Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Nine

Surina was dreaming again, standing within the serenity of a massive earthen cavern. Water cascaded through the middle of the domed chamber, which opened to the skies above. Streams poured into reservoirs surrounding the stone slab she occupied at the center, and a grin tugged at her lips as she slipped her fingers beneath its cool waters.

She always loved it here, even with all that had transpired. There was far more good to remember than bad.

Winds swept in, stirring the vines of jasmine spreading the expanse of the stoned walls, and her heart stilled with the rush of its sweet aroma.

A deep, authoritative voice echoed from all around her, his winds now gathering at her feet. “He waits for you, Myrah aurea .”

She turned to behold a fair-haired seraphim, the bronze of his skin canvased by large pearlescent wings, which spread wide beneath her gaze. His aura was resplendent. Everything about the seraphim was beautiful, even his eyes—swirls of white and sky blue. It was the essence of air binding him to that form.

The male dropped to a knee when she approached, awaiting the press of her palm against his cheek. His hand closed over the top of hers as his eyes fluttered shut. When they opened again, she couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in the furrow of his brows. Dragging her hand down to his chin, she tilted his stare up.

“You worry, Ikarus,” she whispered.

Pulling his chin free, he rose from the earth, and without another glance in her direction, he turned from her. “The sun is at its peak,” he said with a bitter envy, so she followed where his glare landed. A marble arena awaited, with columns of shimmering white stone.

Neither of them spoke as she fell in step beside him, but his wing tucked around her, despite his frustrations. He trusted her—they all did, and that terrified her more than anything.

Approaching the arena, she took in the scene of hundreds of fae and seraphim—some in their mortal bodies, while others had taken on their elemental forms. The striking variations in their feathers cast a bewitching sight throughout the ivory coliseum.

In the center of it all stood a towering fae, his hair and beard a striking white, drawing her eyes to his—two aureate irises illuminated his features. She fell to her knees before the celestial being, and his thunderous, heavenly voice rumbled through the arena.

“It is time. Come,” he said, stretching a brilliant steel dagger in her direction, the pommel carved into a sun. A collection of various symbols inscribed the length of the blade.

Lifting her eyes from the marble below, she clasped his outstretched blade, glancing past to behold his work. A magnificent, feathered beast carved from earth and stone, like all the others. But this one would be different.

One to rule them all .

The godlike fae released the hilt of the dagger, and she wasted no time pressing the point into her palm, having done the same many times over. An army, they’d created—one that needed its general.

Hissing at the sudden well of blood that rushed to the surface, she placed that palm on the statue’s muzzle, its eyes lifeless, but not for long. Her pale skin glittered within the sun’s rays—an intoxicating feeling, to be wrapped in its warmth. The moon brought her peace, but the sun… it was as divine as Seros and Eira, bringing life into the world. She focused on that warmth, that light.

Rippling energy from the heat of the sun washed over her flesh, almost eagerly offering itself up to her, to take from it as she pleased. The stone beneath her feet trembled as the infernal reservoir became hers to command.

Her flesh radiated with the endless power now at her control, which would bend to her every whim. I could wash the world away into flames if I wished it so , she mused.

No —

She stifled that darkness underneath and poured every drop of blazing vitality into the great beast before her. The stone cracked and split beneath her flesh, spitting out flames of yellow, orange, and red. A glorious light burst from the fissures, searing away the earth it was trapped behind. Ash and soot rose with the wind, unveiling an incredible masterpiece etched from flame.

With splayed, feathered wings of onyx, tipped with tendrils of fire, he lifted his powerful jaws to release a call so formidable, her knees nearly collapsed beneath her. Even her blood hummed with his mere presence. She couldn’t look anywhere but into his flickering eyes, containing the sheer might of the sun itself.

“What shall you call him?” the divine fae spoke from beside her.

A creature made from the earth of the world, and a soul given life from fire and light— she would call him…

“Silas.”

◆◆◆

“For the last time, stop dropping your elbows,” Galen yelled from the side of Surina’s drawing room, demonstrating again how to hold a proper stance.

Moira had canceled training for the third day in a row, out of respect for Frasier, whose funeral was early this morning, before the sun rose. Surina attended the ceremony, having to look away as the undertaker used his magic to pull Frasier’s body beneath the earth. Surina was the last to lay a moonflower atop his grave—an offering to Eira, in hopes she would allow his soul a swift rebirth.

His death still didn’t sit right with her—apart from the fact that they still hadn’t deduced who the killer was after three days—so she needed a way to keep her mind from returning to that closet. And since Moira postponed affinity training again, Galen’s obsession with teaching her physical combat was the next best thing. He practically leapt with joy when she asked how to fend off an attacker—in the event that the killer decided to strike again.

“I’m not!” she snapped, shifting her stance a little so he could see how much he was pissing her off. But a jarring impact to her arm jerked her to the side. “Gods, Leirie,” she huffed, dropping a hand to cover where her friend had almost dislocated her shoulder. Leirie was a lot stronger than she looked.

Galen stiffened in the corner, though the tense nature of his muscles eased when he saw Surina’s injury wasn’t as bad as she was letting on. “Told you,” he grumbled.

“I’m so sorry, Suri. I thought you were ready!” Leirie gaped, her eyes already glossy with tears. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.”

“It’s fine,” Surina mumbled, waving off her friend’s attempt to massage her shoulder, wondering why she was the one on the verge of tears. “Galen just distracted me, is all.”

Leirie came in after the funeral to check on her, and she was so grateful for it. Just her company seemed to soothe the looming weight on her mind, enough for her to get out of bed. What would she do when her friend eventually left for Cillica?

“If you’d let me teach this to you when you were younger, like I wanted, you wouldn’t be struggling with the basics now,” Galen said.

“Why would I need to fight when I have multiple affinities?” Surina countered, though it didn’t come out with much confidence.

Galen rolled his eyes. “Magic is a crutch. You need to be able to rely on your body just as much as your mind.”

While she didn’t disagree, Surina would argue to the end of time if it meant Galen didn’t get the satisfaction of being right. “I think you’re just jealous you don’t have magic,” she teased, flicking a gust of wind in his face to add to the insult.

“I don’t need magic to put you on your ass, princess,” he warned, and something about the way he flushed reminded her of Cyril, so she egged him on.

Without wasting a second, Surina sent a more forceful whip of air, but in a flash, Galen was gone—and so was the floor.

Her legs were swept out from under her, and she landed right on her back, crushing the air from her lungs.

Surina groaned, disregarding her friend’s whining as she rolled onto an elbow. “You’re a prick,” she tried to say, but it was broken by sharp gasps.

“Big talk for someone who just ate their words. And look—” Galen gestured between the two of them, “—no magic.”

“Yeah, well, you’re like a million years old, so I would hope knocking down a mortal would be simple enough.”

Galen’s mouth opened, ready to spew some witty remark most likely, but his head snapped in the direction of the door, where a moment later, a knock sounded.

With a hand at the hilt of his sword, he stalked towards the entrance, tugging the door open and moving to the side to allow Cyril to step through.

“Cyril.” Failing to hide the surprise his visit warranted, Surina cleared her throat, rolling over to push herself up from the floor. “What are you doing here?” She grinned sheepishly, patting out the wrinkles in her pale blue gown.

“I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes scanned the room, where all the furniture had been shoved against the walls to make space in the center. Cyril turned to Galen, who didn’t appear the least bit concerned, and only shrugged.

Shaking his head, Cyril brought his attention back to Surina. “Since Moira canceled your lessons again, I figured you’d have time to sit with Dahlia and I for breakfast. Like we used to.”

“ Breakfast ?” Surina said unpleasantly, mainly from the shock of her brother wanting to do anything with her. It’d been over a year since they’d had breakfast together.

“Dahlia is already waiting for us in the dining hall, so if you’re ready…” Cyril trailed off, seeming a little irritated with her hesitation.

She realized then it wasn’t him asking if she’d like to join them, but demanding it.

So it would be one of those kind of meals. Was she finally about to receive the lecture she’d been dreading for days?

“Right,” Surina said dryly, searching for the shoes she’d tossed off earlier before remembering the mound of texts still laid out on her bed from her readings, one being the dragon-scaled book. “Could you give me like, five minutes to, uh, freshen up?”

Cyril nodded.

Just as she and Leirie turned to go into her room, his voice stopped them both in their tracks.

“Lady Windspire,” he said coolly, a stern cut to his jaw. “I believe your father is looking for you. You should go.”

“Oh. Of—of course, Your Majesty,” Leirie stuttered out, her eyes averting to the floor.

What the hell ? Cyril had never dismissed Leirie like that before. Surina was about to call him out on it, but her friend had already begun making her way to door.

“I’ll see you later, Suri,” she said from over her shoulder, pausing to curtsy for the king before leaving through the doors.

He didn’t even look a little remorseful for how he’d just spoken to her, not until he turned back and saw the heated rage warming her cheeks.

“Suri…” he pleaded, but she was already in her room, slamming the door with a hard jerk.

If he wanted to drag her to some stupid breakfast to punish her for her behavior the past week, then fine, but belittling her friend who’d done nothing wrong? That was just cruel.

Unlatching the armoire, she shoved the book back into its hiding place before slamming those doors closed, too, feeling a little guilty for treating a book so harshly. She hadn’t gotten much further in her readings on that one, having picked up another text yesterday on ancient fae, hoping to find something to translate the meaning of Myrah aurea from her dreams. Thanks to Fynn, she already knew aurea meant light or sun in Old Fae, but what was Myrah ?

It would save so much time simply asking Fynn, but then she would risk Ezra finding out, and she was certain the threats made by the king were not empty ones. Plus, she would have to explain how she came across the word, whether it was from her dream about the seraphim or the dragon-scaled book and its warning of an endless night... neither of those she felt were easy to interpret.

“ Myrah draug ,” she whispered, shuddering as the words swam within her thoughts. The return of the shaded claws whisking down her back forced her to ignite the enchantment on the fireplace.

It filled the room with a warmth that didn’t quite thwart that voice’s chilling blanket of goosebumps, but she pretended the heat was another aura, one that was there to ward off the other.

Surina had found herself using the fireplace more in the past week than she ever had in the four years since her connection to fire had ended, the shame of her missing affinity now an afterthought compared to the visits of the slinking voice. Even the second voice didn’t seem to like the other, constantly casting drafts of air down her cheek and back to counter it.

She was about to return to the drawing room when a glimmer caught her eye within the fireplace. Cocking her head to the side, Surina leaned in to find a smooth piece of gleaming metal. It rung out as she dragged it across the stone of the hearth with her winds.

Without touching it, she flipped it over, noting the singed fragment of material clinging to what had to be a clasp—the same one from Fynn’s cloak.

“How in the world…?” She twisted at the hips to measure the distance between the terrace and her fireplace, and it just didn’t make sense. Even if she left the doors open to her room that night, there was no way it could have blown this far in.

Someone threw it into the fire. But who?