Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Feeling like the ground had been completely ripped out from under her, Surina dragged her way past the palace and through the chilling winds of the night. Though the snapping cold bit into her skin like little frosted teeth, she trudged on.

“You don’t have to walk so fucking close,” she called back without looking over her shoulder. Not a single word came from either shadow.

They were waiting for her the moment she left Leirie’s room, following ever since. Ezra’s doing, she guessed, though they wouldn’t admit it. In fact, they hadn’t said a damn thing since falling in behind her. Hadn’t even asked where she was going, which she supposed was a relief, because if it were Galen, he would have hauled her back himself, and she needed to do this. She needed to find answers—needed to take control of something , because everything was slipping through her fingers.

“Damn it,” she choked out as more tears freed themselves, glazing over into a frigid layer with the autumn air. Her skin was raw with the constant onslaught of tears. Really, how was it possible for a body to produce so many?

She wasn’t even sure why she was crying anymore, because there was no sorrow left. That had long since boiled over into a sickening rage. The regret of all they’d done in his bed wasn’t even the worst of it, but how, even now, she felt like he was under her skin. Like he’d left some part of himself behind in her blood.

Ezra told her offering one’s blood meant more than anything of the flesh, and in her naivety, she practically handed him her heart on a platter, thinking she was somehow different from the others, when really, he’d chosen her because of who she reminded him of. She was only ever an intrigue—some twisted fantasy of Sienna he could relive through her. And the one person she thought she could turn to wanted nothing to do with her.

For the first time, Surina was truly alone. Even the voices in her head kept their distance.

Her arm warmed with a strange tingle as she finally made it to the apothecary doors, pausing to meet the stares of the two males, who studied her with an emptiness that shouldn’t exist in any living being. Maybe they weren’t actually alive , she pondered. Like the undead in one of the novels she’d read. A shudder coursed her body—she had nightmares for weeks after that book, of living corpses taking bites from her flesh.

“Do you mind keeping watch? I just have to grab a few things for my cut,” she lied, and her jaw almost dropped to the floor when one of them actually nodded.

In unison, they turned their backs on her, scanning the perimeter around the apothecary.

Maybe they weren’t so bad after all. Mindless obedience—Galen could learn a thing or two from that.

Not wanting to give them any time to go back on their word, or rather their silent agreement, Surina quickly slipped through the heavy wooden door, slamming it shut behind her.

Having been the subject of many scrapes and bruises throughout her life, she knew the ins and outs of the apothecary as well as her own bedroom. The main floor was a vast circular space, completely surrounded with towering oak cases and shelving, housing a surplus of elixirs, potions, and salves.

She squinted her eyes in the scarcely lit room, very little moonlight peeking in through the tower’s slitted windows. But where she expected to find Moira in the center of the space, by the round, marble table that held her most recent work, she only found scattered candles and shrouded darkness. With a wave of her hand, the wall sconces’ enchantments sparked to life, a dim glow illuminating much of the space, though it was only enough to get a good look at the mess left behind.

Papers were strewn and tossed about, on the table and around the floors. A mass of liquids pooled on the ground, closest to the edge of the table, where glass bottles had been tipped over in what looked like a hasty egress.

“What the hell?” Surina gaped at the chaos.

Upon closer inspection, the liquids looked like any medical concoction Moira or her acolytes would have prepared, though Surina made an effort not to touch it in the event she was wrong.

A gasp slipped out when she spotted the leather satchel from earlier—the very one Moira hid the little creature in this morning. Tearing at the leather fasteners, her heart hammered against her chest, fluttering with relief when her hand met cool glass, but when she pulled it from the bag, the creature was gone.

Trepidation climbed its way into her stomach as she spun around, finding nothing but littered floors and disarray. Even the bookshelves had texts torn from them, splayed open on the floors and side tables.

“Moira!” Surina called loudly, her voice resonating through the towering structure.

Nothing.

Where the hell was she? It was well past dusk, but Moira wouldn’t have just up and left. She definitely wouldn’t have left with the apothecary in such a state. Order was the water dragon’s forte.

Shuffling through the clutter at the marble table, Surina searched for anything resembling a note or message that Moira could have left behind to let them know of her whereabouts. Her fingers froze on one sheet in particular. One that was a mess of ramblings in various languages, but it wasn’t the words that initially drew her in.

Lifting her palm into sight, Surina brought the page and her mark into the glow of the nearest candle. On the page was a sketch—a symbol—matching the one burned into her palm.

The sun of Lythia, though the scrambled terminology made no mention of the dragon kingdom, from what she could tell.

Her lips parted when she saw there were more of the same sketch beneath it. Scouring through the rest of the pile, she found that on every page, regardless of the language, there was one word that was always there. The only word she understood, thanks to Prince Fynn.

“ Aurea ,” she whispered.

A phantom air passed over her then, leaving behind its usual blend of goosebumps and the unwanted weight of its ghostly presence. She ignored it this time, collecting the pages she planned to study in the privacy of her room.

A drag of a finger on her shoulder had her squealing, jumping back from the sensation to face nothing but dancing shadows along the sprawling walls.

Do you trust me, moonflower? That shaded voice tickled the corners of her mind the same moment a shuffle sounded from the marble steps, which spiraled up the outermost part of the room.

“Moira?” Surina prayed aloud, but deep down, she knew the healer wasn’t anywhere near this place. Whatever was here with her now, somehow it knew she would come, and it had her right where it wanted her.

The sconces in the room faded into night, where only the flickering candles and the filtered moonlight remained. Dread turned to ice in her veins, even more so when she waved her hand to ignite the enchantment on the sconces again, but nothing happened.

“This isn’t funny.” She had half a mind to think it was Ezra’s soldiers, toying with her, but she doubted the king would be pleased with his men stepping out of line in such a way, regardless of the events leading up to now. Besides, they took their jobs way too seriously.

The voice’s caress was like a spark in her blood, turning the ice into a heated fury. You know that I would never let anything happen to you , it promised her.

Surina wasn’t so sure about that, and she didn’t really care for the way it spoke with some vague allusion to danger. Her brows pinched together with indignation, and she hoisted her hand into the air, searching for a tether to water. Maybe this thing really was all in her head, but she wasn’t about to wait around and hope.

“Show yourself,” she voiced sternly, her throat sounding like gravel to her ears.

Brave little moonflower , was all it returned, though a lingering tickle made her wonder if it found some kind of sick amusement in all of this.

As spikes of ice began to materialize over her shoulders, a hum at her chest snapped her hold of the element, and they shattered at her feet. She lifted her fingertips to the source of the hum, where the silver crescent trembled beneath her touch.

Plucking it from her chest, she placed it in the center of her palm. It churned with energy. “How is that—”

Run , another voice flitted into her mind, its warning like a frantic bird, desperate for flight. Rushing winds poured against her back, ushering her towards the doors.

The vibrations in her palm grew weaker with every passing second. Even the breeze seemed to pale in comparison to the rising chill skating against her flesh.

Go , it spoke, one final time, before the other aura consumed it entirely.

She ran, bolting for the door, stumbling across the each obstacle until she made it to the threshold. Jerking the heavy door aside, Surina nearly tripped over two crumpled up bodies resting on the other side.

Well, they looked like they were resting. By the way their bodies were contorted, though, she didn’t think they were getting up any time soon. Someone had snapped their necks, and she knew that wasn’t enough to end the life of an immortal, but as the moonlight reflected off their glassy eyes, it reminded her of the way she found Frasier and the halfling male from last night.

Fingers snatched at her hair from behind, another hand slapping over her mouth to smother the scream that came with the sudden whip of pain in her scalp. But that was nothing compared to the impact of her head against solid marble when she was pulled back into the apothecary and tossed against the wall, the hit forcing her legs to give out.

Air was lost for more than a few moments, as her vision danced with vibrant flecks of light, masking the darkened silhouette looming over her. When breath finally found its way in, a cloud of lavender followed suit, the smell a disorienting surprise. It wasn’t until she tipped her head back that the scent became familiar, and the silhouette took shape.

Plump lips curled into a sinister grin, her canines catching what little light remained from the candles and moon. “Princess.” The smooth, silvered voice crawled over her ears. “You don’t look so well.”

Soft, frigid hands gripped at the loose lapels of Surina’s blouse, jerking her forward. She tried to wrestle from the grasp, but her trembling strength was nothing compared to that of a changed fae.

“Where’s Moira?” she spat back, sucking in a sharp breath when she was hauled to her feet.

“Your little water beast? How should I know?” A wicked, high-pitched laugh flitted about the room, and the walls spun as Surina was practically dragged across the floors. “In the meantime, perhaps a seat?”

It was barely a second after her toes met the ground before she was thrown onto the table at the center of the tower, a wheezing cough expelling a winded curse.

“How’s that?” Giselle asked through what sounded like a smile, shoving back against every weak attempt Surina made to roll onto her side.

At least from here she could actually get a better look at the female and the set of remorseless, hazel eyes piercing the veil of darkness.

Surina winced against the spike of pain in her side and head—really, everything hurt at this point. “Not the best care I’ve received here, I must admit,” she returned to the enchantress. It was reckless, but she couldn’t help it. There was something about skating the thin ice of death that just made her mouth do stupid things.

Giselle sighed, lifting Surina’s hand up by her wrist to inspect the freshly opened cut on her palm. That uneasy silence stirred the air. “You just never know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?”

A slice of pain across her cheek wrenched her head to the side, and the bitter taste of copper slipped into her mouth, right alongside the drag of ghostly claws on her skin.

Fight back, moonflower , the voice practically growled into her mind.

“I’m trying, you bastard.” And she really was, but connecting to the elements took concentration, and the way her skull felt like it was seconds from imploding, searching for an elemental line was near impossible.

A humorous tilt to the enchantress’s head made Surina realize she’d spoken to the voice out loud, though the meaning behind the slur of her words seemed to bypass the female completely.

“I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what he saw in you.”

He ? Of course this was about Ezra. The humiliation he’d caused her in the throne room would be enough to rile vengeance in any spurned lover—misplaced as her rage may be.

“If this is about Ezra, then—”

Those immortal hands returned, only now they closed around her throat, stifling any words or any breath. “ His Majesty is only part of the reason,” she strained through a gritty sneer, tightening the grip until shadows curled around Surina’s vision.

The hold at her throat only relented when a wash of goosebumps arose with the voice’s thickening aura. The release was barely enough to get a ragged gasp of air through, but in her struggle, her fingers raked against something smooth and frigid.

“Still with me?” Giselle snickered, patting the side of Surina’s face until her eyes rolled back over to her. “Good, because there’s much we need to discuss.”

Her hand slithered through the strands of Surina’s hair, and the shivers that followed were of the sickening type. “Liliana assured me there would be no contest for the king’s affections once Sienna was gone, and for a while, there wasn’t. I’d gotten so close, too, right up until a couple years ago. It was like I hit this…” Giselle shrugged, dragging a nail down the bare flesh of Surina’s neck as she considered her next words. “This wall , you know? At first, I thought it was me .”

By the Mother, Surina wasn’t sure whether to thank the divines for offering more time to look for any possibility of escape, or curse them for drawing out her death in such a miserable fashion.

Fingers pinching her cheeks together forced her head back towards Giselle, where a devlish mask made the female look... not so enchanting. “Are you even listening? I was just getting to the best part.”

“You’re crazy,” Surina snapped, maybe a little too snidely, but the mention of her mom made her blood roil. The newfound sensation of cool metal beneath her palm only added kindling to the flames too—a scalpel, she guessed as her fingers curled around the handle.

The scalpel wouldn’t kill Giselle, but it would fucking hurt, and it was all Surina had right now, considering Giselle was a heartbeat away from snapping her neck, or tearing it out altogether. She needed to create space, enough to use her magic without lethal consequence.

Another strike to the head, and her body was begging her to shut up already. Even the icy snake slithering over her skin seemed to tire of Surina’s heedless taunting.

“As I was saying, I was so very close to getting what I wanted. What I came here for. The eyes and ears of the court, the power—the fucking kingdom . Then along came you.” Giselle’s eyes narrowed. So did her lips when they pursed together. “And here I assumed it was because you look like her, but that’s not it, is it?”

Surina’s mouth parted to let her know she was just as much a pawn in Ezra’s games as the former mistress, but the nail that lingered at her throat deepened its press, drawing a whining hiss from her lips instead, and a warm stream from her pulse.

Then, Giselle did what only Ezra had done before, bringing the drawn blood to her tongue. A despair grew heavy in Surina’s chest at the sight of someone taking what already belonged to another. It was clear that, whatever mark he’d left behind in Surina’s blood—whatever poison —it couldn’t let go of him. Not entirely.

Giselle’s eyes lit up, as if, through Surina’s blood, she’d found something that was once lost. “He was right, I can taste it. Which means he was right about everything else. About you.”

“Who?” Surina inquired, but her mind was in other places—like the gash in her neck, and the candle which was just a hair away from the pool of liquid dripping over the table’s surface, where Giselle’s billowing skirts would likely be collecting the medicinal fluids from the floors.

Giselle grinned, and whatever that smile was in regard to, it terrified her. “The one who sent me to kill you.”

Those words brought Surina’s attention right back to the enchantress, and despite the obvious lead-up to that exact fate, to hear it aloud made it all the more surreal. Like she was hearing it through someone else’s ears.

“And once Liliana learns of the truth, she’ll know I was sent here on a fool’s errand. She’ll welcome me back, because the king was never going to be mine, was he? She’ll give me another chance.”

The way the female frantically rambled on and on about the duchess’s acceptance, it was almost enough to make Surina feel sorry for her.

Almost.

Having distracted Giselle long enough for her to feel the reach of her magic foraging for the elemental tethers, she hoisted herself up from the table, putting all remaining strength into the swing of her arm. The scalpel lodged between the female’s collarbone and throat, the strike misting Surina’s face with flecks of warm scarlet.

Apart from the visible damage, and the wet choking sound Giselle made when it pierced her flesh, it barely did a damn thing.

Surina’s eyes went wide when an iron grasp slapped around her throat. The sting of her open wound was barely noticeable as she clawed at the fae’s hold, thrusting her knees against the immortal being.

But every shift or kick just relinquished the rest of her oxygen.

Giselle’s other hand slowly made its way to the protruding scalpel. She withdrew the blade, while expertly maintaining a stone-faced veneer. The wound regenerated right before Surina’s very eyes. Something Surina would have thought amazing, if not for the obvious.

“I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds you,” Giselle murmured, her voice honeyed with contempt.

Surina tried not to imagine it… torn, blue-green irises. The very ones she’d seen tonight, because she couldn’t bite her tongue long enough to listen to his side of the story. And now she’d never get that chance again. Not in this life.

Rapid beats pulsed against her chest, and for a moment, she thought it was her heart, fiercely battling until the very end, only its thrum hastened where she knew the necklace rested between her breasts. And her arm—it felt like it was on fire.

Fire —the candle.

Surina’s vision was blurring in and out of focus by then, but through the wavering haze of her sight, the flickering promise of survival arose.

It was a risk, hoping that the liquid would be flammable—a risk that paid off when she shoved her hand out, knocking the candle onto its side. A rush of heat grazed her own skin before Giselle’s skirts burst into flames, engulfing her legs in a shrouding blaze.

Surina shied away from the haze of fire and screams as she rolled from the table, gasping for air while narrowly avoiding Giselle’s lashing claws. The second her boots met solid marble, a dizzying wave bent and swayed the room around her. She barely caught herself on the edge of a bookshelf on her way down, the impact to her elbow inciting a gritty whimper.

Get up, moonflower , the voice commanded her, its invisible nails raking down her skin now a piercing cry. Take control .

Fully aware that her stubbornness would likely end in her death, Surina listened to the whispers this time, letting that numb static consume her like the flames that rose with the enchantress’s movements.

“Fairlight bitch ,” Giselle shrieked across the dwindling distance between them, her steps jerky and rigid. “I’ll drain you of every last drop.”

“Try it,” Surina coughed out, easing backwards with caution.

But her magic wasn’t the slightest bit cautious. That electric sensation clouded around her like coursing webs of lightning, rousing the greed of her power. It forced her to obey and take control—or rather let it take control.

With her fire affinity gone, Surina knew of only one other way to manipulate the element. Her magic connected with the winds, a slip of air stirring the licks of fire into a prison of flame. She and the winds became one, until the tendrils rose with her very breath.

The intensity of the heat picked up as the wild blaze stretched to Giselle’s shoulders, then to her chin, halting her steps. A swirling inferno curled over the top of the enchantress, and the cyclone raged on, its mighty gale tugging at Surina’s hair.

Papers ripped free from their surfaces, only to disappear into the starved flames—feeding it. An agonizing scream echoed through the chamber, until not even a silhouette could be seen beyond the ghastly barricade of light.

Where there should have been some semblance of guilt or remorse for the torment Surina brought upon the female, there was only a numbing cold. Even the ground rumbling beneath her feet grew lighter.

A tang of bitter copper poured into her mouth. She looked down to where the blood dripped from her nostrils and onto her flesh—her skin was… glowing?

Her teeth gritted against the sweltering heat of her hand when a molten bite sunk into her palm. The hold she claimed over the elements snapped. Then, all she could see was the dragon’s eyes in the gardens, its wave of fire rushing towards her, and the searing, excruciating pain.

She hadn’t even realized she was retreating from the flames until her back collapsed against the bookshelf, the sound of the infernal winds now a quelled lull. Wiping at the blood dribbling off her chin, relief began to creep its way in. Her heart slowly settled into a slight repose, and she pushed back against the horrid memories of that night, letting the assurance of life take hold instead.

It’s over , she thought to herself, too exhausted to even conjure a breath of consolation.

A haunting groan brought her eyes up, where they landed on the revolting thing that was now Giselle. Her once flawless, olive skin had been completely engulfed by fire, so much that Surina was repulsed by the sight of her. It was like her skin had melted to the bone, oozing and foul. The disgusting stench of burned hair and flesh filled the air, replacing the dizzying scent of lavender that typically accompanied the female.

Nausea ate at Surina’s insides, and just when she thought that was enough to make her hurl, Giselle gaped, releasing a sickening gurgle before stretching an arm towards Surina. She swore Giselle’s canines appeared elongated, almost like a snake’s—it wasn’t unusual to see things when one was seconds from death though.

Giselle’s mottled limb was inches from her throat when a splatter of red sprayed a new layer of blood at Surina’s face. The glistening tip of a blade protruded from Giselle’s chest, almost grazing her own. The blade was jerked free, and the enchantress was chucked to the side, collapsing at their feet.

Amber irises framed by furrowed brows replaced that vile hazel. He surveyed the female, an unwavering, gloved grip on the culpable blade, even as he looked upon Surina.

It was the servant from Ezra’s chambers. The one who’d returned her clothes.

The sting of her palms hitting the floor when her knees buckled made her muffle a cry, and it was only then that the dagger loosed from his hold, clattering onto the marble below.

“Are you al—” was all he managed to get out before she retched up everything that was churning inside.

The man shifted out of the mess she’d made of his boots, shaking it off with a silent irritation. “You’re fine.” He sighed, seeming more disgusted by the vomit than the pile of flesh and blood which glistened on the black leather like a newly polished shine.

“You killed her,” Surina croaked when she’d finished expelling all that remained from dinner. The head or the heart , she recalled Ezra once mentioning. The only way to truly end an immortal, and he’d gone right through her chest.

He didn’t reply, just studied her like he had in Ezra’s room—like she was some foreign object he couldn’t quite figure out.

Silent moments passed before his gloved hand stretched out before her, pulling her eyes up from the heap of hot flesh and blood. A strange itch tickled her hand, one that barely lasted a second when her fingers slid into his welcoming palm, and then she was hoisted from her knees. The hold of his hand lingered long enough for her to regain balance, and then he jerked the curl of his fist to his side.

A burst at the door to the apothecary ensured no words followed either of their questioning stares. The man almost seemed relieved by the wave of soldiers who swarmed the room, encircling the destruction. One soldier made to separate him from Surina—it was Galen—and her first breath at the sight of the male made her shoulders sag with relief.

Still, even with the comfort of her guard’s arm curling around her shoulders, ushering her towards the moonlit air, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, despite her surviving Giselle, this wasn’t over.

The one who sent me to kill you.

Between the shuffling bodies and hushed commands being passed around, she still managed to catch a glimpse of the human. He was looking past her—a glare residing solely on the male who now filled the entrance to the apothecary. Whose magic seeped through his flesh in the form of fog and frost, stretching to twine around her ankles.

Ezra.