Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Seven

A crackling ice spread from beneath the king’s booted feet, climbing towards the shelves he had Fynn against. Both of their glares matched that of a rabid dog Surina had come across on the palace grounds one day.

“Ezra…” she whispered, taking a few apprehensive steps forward as a low growl picked up between the two males, but she stilled when the king’s merciless gaze fell back on her, his fine, silk blouse disheveled from the rushing winds.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” he snapped at her, a stream of fog lifting from his flesh as he looked her up and down before shifting his attention to Fynn.

“And you, prince. You’ll lose those canines if I ever see your hands on her again.” Ezra shoved Fynn, pressing further into the hold he kept at the base of his neck, knocking more books from the shelves.

It prompted a loud burst of flame to erupt from the fireplace, and Surina slapped a hand over her mouth to silence a yelp—Fynn’s affinity, she guessed.

The king didn’t even flinch, smothering the flames with his own magic, without so much as a twitch of a finger, until nothing but clustered ice remained.

Surina could see how Ezra had kept control over his crown for so long without an heir. With two affinities—wind and water—no one opposed his place on the Moon Throne. Not since he laid claim to it centuries ago.

A cruel smile formed on Fynn’s features, and he laughed—actually laughed in the face of the king.

“I haven’t broken any of your laws, have I? Besides, we were only chatting.” Fynn twisted his head to peer over at Surina, and that dark sneer from last night, the same as his father’s, completely erased the boyish charm from earlier. “Weren’t we?”

The king didn’t need to use an ounce of magic to toss Fynn in the direction of the library doors, just his immortal strength.

“ Leave ,” Ezra snarled, his cool winds and lethal command inciting a frigid shiver along Surina’s spine. “Before your family has to retrieve what’s left of you.”

Taking his time, the prince rose to his feet, brushing off his black attire with casual pats. When those onyx eyes drifted up, he looked past the king, and right at Surina. “Until next time, princess. Maybe you can tell me more about that book.” Fynn winked, bending into a curt bow for Ezra, one that was clearly meant as an insult.

A vehement warmth washed her cheeks, and she narrowed her eyes at the prince. What the hell had gotten into him?

Before she could question where his newfound brazenness had come from, slender daggers of ice began to materialize over Ezra’s shoulder—taking aim at Fynn.

Surina dashed forward, snagging the king’s hand into hers. She reached for the tether of the elements he viciously clung to, pulling the frozen blades and churning winds into her own command. The stinging bite against her flesh only lasted seconds before the air smoothed over into a silent hush, and the crystalline frost shattered at their feet.

It was a gift she’d always had, being able to take over someone’s claim to an element. When a fae was tethered to something, another couldn’t just swipe it from their grasp, but Surina could. She wasn’t supposed to use it, per the endless limitations her brother had placed on her magic, but she imagined he would forgive her for this, if it saved Thesia from a war with Calaechia.

Fynn hummed, a curious, sideways smile his last insult before he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled out of the library.

Before Surina was able to take a breath of relief, or to even note the way Ezra’s fingers curled around hers, Ezra spun, seizing her wrist.

“What were you thinking, using your magic like that?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“ Me ?” Surina tried to step away, tugging at her wrist, but he wouldn’t relent, and the movement only wedged her against the columned frame of the fireplace and him.

“You were being an idiot,” she continued, despite the heated nerves his nearness provoked. “I had to stop you before you hurt him.”

Or worse , she thought, recalling how difficult it was to wrestle away his tether to the elements. He wanted to kill Fynn. Badly.

Ezra’s low laugh made her flinch, because there wasn’t the slightest bit of light in it. “ Idiot ? Says the one who was about to let a male she hardly knows stick his tongue down her throat, and the gods know what else.”

“It’s called kissing. Am I forbidden from that now too?” While she understood how it made her look, Surina wouldn’t apologize for wanting some semblance of joy in this prison. And if he thought a kiss was so bad, what would he think of her if he knew what else she’d done with other males—not that she’d crossed the line completely with another, but there were times she came close.

“You really think he just wanted a kiss?” Ezra removed any space that might have existed between them, and she had to angle her head up just to meet his eyes. “Oh, my sweet Surina,” he whispered, voice drifting off into a mocking coo as he lifted a golden wave of her hair.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she held back the urge to slap him—that definitely wouldn’t end well—but she hated the way he said her name. It fell from his lips so easily. Like he owned it. “I’m not your anything,” she growled, snatching her hair back.

Disregarding the venom in her words, Ezra swept his hand over her shoulder, brushing the strands away to expose the side of her throat. “The boy transitioned only months ago. It takes over a decade to learn real restraint.” The king’s stare dropped from her eyes. “He wouldn’t have stopped with a kiss, not until he had his teeth inside that pretty neck.”

“You don’t know that.” Surina swallowed down the quiver in her voice as he tilted his head to get a better view.

“It’s what I would do, if I had you alone.” Ezra looked up, and the way his pupils expanded and contracted as they roamed her face and neck—it made her knees tremble.

He was trying to scare her, but she wouldn’t fall for it. There was no way he would actually bite her. And yet, she couldn’t keep the doubt from crossing her mind as she recalled the last time she’d wandered into Ezra’s chambers a couple years ago, after the Solstice Ball. Surina should have left the moment she saw he had company, but like a fool, she had stayed.

It’s a girlish crush. She’s nothing but a thorn in my side , he’d assured Giselle that night, and Surina heard every bit of it. He never cared about her, so what would stop him from sinking his own teeth into her “pretty neck”?

Her eyelids slammed shut, and then she was back in the gardens, with the male who had been only a heartbeat away from piercing her flesh—ending her life.

When she finally opened them again, she saw that Ezra’s fingers had stilled their wintry path, and he looked… concerned.

Letting her rising temper take hold, she shoved into Ezra’s chest. He didn’t move an inch.

“Not everyone is like you .” She finally found the nerve to speak, thrusting against him again while using her winds to add to the force of the shove. All he had to do was shift his weight to counter it.

Like magic, his wicked grin returned, and though the king withdrew his hand, he still didn’t back away. “Then you must know something I don’t. Do tell.”

“For starters, I don’t think many would kill their own father over a crown.”

Whatever humor Ezra was finding in tonight’s events, it trickled through the cracks, and was no more. His eyes darkened over with a frigid glare, much like earlier.

“Where did you hear that?” he demanded.

Surina ignored the sound of traveling ice at their feet, knowing it was likely making its way towards her. She kept her chin high.

“ Where did you hear it ?” Ezra repeated, his nostrils flaring in the midst of her silence.

“It’s what everyone whispers.” In truth, she heard it from her brother, but there was no way she’d admit to that. Not when the king looked like he was seconds from snapping.

Her breath caught when he moved too fast for her to follow, and then she was between two arms of pure muscle, the chill of his flesh bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.

“You believe it then? That I killed him for his crown?”

What did it matter what she believed if that was the truth? Ezra had challenged his father, the last king on the Moon Throne, and won. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words followed—probably for the best.

He dipped his head low enough so that their faces were level, and her nostrils took in every wave of mint and pine that her lungs would allow. “You hate me, and we both know I deserve it, but you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

If it wasn’t for what others had told her of the king, or what she’d heard from his own lips, she’d still be swept up in the illusion that he was someone she could trust—a friend, she once thought. He might say he deserved her hatred, but did he understand why? Truly?

His arms fell from the column and back to his sides. He straightened his spine, but his stare lingered, and it felt like he was peering right into her soul. He probably didn’t even need to search as far as her soul, since her heart was right there, freely offering all of her secrets.

“Hurry back to your room, princess. I won’t be there the next time you need saving,” Ezra murmured, turning his back on her, every soundless step of his boots pulling her deeper and deeper into a dismal seclusion.

Somehow, despite all the barriers she’d thrown up in the past two years, his words got to her. She pushed it too far this time. It wasn’t fair to bring up something that happened centuries ago, and it’s not like his father was known for being a benevolent ruler or anything. She doubted the former king was even missed by anyone. Not like her father was.

Peering through squinted eyes, she focused her vision on the mess left behind. She would clean it up— after she apologized to Ezra, as sick as it made her to imagine the words coming out.

Surina paced towards the exit but stopped to pluck the dragon-scaled book from the mess, not wanting it to get removed from the library before she could return. As for the other three, she’d quickly lost interest in romance for the evening. Maybe for the rest of the month.

Crossing into the hall, Surina made it to the end of the corridor that connected to the main section of the east wing, but as she glanced in either direction, there wasn’t a single fae to be seen.

All at court , she guessed, where Ezra had probably been heading before he had to stop Surina from making a huge mistake. A deadly one.

By the Mother, she really had been an idiot tonight, letting Fynn get that close while knowing full well what a newly changed fae was capable of.

She tossed out the idea of returning to the library tonight. Without any windows there, Surina hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by. The moon was already high. Perhaps it was best to listen to the king and hurry back to her room.

So that’s what she did, quietly sticking to the edge, nearest the windows, where the moon provided the most light. Looking over her shoulder every ten steps, Surina clutched the book tighter with each shifting shadow or tree bellowing in the wind outside. With no guards patrolling the extent of the corridor like they did in the west wing, so there was always a creeping eeriness to it.

Noting that the end of the corridor was near, she let out an exaggerated huff of air, loosening her painful hold on the book. Not three steps later, she spotted a door slightly ajar to what had to be a utensil closet for the servants.

It didn’t look out of the ordinary, but what she felt from it was what drew her in—like a void so desolate, it was pulling all that it could to fill the chasm. She inched closer.

She hardly acknowledged the returned prickling of her skin, goosebumps rising in tandem with her racing pulse as her hand met the wooden surface of the door.

“Ezra?” she breathed, praying it was just the king playing some sick joke on her.

Something else replied though, and she wished it hadn’t.

Don’t be afraid, my moonflower , the voice said into her thoughts.

But she was afraid, and not even the tender gust of wind from the other voice’s aura could quell this fear, as much as it tried. Like it wanted her to turn around, but by then it was too late, she’d already swung the door open.

Her mouth went wide as her gaze fell to the floor, but nothing escaped it. Not a scream or a cry for help—because there would be no help, not when she glimpsed skin that had once been a radiant brown hue, now lifeless and graying in death.

◆◆◆

Having sat beside her father for hours during the Court of the Sun, Leirie was thankful to finally have some time to herself this evening. Time she planned to spend with Surina, if she could actually find her.

Stopping by Surina’s suite, she was disappointed to see that it was empty. Leirie spoke to one of the roving guards along the west wing and was directed to the kitchens, but seemed to cause a bit of alarm when the guards found out she still wasn’t back in her room. As one rushed off to notify Galen, Leirie headed for the kitchens, only for that to be a dead-end too. Malachi didn’t know where Surina had gone, and said she’d left the kitchens hours ago.

The library, Leirie thought. It was Surina’s favorite place in the palace—that, and the gallery, but Leirie had already checked there.

The sun was mostly behind the mountains now, so Leirie hastened her steps. Keeping her head ducked low, she raced past the beautiful fae loitering just outside the throne room.

The Court of the Moon.

Such a contrast to their court—the Court of the Sun—which was made up of mostly human nobles and wealthy merchants, apart from the very few fae granted access, like the Windspires and Castmonts. The fae on the Court of the Moon were… not as lively, to put it kindly.

Her father said it was practically a viper’s nest in the evenings and those at the top were amongst the oldest and most cruel of their kingdom. She imagined that included the king, too, though her father had never gone as far as to say it out loud. After all, Ezra Nightwood was still their king, the drastic time difference of their courts just ensured they rarely saw him.

“Lady Windspire?” a smooth, male voice called from over her shoulder, inciting a shiver along her flesh as she came to a sudden halt.

Slowly, Leirie turned in place, her gaze falling right on two obsidian irises, skin and hair as flawless as his forced smile. “Prince Lucius,” she squeaked out, descending into a curtsy for the Calaechian royal and tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, towards the east wing.

He waved off her gesture with a show of modesty, but his face said otherwise, seeming to enjoy the sentiment a little too much. “I was hoping to speak to you for a moment, but if you have somewhere to be...” Lucius trailed off, his eyes scanning where her stare had been.

“Actually, I—” Remembering her father’s earlier lecture on the proper etiquette of an ambassador, she guessed he wouldn’t be too pleased to learn that she ignored a member of a royal family. “I don’t,” Leirie amended, returning a smile of her own.

An odd realization flickered across his face.

Noting the questioning lift of her brow, Lucius spoke up. “Sorry, you just remind me so much of your mother.”

Leirie’s mouth fell right open, the mention of her mom beyond unexpected. “You knew my mother?”

Seeming appalled by the inquiry, Lucius leaned into her curiosity. “Of course. Your parents and I go back many years. It was through them I met Prilla, actually.”

Not once had her parents mentioned any connection they shared with the Blackwells.

“They never told me,” she said.

But Lucius appeared to have already gathered that, and with a shrug, he continued. “Not surprising. It was long before you were born. But I am truly sorry for your loss. She was… extraordinary.”

A foreign beauty whose ancestors hailed from the desert continent of Phaetris, Leirie’s mom had stood out in any crowd. It was more than her looks that carried a room though. Her decorum and intellect were unparalleled, and her charisma unmatched.

“She was,” Leirie agreed, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes.

A brief silence stirred between them, not in an awkward way, but a respectful pause that she needed to return her thoughts to the present.

“Speaking of your parents, I was hoping to catch up with Ophellius. He was in Cillica during our past visit, and I didn’t get much of a chance last night. Would you happen to know when he might have time to spare?” Lucius clasped his hands behind his back, a winning grin clouding out the somberness of before.

Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time at dinner belittling Surina , Leirie mused, instead saying, “I'm sorry, Your Highness, I can’t say for certain.” Chewing on the inside of her cheek when the prince’s disappointment became apparent, Leirie figured she could at least be cordial. “But… I’ll bring it to his attention.”

“That would be wonderful.” Lucius beamed. “And if I could bother you for one other matter?” He leaned forward, cupping his mouth as if to keep his voice contained between the two of them. “Fynn and Runa were very much looking forward to spending time together while in Thesia. With these pesky Thesian laws, though, Fynn is restricted to his room during the day. I had hoped your father might have the ear of the king and persuade him into bending the rules a little. For an old friend.”

“ Oh .” Leirie gaped, twisting a ring around her finger as she tried to find a polite way to tell him the laws were in place for a reason. “I could mention it, but I’m not so sure—”

“Is my father boring you with ancient facts on Calaechia?” a low, warm voice swept over her ears, and she nearly leapt from the floor.

When she turned to meet that voice, she was wrong to think his smile was beautiful, because that word didn’t quite cover it. It was enchanting. He was enchanting.

She wasn’t sure how long she gawked at the copper-haired prince before a full sentence finally collected on her tongue. “My apologies, Your Highness,” Leirie rushed out, dipping into a curtsy.

“Fynn,” he corrected. “Call me Fynn.”

The prince slipped his fingers into hers, lifting the back of her hand to his lips. The warmth of his flesh was a startling similarity to her own, despite his immortality.

“Leirie, right?” he asked, returning her hand to her side before releasing it.

“Yes,” she whispered, though she wasn’t really sure how he knew that. They’d only spoken once or twice, and that was four years ago. Even then, he was too busy watching Surina—and reining in his sister. “I’m surprised you remember. That was so long ago.”

“I never forget a face.” He winked, and she swore her heart did a flip, sending a rush of heat to her blood.

“Lady Windspire was just agreeing to help with the matter of our restrictions during the day,” Lucius interrupted, sounding a little annoyed by his son’s sudden appearance.

He had a lot of confidence in Leirie, considering she hadn’t actually agreed to anything other than bringing up the matter with her father.

Fynn cocked his head to the side. “Is that so? I trust it won’t be too much trouble?”

Defeated, and completely enthralled in those deep brown eyes, Leirie surrendered with a smile. “No, not at all.”

“Excellent,” Fynn said.

Something that felt like a splash of ice water pouring down her spine materialized in that moment, raising the hairs along her back. She brought her arms around herself, glimpsing their surroundings to see if anyone else had noted the strange shift, but she pushed aside the sensation when she saw a silhouette rushing from the east wing in their direction—his features a flurry of rage.

“Your Majesty,” they all mumbled in unison as he trudged past, ignoring all who offered the same show of respect.

There were muffled whispers when the throne room doors parted to allow the Nightwood king inside, and the fae filed in soon after.

Leirie rose from the bow, angling so that she could peer down the eastern corridor again. What was that about ? she wondered, fighting off a rising sense of being watched.

“I suppose that means it’s time for you to head back,” a voice said from behind her.

“Right,” she murmured, attempting to shake that eerie ghost of a feeling, but it remained.

It was Fynn who insisted she return to her room, since the Court of the Moon was now in session, and she was technically breaking the law by being outside of the west wing.

Leirie must have missed Surina somehow.

“I hope to see you again, Leirie. Perhaps during the day, next time?” Fynn asked so sweetly, she didn’t have the nerve to reply with words, so she nodded instead.

The two princes departed, stalking off in the direction of the palace grounds outside, and as she crossed into the safety of the west wing, guards patrolling the halls, their presence didn’t actually bring any comfort. Not this time.