak—”

“ Passion’s Call ?” He read the title aloud, interrupting her admission, a taunting grin curling the corners of his lips up. “What’s this one about?” he asked, though by the way his brow raised, she imagined he had a pretty good idea.

Fynn moved to open the book, but she’d already crossed the space before he could glimpse the first page—slamming the cover closed. “Just about a girl. She lives by the sea.”

It wasn’t a lie, but Surina did leave out the part where a male would sing to the girl from the ocean each night, luring her into its depths, and into his arms.

“A girl who lives by the sea?” he repeated flatly, not seeming to believe that could possibly be the extent of the story.

Surina nodded, pinching her lips together in a flat line. Before he could inquire further, she stacked the other two books on top, keeping the dragon-scaled text behind her skirts. “I was actually about to return to my room for the evening.”

Seeming to catch on to her change in temperament, Fynn withdrew his hands from the table. “It’s rather late, would you like me to walk you back?” He leaned into the oak surface, crossing his arms over his chest. “What with it being night and all, wouldn’t want you getting into trouble.”

“I think I’d be in even more trouble if I was seen walking the halls with a male,” she scoffed, shoving the stack closer to the edge so she could scoop it up with her free hand. Wouldn’t that be the talk of the keep? A princess of Thesia being escorted to her bedchamber by a prince of another kingdom—an immortal prince, at that. Who would Cyril kill first, she wondered, Fynn or herself?

With the unbalanced weight of the texts, and only one available hand, they slipped from the table, and crashed onto the floor.

“ Shit ,” she muttered under her breath, dropping to her knees and placing the dragon book onto the floor at her side.

“I disagree.” Fynn snickered, joining her on the floor and brushing over her hand to grab for the book she was already reaching for. Their skin met, and she felt that same warmth from last night—not any warmer than a mortal would be, but still so unusual for a changed fae. “I think it’ll be that mouth of yours that gets you into the most trouble. Always has been.”

The way his stare drifted over when they touched, he had to feel something, too, she was sure of it. He was definitely right about one thing, though, she never really had a great hold on her mouth. “You’re unlike any other fae I’ve met,” Surina blurted, and a stark surprise replaced the prince’s smile.

With her blood literally boiling now, she reached for another book, contemplating whether to leap into the fireplace or not. “I mean your restraint — I’ve never heard of a fae who could be around mortals so soon after changing. Is it difficult for you?”

When he’d collected two in a pile, Fynn stretched to take the third from her hand, adding it to his. “It helps that my sister remains mortal, I think. If I ever hurt her…”

His voice trailed off as Surina peered into the deep brown of his irises, which studied her just as intently. A wave of goosebumps washed her flesh, and she was dragged so far into those obsidian pools that it took her a moment to realize that it was the icy, phantom claws that had brought those shivers forward.

Again with this ? She decided to confront the voices—which hadn’t exactly been saying much, just showing up when they felt like it. It was infuriating, like they were just there to silently judge all of her actions. She had a brother and a guard who were perfectly suited for such a task and didn’t need two more lingering spies.

As she awaited their response, secretly slipping the dragon book into the bottom of the pile while Fynn seemed distracted, Surina shifted to rise from the floor, but froze when she saw into Fynn’s blouse. Partially unbuttoned at the top, it swung open enough to reveal jagged pink lines cutting across his chest.

Scars.

Changed fae didn’t scar like that, though. Not with their hastened healing. So he would have had to receive them before his transition.

“What happened?” Surina gaped, shifting forward on her knees.

He looked confused at first, like he didn’t know what she was referring to, until he followed her wide-eyed gaze down to his chest. “Oh.” He snorted a laugh, reaching to close one of the buttons over the top of it. “I let my guard down once.”

That wasn’t much of an explanation, but she didn’t want to push it any further, noticing how he didn’t really care for her stares. Surina knew exactly what that felt like. His scars were different, though—like something tried to carve into his chest.

“We all have our share of scars, though, don’t we?” Fynn spoke quietly, taking the words right from her head as he nodded towards her hand.

Twisting it, she raked her fingers across it once before Fynn stretched an upturned palm in her direction, the two of them only feet apart as they remained knelt on the marble floors.

“May I?” he asked.

Normally, she’d be hesitant to show anyone the scar, but maybe that was because most just looked at it with disdain—like Ezra. As if she had any choice in whether the mark stayed or not. Fynn just looked at it with sparkling curiosity.

Without a word, Surina laid her hand in his, and air rushed past her parted lips when the heat eclipsed even the frigid nails.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he broke their stare-down to trace the circle of the sun. A tender motion she wasn’t accustomed to.

“ Aurea ,” he whispered, after running over every curve and bend of the sun’s rays.

“Are— What?” Surina scrunched her brows, trying to decipher the accent. It didn’t sound like anything in the mortal tongue.

“ Aurea, ” Fynn repeated, tilting her palm slightly to show where he traced the mottled pink flesh. “It’s Old Fae, meaning sun, or light. Before it was a symbol for the dragons, it was once a symbol of the covenant made between seraphim and fae. A blood covenant, binding the two species. Before the curse, of course.”

A blood covenant .

Uncertainty pursed her lips. Having done readings on ancient fae magic—blood magic being one of them—she wasn’t sure anything coming from such a power should be labeled as light . They should be grateful magic like that no longer existed in this realm, the knowledge of it locked away, behind the faerie realm borders.

“Where did you learn that?”

The prince grazed his thumb against the mark one last time, and his features hardened over, the clench of his jaw pulsing before reluctantly dropping his hold on her hand—the goosebumps returned, swarming her flesh.

“The libraries in Calaechia have texts as far back as the Second Age, when Draegar ruled. Some even long before that.”

“It’s amazing they’ve survived. I can’t even imagine what kind of history they hold.” She supposed there was one positive thing about Calaechia—they were stuck so far in the past, they needed to keep it alive with ancient books.

“If you ever visit Calaechia, I’ll take you there,” he offered, a glowing delight returning to his eyes. He hoisted the book pile into his arms, rising from the floor in one fluid motion, extending a hand to help her up.

Surina nodded, and took his hand, almost excitedly as her curiosity was running more rampant with every flicker of warmth she stole from his touch. “Why are your hands so warm?” she finally asked when back on her feet.

“Are they?” Fynn looked lost, and now she realized she’d likely misread, thinking he could feel something different, too. It’s clear that wasn’t the case.

“I thought all fae have cold skin.”

“You said yourself, I’m not like any other fae you’ve met.” Fynn used her own words against her, his voice morphing into a bright laugh when he noted the roll of her eyes.

He shook his head, but the smile endured. “Your hands must be cold, making mine seem warm.”

“I don’t think—” Her words died right there, because the feel of his knuckles brushing along her cheek drew out any breath left in her.

“What about now?” he asked, tilting his head down to study her reaction.

It was nearly impossible to decipher if the heat was coming from his skin or her own returned flush. “Still warm.”

His hand swept down her cheek, fingertips running along her jawline and ending right at the throbbing pulse in her throat. “Now what do you feel?”

“I feel…” Gods there was a lot she felt, much of it difficult to bring into words as the prince leaned in. There was a moment where she thought something was stirring around in her mind, fighting to reach the surface. Like the times her magic took over—but a breeze of gentle winds against her neck simmered that sensation.

Just as a finger curling beneath her chin angled her face up, an even sharper, icier blast of wind poured into the library. In two blinks, the prince’s touch was torn away, the books restored to their former mess on the floor.

As she spun around, the skirts of her gown rippling against the continued onslaught of frosted air, the flames of the roaring fire bending to their elemental adversary, her eyes widened when they found Fynn. He was pinned against the marble frames of the bookshelves, some texts strewn about by his feet from the impact—but what frightened her the most, was the male who detained him.

Ezra’s glare snapped in her direction, and Surina wondered if eyes could be used as a conduit for magic, because that stare froze her in place—a chilling ferocity she’d never been at the receiving end of.

At least, not until now.