Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Twenty-One

Anxiously shifting in a velvet cushioned armchair across from her brother, Runa feigned boredom while scrutinizing the flaws in her nails, but really, her heart was racing beyond measure. She sorted through the past few days in her head, searching for any possible slip-up that would warrant her father’s attention. The only thing that came to mind was the male from last night. The male that was murdered.

Because of you , her thoughts so kindly reminded her. Because she was the one to drag him into the east wing. She left him there, without even an affinity to defend himself. He might have chosen to follow her, but it was Runa who signed his life away.

No one else would have known of it but Leirie. Runa didn’t really consider the two of them friends to any degree, but Leirie promised she wouldn’t say anything, and Runa believed her. Which meant, if her father knew, someone else would have seen them together. But Lucius probably just had news from back home and that’s all. If anything were to turn sour, though, she could offer up that strange little occurrence at breakfast with Surina as security. Lucius was always one to be in the know. But what did she really see other than some wind and dead flowers?

Their father had called a family meeting over an hour ago, and they were still waiting on him to actually appear. Fynn had apparently anticipated the long wait, and came prepared, flipping through page after page of whatever book had him completely engrossed this past forty minutes or so.

Squinting her eyes, Runa leaned in to read the worn leather cover. “ Passion’s Call ?” she inquired with furrowed brows. A romance novel, by the sound of it, but what the hell was her brother doing reading something so frivolous? Usually for him, it was either historical texts or written accounts of past battles. She continued through his silence, a wry smile curling the ends of her lips up. “We’ve only been here a week and already the Thesians are softening you up.”

He didn’t fall for her quip, and only lifted the text higher to block more of his face.

She heard the brush of air pass through his nostrils, though, and wasn’t planning on letting him off so easily. “If you’re looking for a replacement for what you seem to be lacking in real life , I’m sure Lady Windspire would be more than accommodating.”

Just like that, the book slapped shut in his hand, revealing a set of dark-brown, incredibly annoyed, eyes. He tossed it onto the nearest end table, crossing a leg over a knee. “If you must know, the book is about a girl who lives by the sea,” he replied flatly. Only the slightest glimmer of amusement flickered in his glare before it returned to its usual mask of discontent—something her presence seemed to provoke more and more as of late. “And Leirie is only being courteous, as is befitting her title.”

Runa snorted a laugh. “Yet, instead of calling her by said title, you mention her by name. She calls you by name too.”

“And?” he huffed, throwing his hands up as if he was tired of waiting for her to get to the point.

“ And …” Her eyes narrowed. “You never let anyone below your station call you by name,” she reminded him, feeling a little guilty for throwing Leirie’s business out in the open like that. But Leirie didn’t seem to have the nerve to admit to herself, let alone to Fynn, how infatuated she was. Based on what Runa observed of the Thesian noble last night and today, it was quite the crush.

Leirie was a far cry from whatever dalliances usually kept Fynn company, but unlike the others, Runa was actually able to tolerate this one.

Shit . Was she starting to like her?

“She’s… certainly not what I expected,” Fynn said warmly, his eyes trailing off to the fireplace, as if he could find the answer within the flames, until his features glazed over with a strange sadness.

“She’s the daughter of a duke. I have no doubt our grandfather would approve, if that’s what you’re worried about.” And she’s far better than the alternative , Runa mused, rolling her eyes as she pictured her brother bringing home the Fairlight princess instead.

Scratch that—she would pay a lot of money to see how that snob faired in their grandfather’s court. The brat wouldn’t last a week.

“Plus, she’s a Windspire. Their magic is just as ancient as our own.”

“Are you a matchmaker now?” Fynn chimed in, a smile tugging at his lips, though it never budged in the end.

Runa shrugged off the noticeable humor of his words, a tight coil in her chest making it impossible not to imagine how it had been before, when they once spent every day together. When it was just the Blackwell twins against the rest. “You’re in line for the throne. It makes sense to align yourself with other powerful bloodlines.”

For a moment, a light caught in his eyes, as if he was only now considering the sensical approach, but that light didn’t last long. “It doesn’t matter. She’s leaving for Cillica in a few days.”

“So give her a reason to stay,” she stated bluntly, rolling her neck to rid herself of all the blossoming feelings.

“Why do you want her to stay so badly?” Fynn smiled this time, a boyish one that reminded her of when they were kids. He seemed to find what he was looking for in her returned glare, and that only broadened his smile. “Making friends, are we?”

She scoffed, now searching for invisible specks of hair and dust on the skirt of her gown. “ Please . She’s an awkward mess—entertainment at best.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, strumming his fingers along the arm of the chair he occupied.

Whatever moment they shared, it fizzled out when Fynn’s head snapped towards the direction of the door.

There were only seconds between her heart slipping into its usual frantic thumps of anticipation and the door swinging open.

Runa rose to her feet, right alongside Fynn, who stood stiffly at her side. She couldn’t even be sure if he was breathing.

He wasn’t alone.

Narrow black irises swallowed her whole as Lucius strolled through the threshold. It felt like spiders were crawling up and down her skin and in her hair. What she would give to wipe that sneer from his face.

He knew what his presence did to her too. She hated him. Hated everything about him. From the glossy upkeep of his appearance to the sleek shimmer of his tied obsidian hair, right down to the cutthroat twinkle of his canines when he grinned.

“Daughter,” he cooed, sweeping into the room like he owned all of Thesia. Even his voice didn’t sit right with her—it was too smooth. Too practiced .

Her teeth ground together, spine going painfully rigid as he neared, eyeing her like she was some filthy vagrant who’d wandered in off the streets.

A sigh passed through his lips. “I see you didn’t bother to wash up. As usual, your manners need some work.”

Arrogant swine . Never mind she’d barely been in her room five minutes before he requested her attendance, then made her wait a full hour.

“I assumed the matter was urgent, Father. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.” Her voice was as sickeningly sweet as she could force it to be, hoisting her jaw up to meet his eyes. It was as close to a “ fuck you ” as she could get without actually saying the words.

Without Severn here, Lucius would do as he pleased, regardless of her behavior, so she’d rather not give him the satisfaction of groveling for his approval. Not that she needed her grandfather to defend her, but Lucius tended to keep his distance when Severn was around. Probably because of the shame he bore in not having a connection to the elements. Not even Severn’s gift of earth had been passed on to Lucius—guess the divines didn’t find him worthy.

“You’ve been rather silent these past few days, Runa. I was beginning to think you vanished altogether.” Lucius reached past her, to where a tray of glass decanters held a rich caramel-hued liquor.

She held in the sigh of relief as they sat in a disquieting wait while he poured himself a glass, downing it in one tip before his lips pursed together.

“That is, of course, before your little meeting last night with the halfling filth.”

Her stomach went queasy. “I’m not sure what you mean, Father. Last night I was—”

A flash of heat seared her cheek, the strike hard enough to set her vision aglow with glittering stars. She stumbled back a step, almost falling into the armchair.

From her periphery, she saw Fynn shifting on his feet—he wanted to intervene, but his interference would only make him the next target.

“You have the nerve to lie to me, girl? You’re lucky I haven’t written to our king of your insolence.” His voice was dark and callous— this was the Lucius she knew and loathed. Not the doting, fatherly act he put on when they weren’t behind closed doors.

“A whore, just like your mother, but even she wouldn’t stoop so low as to open her legs for a fucking mutt !” He leaned closer, so she lifted her chin to him, pulling her hand from her cheek as she welcomed another strike. That move only infuriated him further, and he reared his arm back again.

“That would be unwise, Lucius. It’s difficult enough to explain one bruise, but two ?” Fynn’s warning came with a burst of heat from the fireplace.

Runa glanced over at Fynn, where he stood before the flames, a halo of burning light around his copper waves an extraordinary canvas to the murderous glare he bore into the side of their father’s face.

To her surprise, Lucius lowered his hand, though the torrent of wrath in his features never wavered. “Be thankful the mutt no longer breathes, saving me the humiliation of your harlotry spreading through all of Thesia. And now that you’ve proven you’re nothing but a hindrance, you can train in the garrison with the ill-breds, where you belong. Out of sight, and out of my way. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she muttered, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm to silence the stinging well of tears that wanted to accompany the slicing pain of her cheek—and her pride.

Lucius setting up training for her made sense now. It was to keep her occupied. Like a child in a playroom.

“Then get out of my sight!” he snarled, the command cracking through the room like a bolt of lightning.

Her nostrils flared as she stifled the urge to set her father ablaze—it would barely take a flick of her wrist to reduce him into ash. Alas, the slow shake of her brother’s head made her see reason.

Barging through the doors, Runa narrowly evaded barreling into a broad-shouldered male—not just any male, though.

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I believe I was to meet your father this evening. Is he around?” Duke Windspire offered a courteous bow to Runa, and if he happened to hear what was going on in the room only moments ago, he didn’t show it.

“He’s inside,” she grumbled, continuing on her path without a second glance back.

Only staying in the keep long enough to grab a cloak from her room, Runa bolted through one of the closest doors of the east corridor. The cloak did little to protect her from the elements outside, but the hood would hide the swelling.

Runa trudged along the railing of the marble bridge that led to the garrison from the keep. Was it foolish to wander the grounds at night? Yes. Especially with a killer on the loose. But she hoped someone would give her a reason to unleash the boiling rage in her blood.

Only crossing the paths of a few soldiers with questionable stares, she finally made it to the garrison. Once she stood before a target dummy fully encapsulated in metal armor for affinity training, she jerked the lace free from around her collarbone, the cloak whisking to the cold stone below.

It had been weeks since she’d gotten the chance to truly unleash her power, and with a ragged breath, she lifted her hand, palm facing up. An ember flickered in the center of it, morphing into a beautiful bloom of flame. Though small, its swirls of orange and gold warmed the chilling bite at her nose, ears, and fingertips.

It was harder than it looked to conjure flame. Far deadlier than any other affinity, fire could consume the summoner without the proper direction. Fae weren’t fireproof, after all. And the promise of power it offered was a hard one to refuse.

That had been her first lesson when she was a girl—control. Something her mother drilled into her day after day. Before everything went to shit.

Her chest strained when the memories of her mother surfaced, restricting the air flowing to her lungs, until the scalding singe of fire on flesh brought her back.

Focusing on the bloom instead, it whirled to life in her palm, growing to fill the entirety of her hand. She reveled in its warmth and the buttery glow it cast amidst the stark chill of the night. Licks of flame sputtered from her fingertips when she aimed it at the target.

“ Girra ?” a strong, feminine voice called just to her left.

Her fingers curled into a fist, snuffing out the flames. Runa knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

She grumbled under her breath, turning to face what she could see of her guard in the darkness. “I’m really not in the mood for one of your lectures tonight.”

Nadia let out an intriguing laugh, one that was both annoyed and amused. “That’s too bad, because you’re not supposed to be out here without an escort.”

“Apologies, how could I possibly forget one of your thousands of rules?” Runa snapped. “Gods forbid I leave my chambers to get some fresh air.”

Everywhere she turned in this fucking place there were more rules. More restrictions. More ways to hold her back.

“Well?” Nadia returned, crossing her arms over her chest.

Runa’s brows scrunched together. “Well what ?”

“ Well , don’t let me interrupt. From what I hear, you’re quite the wielder. Though, hopefully, you’re better with flame than you are with a throwing blade.”

Her mouth almost fell to the ground. Apart from the snarky remark, that almost sounded like a compliment. “You just said I couldn’t—”

“I said you couldn’t be out here without an escort. I would think I count as such. So either you show me what you’ve got, or I drag your ass back to your room.” Nadia shrugged. “Your choice.”

After a few seconds of heavy consideration, Runa figured there wasn’t really any reason for her to hide her power, not if they were to be training together. And if she was being entirely honest, she was starting to look forward to each morning—opening the door to find the Phaetrian native propped up against the marble wall as she glowered at the two males guarding the hall just outside—appearing fierce and regal all at the same time.

A sigh slipped free as Runa twisted to face the target again, and she thought she caught a small flash of teeth in the moonlight. An illusion in the night, because Nadia rarely smiled, and never at her.

It didn’t take much concentration for the flames to return as she aimed her palm back at the armored dummy. A blaze sputtered in the center, setting their surroundings aglow. If Nadia hadn’t been able to see the puffy welt along her cheek before, she’d be able to now.

What did it matter if she did? Runa doubted her father’s cruelty was a secret to anyone in Thesia.

Directing her palm towards the armored target, a wicked smile curved at the corner of her lips as it assumed its usual identity in her mind—Lucius.

A massive pillar of fire burst from her palm, the torrent of flame crashing into the metal capsule and swirling around its frame as Runa was shoved a step backwards from the jolting force. She heaved all that she had into the barrage. All of her hate and fear, until all that was left was a tidal wave of energy pouring out before her, gradually slipping into a steady stream.

From her periphery, she saw it this time—Nadia’s broadened smile showing off the points of her canines.

That sparked something in her chest. Something she didn’t quite understand, but she would do anything to feel that again.

After expending such a potent amount of magic, Runa could tell she was nearing the end of the reservoir that had built up over the past week of being here. Her column of might gave way to a weaker, slower current, until she willed it to settle back into the palm of her hand, revealing the damage.

The target lay diminished to molten metal, drooping into a puddle settled on the hard earth.

A low whistle broke the silence. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, girra .”

Something akin to pride washed over Runa, though the admiration from her guard felt misplaced. “Too late,” she jested weakly, the withdrawal of magic already taking its toll.

Nadia snorted a laugh, stepping closer to observe the glowing blob at their feet.

“ But …” Runa drawled, “if you were to tell me what girra means, I might reconsider.”

The silence returned for a few seconds, stirring with the brush of leaves in the wind before the soldier finally spoke up. “Risen through flames. It’s a title given to Phaetrian warriors after they’ve proved themselves to their sultan.”

“Because I have an affinity for fire?” That had to be it, because Nadia comparing her to a Phaetrian warrior was almost comical. They were renowned for their ferocity in battle—never yielding, even with the promise of death.

“Conjuring magic is something you were born with. It has nothing to do with who you are at your core. But you don’t just conjure fire, girra . You have fire in your spirit—in your heart. You’re a fighter.” Nadia’s gaze pierced the darkness, somehow finding Runa. “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

Tearing her gaze away, Runa’s voice was stern once Nadia’s words sunk in. “I won’t.” And it was the truth. She would rather die than become that frail little girl again—the one who was too weak to fight back.

“I know you won’t,” Nadia said with such affirmation, it made Runa wonder if she was speaking to the same Thesian soldier who had been nothing but disgruntled in Runa’s company the past week. “Now, let’s get you to your—”

A large rupture of flame materialized just past the bridge leading to the keep, where the apothecary’s tower stood tall.

“What the fuck?” Runa started towards the newfound light, but without taking her eyes off the healer’s tower.

Nadia brought an arm up to bar her from stepping any closer. “Under the bridge is a path to the servant’s entrance into the keep. Make your way back,” she muttered, reaching to slip her hand behind her cape to slide something from her waist. “Take this and go.”

“What’s going on?” Runa voiced as stinging metal was pressed into her palm. Her fingers naturally curled around the object—it was light, most of the weight residing in the handle. In the dark, she could barely make out the shape of a dagger. “Do you think it’s an attack?”

“I intend to find out.” Nadia attempted to speak coolly, but an anxiousness poured into those words as she shuffled on her toes.

A chorus of soldier’s calls rang out from the garrison. She had to go, and Runa was only holding her back—a hindrance, just as her father said.

“Fine,” Runa relented, her grip on the dagger tightening as she plucked her cloak from the ground. She opened her mouth to say—what? Be careful? Return safely? Having no doubt the warrior would do just that, the words dissolved on her tongue.

“Go quickly now, girra .” Nadia’s voice was softer that time, right before she freed the sword at her hip, lingering only long enough for Runa to make it down the steps that led beneath the bridge.

She did as Nadia commanded, sticking to the path that stretched towards the marble keep. The closer she was to the bridge, though, she felt it—that chilling weight that consumed the air. Passing by the apothecary, the sensation worsened. Like it was warning her not to trifle with whatever presence loomed within.

There was another, though. One she’d never felt before. This one had a strange gentleness to it. A tender wind slipped over her skin, and with it, a whisper. Though no words could actually be heard, she felt the urgency of its lulling pull, until it was consumed by the other, swallowed by the frigid nails that raked over her flesh.

By then, she’d made it to the door Nadia had directed her to, and wasted no time shoving through the threshold, where that sensation dulled. Even the sounds of soldier’s footsteps diminished.

A dim sconce lit the entryway, so she lifted the blade into the light, nearly gasping at the sight. An intricate dagger with a hilt of solid gold wrapped in fine, brown leather. The blade had a strange, red tint, slightly curving opposite the hilt. She summoned her own flame to get a better look, running her fingers along the grooves etched into the surface of the foreign material. There were marks similar to the ones Nadia wore. Like it was an extension of its wielder. Tattoos, she remembered her calling them. It had to be of Phaetrian creation, because she’d never seen such a craft.

Runa rotated the dagger in her fingers one last time, tucking it beneath the cloak as she made to ascend the steps spiraling up to what she imagined was the main floor of the keep. She wasn’t supposed to have a weapon in the palace, and yet, Nadia had given her this.

A warmth unfurled in her chest, one that eclipsed even the sharp sting of her cheek and the unsettling quiet of the keep as she passed through the halls of the eastern corridor.