Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Fourteen

A harsh blast of wind carrying flecks of ice rushed past, leaving behind its stinging kisses. Surina didn’t bother using her affinity to soothe the evening’s restlessness. She was spent, mentally and physically. Sleep was the last thing on her mind though.

She shuddered, only partially from the chill. The rest could be blamed on the images that wouldn’t cease, returning over and over in her head—the hollowness in Ezra’s eyes as she begged him to stop, the heart being torn from the male’s chest when he defied those pleas, and the frantic groveling of Lord Pembrooke.

Afterwards, she didn’t fight the king as he guided her from the throne room to his chambers, seating her in front of the fireplace before excusing himself. Likely to wash what remained of the tissue and blood from his flesh.

Soon after he disappeared behind his bedroom door, servants came in to set the table with dinner. The shifting bodies and whispers were too much for her, along with the memories of the last time she’d stepped foot in his chambers almost two years ago, so she moved to the terrace to get some air—at least until Ezra was done cleaning himself off.

With no guard to walk her back, he would be her only option, because she was too much of a coward to even consider going back alone after what happened the other night.

Freeing her fingers from twining around the silver chain of her necklace, Surina traced the pink welts of the sun scar, which warmed beneath her fingertips—or maybe it was just the prickling burn of the cold that made it seem that way. She didn’t get the chance to ponder long before the sound of shuffling brush far below the balcony caught her attention.

Leaning into the marble railing, she squinted at the moonlit grounds of the eastern keep, her eyes not picking up anything except the morphing shadows of the palace trees and shrubs. A wicked wind thrashed through her then, rattling her teeth and bringing a new well of tears to her eyes from the sheer bite.

Thinking she’d had enough fresh air, Surina readjusted the thin fabric swathing her shoulders and made to step back inside, doing a double-take when a strange glimmer flickered from the same thick brush. What seemed like drifting fireflies had her blinking through the blur of tears. She realized she was actually going mad in her exhaustion when the faint light grew into a vague glow in the shadows.

There couldn’t actually be fireflies in the mountains this time of year, surely.

“You’re cold, Surina. Come inside and eat,” a low, mesmerizing voice drifted to her, the gentle request making her forget where she was, and with whom. That sensation didn’t last long, evaporating the same moment the flare in the brush did.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her tone a weak attempt to remain indifferent. The chatter of her teeth probably didn’t do much to convince him.

A sigh fell from his lips, the light tap of footsteps making her go completely rigid. She forced herself to stay put, keeping her glare out towards the palace grounds.

Gradually, the winds settled around her, and though the cold remained, the air wasn’t nearly as spiteful—Ezra’s magic. If he thought this counted as an apology, he was sorely mistaken.

“Your stomach has growled at least three times since you’ve been out here,” he said, coming up to lean against the marble railing beside her.

She frowned at that—fae hearing. It was the absolute worst.

“It’s your favorite,” he tacked on a little more cheerfully, as if that was going to change her mind.

The nerve he had, pretending as if nothing had happened. As if, moments ago, he hadn’t ended a life and held the male’s heart literally in the palm of his hand.

Naturally, her stare fell to the hand once carrying that heart, and though he’d cleaned up since then, she could still picture the blood dribbling from his fingertips.

Her eyes closed as she took in a deep breath, reining in her thoughts before answering. “I think you’ll find my lack of appetite entirely appropriate. So if you could just take me back to my room, I would be grateful.”

“Surina,” he murmured, facing her completely. He wasn’t wearing the blouse from earlier and had changed into a shirt the color of charcoal. The material was thin enough to outline the rigid cut of the powerful body beneath—perfectly created for killing. “I’m sorry if it frightened you to see me like that, but you have to know I would never hurt you.”

It wasn’t that she thought Ezra would hurt her. Really, what scared her the most was how quick he went from taunting and playful to completely unrecognizable in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t have to see you like that, though. You chose to be that way. Like a...” Like a monster , she wanted to say, but stopped herself. “It’s like you were someone else.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re just finally seeing me as I have always been. What your innocence would never let you see.”

He’d never been more wrong than he was in this moment. She didn’t believe for one second the male she saw tonight was the same who sat at her bedside for a week in the apothecary while she was healing after the attack—the same male who taught her control over her magic on this very balcony. The one who spun her around, dance after dance, at the Solstice Ball until she was reeling in the splendor of him.

“You’re wrong.” She met his gaze then, the cool teal bringing forth a different shiver than that of the cold. “I saw the look on your face when he brought Lord Pembrooke in. You knew Lord Redbane was wrong. You even disapproved of it, but you were going to let him do it anyway. Why?”

Ezra broke their stare-down, raking his fingers through the longer strands of midnight hair atop his head. He’d since put the crown away, his hair was tousled and windblown. “I don’t have the same luxuries as your brother, Surina.”

She doubted Cyril would think his life luxurious, not when she only ever saw him with dark bags under his eyes. The crown was heavy for Cyril, as it should be for any king. The ones that care, at least.

Apparently having noticed the questioning pinch of her brow, Ezra continued. “Where Cyril has lords and ladies who come and go in a matter of decades, my court is immortal. Many are as old as me, some even older. Lord Redbane… he was much, much older. He had a lot of sway in court. If I had released Lord Pembrooke unharmed, he and the rest of his family wouldn’t have lived to see the sun rise.”

By the plain way he spoke, she could tell it was the truth, and that made her skin crawl. How often did something like that happen for Ezra to be so certain of the outcome? “They wouldn’t go against your word, surely. You’re their king.”

“Sometimes they need to be reminded of that,” he murmured, distractedly fumbling with a fluff of ice that found its way inside the invisible barrier he’d willed around them. “I may be king, but my rule is not absolute. No rule ever is. But trust me when I say, Lord Redbane was deserving of his fate a hundred times over.”

While she wasn’t exactly saddened by the male’s demise, especially if what Ezra said was true about the human lord losing either his hands or his life, it didn’t make much sense for the king to turn around and kill him in the end. “If he had so much influence in court, like you say, then why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t like how he talked to you,” the king said matter-of-factly, a dark scowl surfacing as he appeared to recall more from earlier. “Or the way he looked at you.”

Surina didn’t like the way Lord Redbane had spoken to her either, but that didn’t mean she would have ripped his heart out over it. That seemed a bit excessive. As for how he looked at her... Ezra must have seen something she didn’t, which was very likely considering how little light there had been in there.

“Did I get you into trouble tonight?” she asked, worried her presence might have been the catalyst for how everything unfolded.

A wry grin curled the ends of his lips up, and he gave her a curious stare, as if her question was an unexpected one. “Is that concern I hear? For me, of all people?”

Her eyes narrowed, and if she hadn’t been cradling herself against the cold, she would have offered him a not-so-polite gesture in response.

Ezra only chuckled, lowering himself down to his forearms against the railing so that their faces were mostly level. “No, you didn’t get me into trouble. I’m sure it ruffled more than a few feathers, but Lord Redbane won’t be missed. Many will fight over his place in court, as well as his property. It’ll cool over in a week.”

“It’s that easy then, to take a life?” She didn’t mean for it to come out so bitterly, but she was shocked by how nonchalantly he spoke of the male’s death. Would feelings about Frasier’s death cool over in a week? How about all the other humans who met the same ending that Lord Pembrooke narrowly escaped?

As quick as the humor came, it washed away just as fast. “If you’re asking if I have any remorse for what I’ve done, then no. I don’t. When it comes to those I care about, I will not apologize for my actions when defending them.”

A laugh flew from her throat before she could stop herself.

“Something funny?” His tone was as glacial as his glare.

“Yes, actually. You…pretending that you care for anything but your crown.” Even Giselle, who had been by the king’s side for the divines knew how long, had succumbed to a humiliation of Ezra’s design. She wasn’t an upstanding part of the palace by any means, but Surina knew his mistress cared for him. Maybe even loved him. Is that what was to become of those who opened themselves up to the king? Being degraded in front of an entire court?

Ezra rose from his forearms then, dragging his fingertips along the smooth railing as he took a step towards her, then another, until only an arm’s length remained between them. “More of those whispers you seem to believe over my own word?”

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she kept her thoughts to herself, eyeing the door leading inside. Maybe she would just take her chances and walk back alone.

As if reading her mind, the king moved to block her path to the keep, ensuring one arm remained on the other side of her. “What other lies has Cyril fed you?”

The question caught her off guard, only briefly, but it was enough to make her stumble a reply. “What? Cyril has never—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off, shaking his head as if he knew what was about to come out was a lie. “He vilifies me. Always has.”

Surina considered denying the statement, but what would be the point in pretending? It wouldn’t matter if Cyril was the sole source of gossip surrounding Ezra. He wasn’t, but even if he was, Ezra was perfectly capable of ruining her opinion of him on his own. “You don’t exactly prove him wrong.”

Blowing air from his nostrils, Ezra brought his voice down to a whisper—the calm an unexpected reaction. “Has he told you the real reason I took my father’s crown?”

She stayed in her silence.

“No?” he asked, cracking a smile as he brought another arm to block her in before she attempted to run off. “Shall I?”

“Something tells me I have no other choice but to listen,” she muttered, stealing a glance at where his arms had her corralled.

“You always have a choice. Have I not made that clear?”

“I choose to leave.” Her demand was quick…sure.

He didn’t move initially, but his smile vanished as he studied her. She wondered what he was looking for—what he seemed to find that caused his shoulders to eventually slacken. His arms fell to his sides.

As if her body was subconsciously wary of the possibility of deceit, she held her breath, slipping around the king, making it to the door before his words stopped her.

“I was in love, once,” he called from behind her, the somber lull of his voice urging her to listen. Ezra continued, despite her silence and the curl of her fingers around the handle of the door. “It was centuries ago. Before I was king.”

A breath loosed as she lost her internal battle, her mind begging her to go while her body would have nothing of the sort. Slowly, she turned around.

He hadn’t moved from where she’d left him, but he was facing her now.

“Shocking, I know, that a wretched creature like me could possibly love.” His lips twitched at the corners, but no smile came of it. Not even a fake one.

Surina struggled to keep his gaze, even more so when he risked a step towards her, though he kept a good distance between them.

“For someone like my father, there was no such thing as love. Everything was about power to him.” He swallowed, like he was sorting through the memories, trying to bring them into words. “He thought my love for her made me weak, and in turn, made him weak. Liliana agreed. They didn’t approve of her. So much so that they concocted ways to sabotage our relationship, and when that didn’t work, they sought to get rid of her.”

Her lips parted in an earnest surprise, and she moved towards him, halting after the first step. What would she even do? Console him? When she was the reason he felt the need to relive this?

“I was able to uncover their plans, but as a prince, I had no real power, and it was only a matter of time before they tried again. I knew of only one way to save her, so I challenged my father, and I took his crown. It didn’t end there, though. I couldn’t let it rest. I grew paranoid in my quest to ensure her safety after becoming king. And to secure my rule, the things I did...” Ezra’s words trailed off with his stare—it was directed at her, sure, but it wasn’t Surina he was seeing.

“I lost her in the process. She grew close with another. Her mate, it turned out.” Now it was Ezra’s turn to look away.

This whole time, Surina had been led to believe that Ezra killing his father for the throne was an act of greed—a lust for power—when it had been love that drove him to such desperation.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her legs trembling, aching to go to him. “You must think the worst of me.”

He gave in before she could, carefully crossing the distance between them. “You didn’t know,” he said, peering down at her.

“I should have asked you, instead of taking someone else’s word.” Instead of taking her brother’s word. Why would Cyril hide something like this from her? She knew he didn’t like Ezra, but it seemed a little cruel to withdraw the most important part of the story. “I’m sorry you lost her,” she added after a few seconds of stirring beneath his gaze.

“I’m not,” Ezra countered. “I spent years wondering what could have been. But now? Even if I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because it all led me here.”

Air caught in her throat as his hand reached to brush that same strand from her face. Only his fingers didn’t linger at her ear, but slid through the loose hold of her hair. Her eyes fluttered against the smooth glide of his touch.

“Stay,” he asked of her, voice a gentle stream of frosted mint, the slow drag of his wintry fingers withdrawing what little breath remained in her lungs. “Even if it’s just to tell me how much you can’t stand me, or how much my touch disgusts you. Please , just... stay .”

The lurch in her chest was a painful one, blossoming into a chorus of heated beats. He really thought she couldn’t stand him, or his touch, but really, she couldn’t stand how much power it held over her—how much power he held over her.

“I’ll stay,” she managed to get out, forcing herself to inhale the aroma of pine that thrived inside the capsule of air he willed around them.

The grin that arose with her agreement brought her eyes down to his lips, where they parted beneath her gaze—soft swells of pink.

Gods, what was she doing? Falling into the same lure as she had two years ago? Him opening up to her about his past didn’t mean he felt any differently towards her, nor did it change how she felt about him.

She’s nothing but a thorn in my side.

“I’ll stay for dinner,” she added, clearing her throat and making a weak attempt to untangle herself from the king.

A brief flash of surprise crossed his features, but he nodded, freeing his fingers from her hair. Despite his acknowledgment, Ezra leaned forward, the hard press of his body brushing against the peaks of her corset. It was enough contact to make her pulse hasten, her eyes widening as she opened her mouth to voice her complaint—until she heard the door unlatching behind her.

“Oh... Thank you,” she murmured awkwardly, quick to step inside before he could see the full flush of her embarrassment.

“Of course,” he returned, and though she wasn’t looking at him, she swore there was a smile behind those words.

It wasn’t until she made it all the way inside that she realized just how cold she was, the full force of the fireplace thawing the frigidness of her extremities. She’d almost forgotten how warm Ezra’s suite was too. Not the temperature, but the atmosphere. Unlike the rest of the keep, which maintained the same ivories and creams throughout, Ezra’s rooms were furnished with dark oak and the deep-blue fabrics of his court—large velvet curtains hung from every window, thick enough that the sun couldn’t pierce them while he slept. Though his suite setup was similar to her own, his was much larger, and far more grand.

Helping her into the chair at the head of the table within the separate dining area, Ezra took the spot beside her. The table was set for one, a silver dome placed before her, and two bottles of red liquid. One was wine, for her. And one contained a darker, thicker substance than the other. Food wouldn’t give Ezra sustenance anymore, so he never bothered pretending otherwise.

“Wine?” he asked, popping it open to fill her glass after she nodded her reply.

He filled his own glass afterwards, the rich liquid clinging to the curve of the goblet as he swirled it around before bringing it to his lips.

Cyril, Dahlia, and Galen rarely drank blood around her, and since she hardly ever attended events in the evenings, Surina was intrigued by the act. She watched as he took a sip, half expecting a cringe or flinch as it met his tongue, but he looked as if it were any ordinary wine. The taste would be different for them, though she wondered how much different. Would it be savory, like a stew or a meat dish? Or sweet, like chocolate or berries?

As if he could sense her stares, his eyes flicked over to her, and she quickly looked away, hoisting the domed lid from the plate. Immediately, her mouth watered when the steam rose to reveal a braised lamb shank atop a mountain of wild rice and vegetables. He remembered her favorite dish.

Ezra waited for her to finish downing her first few bites before asking, “How did the ceremony go this morning?”

With the whirlwind of events today, Frasier’s ceremony had slipped her mind. “As well as it could, I suppose,” she answered truthfully, taking a sip of wine to cleanse the lingering taste of lamb. “You weren’t there.” The statement was more out of curiosity.

“I wasn’t. Out of respect for him.”

Her brows furrowed. “Wouldn’t it have been more respectful for the king to show?”

“Not when the mortals believe it to be a fae who killed him, and since I represent the fae of Thesia, you can imagine how my presence would be received.” Ezra spoke with a cool demeanor, but a tick in his jaw made her wonder if he regretted not being there.

She couldn’t argue against his logic though, and Surina wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to detract from something that was meant to be sacred.

“Has Moira ruled anything out?” As healer, Moira took on the responsibility of examining Frasier’s body, searching for anything that could reveal the cause of death.

Setting his crystal goblet back down, Ezra ran his fingers through his hair—something he always seemed to do when he was deep in thought.

What would it feel like to drag her own fingers through those silken strands?

Jerking her hands into her lap, she wanted to slap herself for going there in her mind. Again. What was wrong with her? Maybe too much wine. Glancing at the glass, she noted she’d barely gotten through half of it.

“No,” he said slowly, eyeing her closely before continuing. “We know just as much as the first night. Moira could only hold his body for so long before his father demanded a burial. Understandably so.”

Fiddling with her fingers, all she could recall now was the empty feel of Frasier’s lifeless hand as she knelt beside him in that closet.

“Hey,” he whispered, catching her chin between two fingers to tilt her stare up. “It’s only been a few days. Give it more time. We’ll find whoever did it.”

She didn’t draw back, mumbling a soft understanding. The rest of dinner was surprisingly cordial, considering how the night began. Filling him in on her most recent training with Moira, and how she had yet to make any progress on her fire affinity, he was pleased to hear about her growing aptitude in water and air. Probably because he’d been a huge part of it, before their falling out. Every time she mentioned fire, though, she could tell it irked him, to some degree. Just like when he studied her scar.

Once the yawns swept in, Ezra decided it was best to take her back. She agreed. It wasn’t any later than her usual bedtime, but this day had been more eventful than typical, and the evening more than that.

“Before I forget,” he said abruptly, walking off to open a drawer in one of the accent tables of the room while she waited by the door. From it, he pulled something glittery—golds, greens, and browns, mirroring the burning sconces within the drawing room. “Where did you find this?” he inquired, hoisting the object into the air.

When she finally got a good look at what he was holding, her mouth dropped open.

It was the dragon-scaled book.

So he had gone through her things.

“Where did you find that?” she countered, not needing an answer, but he gave her one anyway, in the form of a wolfish, sideways smile.

That had been under her lacy summer nightgowns...

“You’re disgusting,” she seethed, dropping the wrap she held tight around her shoulders to free her hands. Surina trudged over to where the king stood, reaching to snatch it from his grasp.

He swung it behind him, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t answer my question. Where did you find it? In the library? Or did that prince give it to you?” The interrogation flew from his mouth, like he’d had the questions at the ready for quite some time.

Was he seriously trying to bring up Fynn again? “Why does it matter where I got it? It’s just a book on Thesian history.” So what if it had an eccentric cover? The parts she had gotten through had been dull, at best.

Ezra shrugged, bringing the book out in front of him to hover over her head. “It doesn’t matter, really, I was only curious. It’s not your typical read.”

Once Surina had the book securely in her hands, she released the chains on her temper. “How would you know what my typical read is? You’ve barely spoken to me in years.”

“Why should that matter? You haven’t spoken to that Blackwell boy in years, but that didn’t stop you from traipsing around in his clothes and practically begging for him to bite you.”

“What did you just say?” Her blood boiled with those inflated accusations, and she squared her shoulders, ready to argue. But then his words actually sank in.

All she’d ever worn of Fynn’s was his cloak, which Ezra would have seen her walk away with after the dinner.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, huffing out an exasperated laugh. “It was you .”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.” He crossed his arms over his chest, proudly awaiting her conclusion.

There was no way Fynn’s cloak would have magically found its way inside of her fireplace, she knew as much, and Ezra slipping in to take the clasp and her book made it even more believable. He took the book because he thought Fynn had gifted it to her, and as for the clasp, it was obvious he’d felt the need to hide the evidence, thinking she wouldn’t notice.

“You were the one who threw Fynn’s cloak in the fire.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, thinking he might mistake that for doubt and turn it around on her. There was no doubt in her mind right now.

Ezra didn’t speak, but she didn’t need him to, because she saw the twitch in his fingers when she said Fynn’s name. Like he couldn’t stand to hear another male’s name on her tongue.

“That’s why you stopped him the other night, isn’t it? Not because you were worried he’d go too far and hurt me, but because you were jealous .” Surina didn’t blink through any of it, not wanting to miss his reactions, no matter how minuscule. The tense cut of his jaw, the continued silence... that said it all.

“You have no right,” she spat, challenging his glare. “You have no right to be jealous. Not after you—” Surina clamped her mouth shut so fast, her teeth clicked when they connected. How could she possibly admit what she’d overheard that night? Then she’d have to confess to spying on him in his own bedchamber.

“After I what ?” His voice was callous as he stole the space between them, forcing her to take a step back—and that turned her blood into pure, molten heat.

She shoved the scaled text into his chest. “Keep the damn book. I’ll walk myself back.”

Tugging the door to his chambers open, she didn’t get a foot through the threshold before she was jerked backwards by the skirts of her gown, the door slamming inches from her face.

Ice crackled beneath his fingertips, traveling across the dark wood. Her warm breaths came out in clouded puffs of air as the frozen layer spread the entirety of the wood surface, sealing her in.

His cool whisper trickled down the nape of her neck, rousing the hairs with a shiver. “Always the thorn in my side.”