Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Eleven

Rock shattered with the force of her magic, the crunch a beautiful sound as bits hurled through the air, sprinkling her flesh like a summer rain.

Like father, like daughter.

Thunder rolled in the distance, which was a shame, because it had started as such a lovely day. Now, sweat coated her skin and the gown she wore to breakfast, having left straight from the banquet hall to her training grounds. Her magic was aching to free itself after days of being cooped up, desperate for release—and the divines knew she wanted to unleash it all on that Blackwell witch for what she said. She was barely able to suppress the eagerness of her magic long enough to get outside.

Not one of her best ideas, inviting Runa to eat with them, but she thought the princess would serve as a buffer, and Cyril would keep his lecturing to a minimum—which she supposed worked, though it didn’t end in her favor.

Surina didn’t have much of a connection to her parents, which made it all the more difficult when others spoke of them. It might as well have been complete strangers they were describing, because that’s all they would ever be to her. She didn’t know the sounds of their voices, the feel of their embrace, or even the weight of their gazes. Surina would never know these things.

So why did it hurt so much when someone spoke of them? When she looked in the mirror and only saw her mother. When Cyril smiled, and it was just as her father’s portrait?

Her father… so beloved by his people, known for his compassion and fairness. He fought for a returned peace between Thesia and the dragons, had almost made it a reality, only to be murdered in cold blood the night of the accords.

Surina glared at the mark on her palm, the rising heat of her arm yet another reminder that wouldn’t yield to time, just like her nightmares. It was payback, for what happened during the accords, because two kings were lost that night—one of Thesia and the other of Lythia, the dragon kingdom in the west.

The fervent warmth around the scar taunted a rise in her blood, and she conjured a crooked splinter of ice to hover above her palm, directing it at the stone target ahead—it wasn’t enough to see one shatter against the rocky surface, so she summoned another. And another.

Galen didn’t say a word. He hadn’t for the past hour or so she’d been in the training grounds, blowing off steam. He must have guessed this was not something she wanted to talk about—he would be right about that.

A strong flick of her wrist and a jagged crack climbed its way from the base of the formation of rock, breaking the structure in two—or what was left of the structure. Dirt and sediment caked the pale-blue fabric of her skirts as it collapsed, stirring a cloud of dust. She would definitely have to change before dinner tonight.

My gods . Dinner. With Ezra.

Surina could see it now, the king’s victorious grin as her brother accepted the invitation on her behalf. Bastard .

Was this to be her punishment for insulting Lucius Blackwell then? Or going to the library alone? Whatever. She could sit through one dinner with Ezra.

As if she had a choice.

It was obvious now why Ezra hadn’t mentioned Fynn to her brother the other night. He planned to use it as blackmail—something to lord over Surina until he bored of her once again.

“Had enough?” Galen finally spoke, breaking the hour-long silence as Surina turned to stare into the steady water of the nearby pond. His tone wasn’t full of the usual banter, merely wondering if she was ready to go inside.

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to drag me back to my room yet. Not worried I’ll be late for dinner?” Based on how much time it would take to wash her skin and hair clean, she was likely already fated to be late, which she couldn’t help but chuckle at.

Ezra couldn’t stand her tardiness, even when she was a child, though he was pretty good at hiding his irritations behind a tight smile. Now, she could see past the facade, to the lies underneath.

Galen rolled his shoulders, shoving away from the tree he’d been propped against. “He may be my king, but I owe him nothing beyond a subject’s loyalty.”

Finally, someone was on her side. “Cyril thinks our families should get along,” Surina drolled.

“He’s not wrong,” Galen reluctantly added, immediately ruining the moment.

She frowned, pulling from the water’s edge to face her guard.

He tipped his head in the direction of the keep, silently insisting they make their way back inside, and with the brisk winds reducing the heated animosity of her body into shivers, she complied.

“Like him or hate him, Ezra makes a far better ally than enemy,” Galen began again. “Thesia is stronger when the two thrones are on the same page.”

Her brows knitted together. “Have they always gotten along then, the Fairlights and Nightwoods?”

Galen tensed, rubbing his fingers along his beard in thoughtful drags. “They’ve had their ups and downs, but in the end, they knew what mattered most.”

“Thesia?” she guessed.

“Blood,” he corrected her.

Not what she expected to hear, so she repeated the word to be sure. “ Blood? ”

He nodded. “The Nightwoods and the Fairlights. Some say the two bloodlines were the first of the fae.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Surina shook her head, familiar with the belief that the two families were among the first bloodlines created. “Everyone already knows that.”

“Okay, smart-ass. What else do you know of them then?”

Whisking her knotted braid behind a shoulder in a playful gesture, she obliged him. “Since you ask, they were also the first to receive the divines’ blessing.” Galen opened his mouth to add to her comment, but she quickly cut him off. “Which was a gift of the divines’ blood, manifesting in the form of elemental control— which is why magic is passed from generation to generation.”

Galen grumbled something under his breath that she didn’t quite hear, but she knew it was meant as an insult.

“What was that?” she teased as she cupped a hand behind her ear.

“I said, drop the books and find a real hobby.” He spoke loud enough for her to hear this time.

“I’ll drop the books if you pick them up. That is, if you can even read.” Surina, in her hubris, didn’t foresee the foot Galen slipped out in front of her stride, and she almost face-planted right into the dirt, narrowly catching herself with her forearms.

Luckily, with the enchantment of the palace grounds, the grass stayed full and plush year-round, and it bore most of the impact.

Galen tossed his head back into a fit of laughter as her glower slowly lifted from the ground. He was absolutely asking for it, so she gave it, flicking her hand to sweep his legs out from under him with a powerful rush of wind, strong enough to knock any immortal on their ass.

He hit the earth even harder than she had, a loud grunt piercing the air as the twisting winds forced him to land on his side—his good side.

A vicious grin bent her lips up as he rolled onto his back, head snapping in her direction. Donning a mask of pure, unhindered fury, his narrowed, mismatched eyes of glassy blue and clouded white locked with hers, and it was too perfect.

Their laughter burst out in unison, the heave of her chest almost painful as she attempted to climb to her feet, scrambling beneath the many skirts of her gown, until Galen helped her up the rest of the way.

Surina nudged her elbow into his side, her usual way of showing thanks, and it wasn’t just for helping her up, but for simply being here, which he seemed to pick up on, returning her thanks with a quick wink.

Galen may not have much of a say in where he spent his time, being duty bound to remain at her side and all, but he never complained—at least not seriously. He wasn’t keen on sharing feelings, usually one to simply give her the space she needed, ripping her back into reality with a humbling quip once the worst of her temper passed. It probably wasn’t the healthiest form of therapy, but she preferred it this way. They both did.

Neither of them spoke as they returned to her suite, though Galen’s displeasure arose upon seeing the two guards still posted outside. Like any of the Nightwood king’s soldiers, their features were impassive—cold. They were nothing like the Castmont guards roving the west wing. These were just… bodies. Bodies trained to obey and nothing more.

Ignoring their empty stares, Galen walked her as far as her bedroom door, pausing at the threshold. As she crossed into her chambers, a blur of deep blue filled her periphery.

“I’ll have water brought up to your chambers, and then I’ll return later to take you to dinner,” he said as she approached her bed.

A striking, twilight blue gown made of satin awaited, the deep neckline of the sleeveless corset trimmed with silver moonflowers—like her necklace. Beside it, a translucent wrap of silver gossamer, reminding her of a stream of fog. Running her fingertips along the ornate trim of the corset, her lips parted as she took in the feel of the fabric. It was exquisite.

“Princess,” Galen’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“What?” she mumbled, her eyes peeling away from the masterpiece of a gown.

Galen cocked his head, eyeing the dress displayed on the bed. His face soured a little, though he made no comment about it. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

She shook her head, withdrawing her dirt-ridden hand from the fabric. “Thank you, Galen.”

With a nod, he departed, and before she could walk away from the dress, a small piece of parchment edging out from beneath the skirts caught her eye. Lifting the paper into her hand, the scent of mint and pine wafted from the note, giving away its owner before she could even break the wax seal.

A peace offering, from my court to yours. – E

Flashing heat bloomed in her chest, engulfing her body in a warming fervor. This was the first time she’d heard from him since the night she’d found Frasier. It was harder than she’d admit to pull away from him that night…and his sweet reassurances. Gods , she wanted to believe every word of it too. Part of her still did.

She refused to fall into it again, though, so she forced herself to see beyond the extravagant gift—he was toying with her, like he had during the Solstice Ball. Like he was the other night.

He’d come into her room, without permission, to leave her a gown, as if she were some doll to dress up and parade around the palace in his court’s colors. Letting out a harsh laugh, she balled the paper up and tossed it into the fireplace with a sweep of her hand, igniting the enchantment.

“Take your peace and shove it,” she hissed into the flames. The more it withered away into ash, the more her smile grew, until her gaze traveled up to the mantel, where she knew she’d left the clasp of Fynn’s cloak this morning.

Her smile fell. It wasn’t there.

Surina swept her palm along the marble surface, just to ensure she didn’t miss anything.

She hadn’t. It was definitely gone.

Ezra seriously snooped around her room while she was out? He had a lot of nerve—

An audible gasp left her lips as she jerked her head in the direction of the armoire, which didn’t seem out of place to any degree, but the thought of him having free rein in her room didn’t sit right in her gut.

She dashed over to it, throwing open the doors. Desperately digging through neatly kept piles of silk and lace, her hands came up empty.

The dragon book had been stolen.

“That fucking weasel ,” she growled, slamming the armoire shut.

Surina took in a deep breath, attempting to rid her mind of the crazed revenge plans slithering in. It might not have been Ezra. It was possible some servants came in and cleaned up her suite. That sounded more likely than the king taking time out of his day to rifle through her undergarments. But it wasn’t like servants to remove any of her belongings from her room—unless they thought it warranted a chat with her brother. Texts with information on dragons were heavily scrutinized, many subject to removal from the libraries of Thesia.

After pacing the length of her room multiple times, guards eventually stalked in, assisting the chambermaids with the rolling cart carrying basins of steaming water to her bath—one of the maids being Livia, who was the closer in age to Surina than the others who maintained her suite.

The Nightwood guards seemed to make the girls just as uneasy as it did her.

Surina waited for the males to leave before questioning the chambermaids about who might have been in her suite today, without mentioning the book. Livia was certain no one had been in her rooms this morning though.

No one except Ezra , she thought to herself—no doubt the only one who could pass her newly placed guards without so much as a nod in their direction. And they wouldn’t utter a damn word about it, either.

Giving up her quick investigation, she undressed, slipping into the steaming tub. With the day she’d had, and the night she was doomed to endure, a bath was akin to paradise. Surina soaked up every bit of the seething tub, dipping beneath the jasmine-laced waters until her entire body was submerged in its stinging bite. She loved baths like these—the hotter the better.

Staying under until the burn morphed into a warming blanket of delight, she bathed herself from head to toe. Once the clear waters stirred with the murkiness of her day, Surina rose, drying herself off with a towel, and using what little energy she had left to withdraw the water from her hair with magic.

As she walked into her bedroom, the maids had already prepared the dress that was lying on the bed for her to step into.

“Oh…” she muttered. “I actually wasn’t planning on wearing that one.”

“No? Why not? It’s a lovely gown, princess,” Livia piped up, already moving to set the dress back down, seeming less chirpy than her usual self.

Surina stifled a frown when Livia’s light brown hair parted to reveal a bandage on her neck, where two beads of scarlet seeped through.

Some of the servants of the keep doubled as feeders—the mortal ones at least. Livia was a halfling, so her blood would forever remain mortal, though halflings tended to live much longer, depending on how much fae blood ran through their veins.

It was a choice, to offer oneself over to be fed from, but those who did received far more comfortable quarters, along with more pay. Didn’t seem like much of a choice when they had families to care for. Though, from what she’d heard, and from some of her readings, a fae’s bite wasn’t always painful. Sometimes it could be nice—pleasurable even, if bitten in the right places, and by the right fae… so much so that some mortals became addicted to its effects.

“It was a gift,” Surina said, voice a little dry. Clearing her throat, she smiled awkwardly at Livia, who appeared to take note of her stares, bringing her hair over to cover the mark.

That made her feel like shit. It wasn’t anything she should be ashamed of. The fae had to feed, lest they fall into a crazed state of hunger. Despite the necessity of such an act, many did judge the feeders, calling mortals who willingly offered themselves by hateful slurs—bloodwhore being the worst.

“I’m sure it doesn’t even fit,” Surina continued, eyeing the deep blue of the fabrics. That would require Ezra actually knowing something about her, which was very unlikely.

“Would you like to try it on before we put it away then?” Livia asked warmly, seeming to be over the earlier stares.

Sucking in her bottom lip, she considered it. It was a lovely gown, and that’s all it really was. A gown. It’s not like Ezra made the damn thing, she told herself. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try it on.”

The other maid smiled with Livia, and they helped her into it. To her astonishment, it actually fit. Really well too. Even the length of the skirts was perfect, sweeping right over the cool marble floors.

Livia had already started toying with the idea of Surina wearing her hair up in a loose bun. A sly endeavor to get her to keep the dress on, no doubt. But she fell for it, because the way the corset outlined the swells of her breasts, accentuating the silver crescent in the center, it was like they were made to be worn together.

“Perfect,” Livia whispered, tucking away the final strand that was stubbornly insisting to remain outside of the intricate knot.

She was right. With her hair up, it wouldn’t hide the masterfully sewn detail of the corset, and even if she wore the wrap, the sheerness of the fabric wouldn’t shroud it completely.

There was no changing her mind after the two maids left, since she’d need help getting out of it—she was stuck with it now. Either way, her choosing to wear it didn’t have any meaning, apart from keeping her clothed, though she thought differently when she crossed into the drawing room.

Galen was waiting, his eyes going wide when they fell on her.

She cinched the wrap tightly around her shoulders. “Should I change?” She groaned, hating the idea of having to call the girls back.

“No. I was just thinking how much you look like Sienna.” His voice lowered to a somber whisper as their stares met.

It was hard not having her parents growing up, but she couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for those who had actually known them. They were burdened by memories that would always serve as a reminder of what they lost. The biggest reminder being Surina—the one who killed her mother by simply coming into this world.

Cyril would never let her shoulder the blame for that, though. Having lost her mate only months before her death, their mother had been utterly destroyed. Barely hanging on by a thread before Surina’s birth. That’s how the gossip of court put it anyway.

“I wish she was here. I wish they both were.”

“Me too.” His voice was hoarse, the pain in those two words alone straining her heart.

“Well.” She swallowed down the burn in her throat, tucking back the loose strand that freed itself once more. “Dinner then?”

The grave nature of Galen’s features sobered instantly, and with a tight grit of his teeth, he said, “There’s been a slight change in plans.”