Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Watching from the shadows of the apothecary, he relished the intensity of her ever-changing spirit. This was a necessary evil, one he hoped she would forgive him for some day.

While she was never actually in any danger, he needed a way to rid the palace of the Nightwood king, and the only way to do that without killing him outright was for her to leave too. He hated the idea of parting from her, but the knowledge that their separation would be short-lived was the only thing guiding his actions tonight.

He smiled as a sudden burst of flames arose, nearly to the height of the towering walls. The poor harlot never stood a chance, not against his moonflower. She was remarkable—her ferocity a sight to behold—manipulating the swirling inferno, completely unfazed by the horrid shrills.

In fact, he thought she might almost enjoy this. That is, until he felt a flicker of her hesitation, and the roaring blaze ceased.

What was she doing? She couldn’t possibly be drained, even after her little stunt this morning. She could take as much as she wanted, had she not figured that out by now? There were no limits to her potential, and yet…

He crept closer as she collapsed against the wooden frame of the shelving, lowering to a crouch as he assessed the way she peered into her palm—the mark.

An ear-splitting pulse hit him again—not as powerful as the one earlier, which nearly brought him to his knees, though still enough of an irritant that he had to push back against its reach.

That fucking necklace .

His gift kept him mostly shielded from its song, but the amulet made his mission here all the more taxing. Because of it, his shadows could barely even grasp a fraction of her light, and he could forget about manipulating it altogether. Not that he wanted to. That was for lesser prey, and his moonflower was no such thing.

A sullen groan halted the finger he lifted to her cheek, pulling his attention back to the apothecary, and the putrid thing that now dragged itself across it. He reached for the dagger at his waist, ready to step through the veil of darkness if need be. Once the harlot reached her, he had just about seen enough.

Then, a lofty man came waltzing through the doors, eyes brimming with detestation as he looked upon the abomination.

Impossible , he thought to himself. He had a shroud of his magic perfectly encapsulating this tower. No soul could find its way in or out without his command—yet he’d entered without even a ripple in his magic.

The man’s movements were unlike any mortal he’d seen. His were calculated, a sure and steady hand on the blade that found its way into the harlot’s chest. Her light fractured immediately, the purest form of power practically slipping through his fingers right before him.

Such a waste , he tsked, shadows writhing in a frantic rage as that light left the veil of life to return to its maker—its Mother .

From the gloom, his glare sized up the human, and even with a bit of effort, he couldn’t find a way into the man’s essence. There was nothing. No fragment he could latch onto, manipulate, or take.

Dropping the barrier over the tower, a heated wrath worked its way into his blood as soldiers began to pile inside. The enchantment he’d placed on the area would no longer compel those who wandered too close to keep their distance.

His job was done here, but he couldn’t help the intrigue, giving one last attempt at the man’s light, but his shadows failed to locate a soul, or rather one his magic couldn’t control.

Retreating into the darkness, he made a mental note to keep an eye on that one.

As his surroundings morphed from a bloodied tower and into a room of pristine white marble, his mood worsened. How droll this palace was. Everywhere was sparkling ivory. It was disgusting. It reminded him too much of the city of Avarynth, in the faerie realms—though he guessed that’s where the inspiration came from.

Those mottled memories came to a halt as he stepped into the drawing room to find a visitor awaiting his return. One dressed in the fine silks and satin that only a duke could afford.

“I didn’t expect you so soon, Ophellius,” he purred, strolling towards the drawing room table, where a bottle of thick red wine awaited. “You’re quite the busybody.”

The male leapt from the chair, bending into a hastened bow. “Sire. I’ve come to bring you news of the king’s plans, as you requested.”

Popping open the laced wine, he poured himself a glass. “And?” he pressed, eyeing the sloshing red liquid as it spun in the crystal goblet. His teeth ached at the sight.

“They’re to go to Castmont Keep. If you managed to convince Ezra Nightwood of her departure, that is.”

The shaded whispers of his magic drowned out the gnawing thirst. “Do you doubt me, Ophellius?” It was a warning the duke immediately picked up on.

“I— No, Sire. Forgive me, I meant no offense,” Ophellius stuttered out, stare dropping to the floor as the he tensed beneath his shadow’s reach.

The duke wouldn’t be able to see them, not if he didn’t want him to, but he would certainly feel them. And they were starved, especially after all he’d expended tonight. The two soldiers barely replenished enough to keep his reserves intact. He needed a pool of expendable magic to get him out of a mess, in the event that everything went to shit here. Eventually, he could take from whomever he pleased, but until he had what he came here for, he needed to keep everything under wraps. Which meant those with high standing in court couldn’t just up and vanish.

Not yet, anyway.

He snorted a laugh. “Relax. I trust everything will go smoothly in the coming weeks.”

So, Castmont Keep, just as he’d hoped. The Fairlights and Castmonts were inseparable to a fault. They would trade one cage for another, tucking her away as if she were some rabid animal that was just too unpredictable.

Tipping the glass back, his canines throbbed at the sudden rush of blood in his veins. He couldn’t help but feel envy for the harlot, opening her up in such a way—tasting what she had no right to. She was lucky he hadn’t ended her on the spot for such a brazen move.

It was once a sacred act, long before this wretched curse, to share one’s blood with mates or kin. It was a pact—a covenant, of sorts. Now, it was corrupted, sullied by their weak restraint.

Ophellius lifted his stare from the floor, an attempt being made to meet his gaze, though he clearly struggled to keep it— many did. “I have done everything you’ve asked of me, Sire. I would like your permission to take my daughter to our home in Cillica now.”

“You would leave me so soon? And here I thought we were becoming friends, you and I.” He chuckled, setting the glass down on the table to face the duke entirely. “Unfortunately, I have other matters to tend to. Matters I may need your help with.”

“What else could possibly be left? His Majesty and the princess will be gone soon enough. If you’re to make a move against the throne, I want my daughter out of the capital.” The duke let his irritation slip, and he didn’t even have to dip into the male’s essence to see that—it was obvious by the strained mannerisms and gritty replies.

Another misstep, one he struggled to forgive. Alas, though, he was simply a father protecting his child. How could he fault him for that? Though from what he’d witnessed of the girl, she didn’t need his protection.

“You will remain here. You and your lovely daughter, of course. I’m afraid that without the proper motivation, you’re simply far less efficient. And I may have use for her… precarious talents.” He took a seat in the nearest armchair, reclining into a lengthy, feline stretch before sagging against the cushions.

“You promised my daughter would be left out of your plans.”

He could practically taste the venom growing in the duke’s soul. “I promised that no harm would come to her, and so far, none has.”

Propping his head on a hand, he looked the male over, the wrathful glare on the duke’s face bringing forth a humorous grin to his own features. “Cheer up, Ophellius, we’re about to change the world as you know it. You don’t want to miss out on that , do you?”

Slipping a hand into his pocket, he withdrew a folded parchment to pass over to the duke. “How much do you know of the night of the accords between Thesia and Lythia?”

Squinting his eyes at the sheet, Ophellius quietly shook his head. “I wasn’t present at the time. I only know that King Emryn attacked the fae, and a slaughter ensued. The dragons were wiped out, and…” His words trailed off. “What is this list?”

He could sense Ophellius was telling the truth, which pissed him off even more. Just as he thought, he would be starting from the bottom. This would take far longer than he wanted—it would be worth it, though, to offer her a chance at vengeance.

“These are the names of the soldiers who were present during the accords. Any of them stand out to you?”

“Not really, but if I knew exactly what information you were hoping to acquire, I might be of more assistance.”

The duke was reaching. A little too far, in his opinion. This wasn’t information he was willing to part with. This matter was personal—a wrong he needed to right. “That will be all, Duke Windspire.”

Stretching an upturned palm out, he awaited the return of the parchment, nodding his head towards the door in a silent dismissal once the list was returned.

With a final bow of acknowledgment, the duke cautiously made his way to the door.

“Oh, and Ophellius?” He unleashed the hold of his gift, stirring the shadows around his fingertips so they rose in soft tendrils.

The duke froze, color leeching from his face as his eyes beheld the shaded wisps. “Sire?” he voiced with a shaking breath.

“Watch your tongue next time, or I’ll ensure your daughter is the one removing it.”

And with that, the male took his leave.

He used this moment of reprieve to unpack all he’d witnessed tonight. His moonflower was more hesitant to trust him this time, and that hurt more than death itself, because there wasn’t a single being in this entire world who had sacrificed as much as he had for her. For them .

He would gain her trust back—earn it the only way he knew how.

Lifting the parchment into the fire’s light, he scanned the paper in its entirety three times over, but only one name stood out among the rest. The only name that didn’t have a strike through it.

Galen Castmont .

◆◆◆

Staring silently into the vanity of her bathing chambers, Surina ran her fingers along the red and black bruising twining her throat and cheek. It was stark against the abnormal paleness of her skin, though she supposed that was typical after the day she’d had.

Dark circles ringed her eyes, but she knew she wouldn’t find sleep tonight, even with exhaustion weighing her down like a woolen cape.

When she glanced down, she found her clothes were riddled with blood and whatever other unidentifiable pieces had managed to find their way onto her. Bile climbed its way up her throat, so she looked away when stripping the gear from her body, tossing it into the fire near the tub, the warmth of the flames sending shivers up her spine.

Hot, simmering water awaited her, and she dipped a hand into the bath, hissing at its sting.

With clenched teeth, she slid into the tub, the water turning her skin a bright shade of red. Though her magic could easily chill the sweltering bite of the water, it felt wrong to use her affinity for something as mundane as making it more comfortable after what she’d done to Giselle.

Even the dragon hadn’t made the fae in the gardens suffer like she had tonight. And there was no blaming it on her magic’s stolen control, because it was Surina who wanted that suffering. Wanted the enchantress to feel her burning rage with every lash of heat. Her power had simply obeyed the darkest parts of her mind.

Surina held her breath, plunging beneath the scalding shroud, her wounds singing in agony. It could have been far worse—far more fatal—had the human not shown up when he did.

By some act of the divines, he had been on his way to the apothecary for an elixir to heal a fever. Granted, it was in the middle of the night, when it was illegal for mortals to roam, but her brother had ensured his quick release from interrogation—Cyril gave his word that no harm would come to him for killing the duchess interim, and he’d do everything in his power to hide the evidence.

There wasn’t a chance to thank the man before she was dragged back to the keep, and between Cyril, Ezra, and Galen taking turns threatening any who came too close, she likely wouldn’t get that chance soon. At least not until her return to the palace, because just on the other side of her locked washroom door, servants fumbled around her bedchambers, packing up gowns and other essential items with haste.

Tomorrow morning, she was leaving for Castmont Keep, where Lord Castmont would host her stay for an unspecified amount of time. Ezra would be accompanying her for the journey, to ensure her safe arrival.

Rising to the surface only when her lungs burned to be filled again, she slid against the edge of the tub. A heavy sigh whistled past her lips as her thoughts on leaving the keep countered one another.

On any other night, this would have been an absolute dream, finally seeing what existed beyond the walls of the city. But now… now it just felt like she was running away. Maybe it was the idea of being shoved into a carriage with Ezra for hours on end that worried her.

A laugh slipped out as she shook her head in wondrous bemusement. Everything she’d endured in the apothecary tonight, and it was facing him that scared her the most.

After dumping half a bottle of jasmine soap into the water, she washed the residual flecks of blood and ash from her skin, trying not to think about which parts of Giselle the ash came from. She idled in the tub until there were no more hurried footsteps or muffled whispers, relishing what remained of the bath’s seething caress.

Shoving from the tainted water, she dressed in a hurry, paranoia making her spin around with every pop of flames or rush of wind outside the window.

Quickly, she placed a fresh, new set of bandages on her neck and palm, cinching the tie of her robe just in time for that phantom aura to fill the space. Her heart assumed a fluttering panic, matching the hastened retreat of her footsteps as she fled to her room.

Thankfully, the fireplace was already lighting the way to the bed, and she swore she flew the last few feet, landing right in the center of plush, ivory blankets. When she looked back towards the washroom, that presence had already vanished. She knew now that voice couldn’t be trusted, real or not.

Just when her breathing seemed to return to normal, she moved to settle into her blankets, only to find a male seated outside her balcony doors.

A head of disheveled black was propped up against the arm of the settee, flurries swirling into his hair as he peered out towards the gardens.

Was he planning on sleeping out there?

Her mind—or perhaps her blood—so kindly reminded her of how he’d stayed by her side just the night before, until she’d been able to fall asleep after seeing the male in the library.

“Gods-damn it.” She sighed, kicking at the blankets until she was free from their binds. Her toes recoiled at the icy marble as she pattered across the space, taking a deep breath before slipping out into the freezing cold.

Ensuring the door was sealed behind her, she turned around to find that Ezra was already standing, watching her. A bright, rosy hue painted the tips of his ears and nose, and while the elements wouldn’t affect an immortal half as much as herself, just seeing him like this made her shiver.

Immediately, the winds halted around them, leaving only the cool fall temperature and a crisp silence as they studied one another with equal amounts of uncertainty.

A long moment passed before the king was the first to end the silence. “I know you don’t want me here, but I can’t bring myself to leave you alone. I’ll stay in the drawing room if—”

“I’m sorry about your men,” Surina interrupted, taking note of the surprise forming in his features. Probably shocked that she was willing to speak to him at all—that made two of them.

They really were dead, come to find out, and she couldn’t help but feel at fault for their deaths, considering she was the one who led them there. Moira was nowhere to be found, and neither was the little creature, but they couldn’t exactly have a search party sent out for the latter.

“Don’t be,” he countered, sounding much less bothered than one should after losing two of their men. “They failed you. A far worse fate would have awaited them had they lived.”

“You’re really going to be like this?” she snapped, a startling rage filling her veins, despite the exhaustion.

His attitude shifted to match hers, though she could tell he was holding back quite a bit. “Like what, Surina? Like myself?”

“Like you have no heart! Like you don’t give a damn about anyone or anything!” Her brows pinched together, and she eliminated the space between them without a second thought, prodding his chest. To her bewilderment, he let her. She was so tired of fighting, but apparently, they hadn’t had enough, and the aftereffects of surviving a sure death seemed to be foolish courage. “Stop hiding who you are, Ezra. Stop hiding from me !”

His mouth slammed shut, words dying in the air to take the form of howling winds instead, rushing through the surrounding trees. She thought one might snap in half, based on the groaning of limbs and trunks. The sphere of air he’d conjured kept them protected from his own might, and she’d be lying if she said he wasn’t terrifying in his anger. Fortunately, she didn’t particularly care in the moment.

She hurt him earlier—it didn’t take a mind reader to see that—but even after all the malice she’d spewed to his face, he was still here. Surely that meant something, right? Surely she meant something.

The finger she pressed into his chest fell to her side in surrender. “You should have told me about her,” Surina voiced weakly, unsure whether to meet his stare or not. She chose to, impossible as it was.

The winds hushed outside of their serene little pocket and the tight clench of his jaw softened before his lips parted to say, “I wanted to tell you about her, I just didn’t know how. Three days ago, I couldn’t even tell you how I felt about you . I’m a coward.”

This very male had ripped the heart from another’s chest simply because he’d spoken ill of Surina, consequences be damned. Had ended the life of a powerful dragon king to save her mother. Cowardly wasn’t even close to how she saw him.

“If it’s not who I look like, then—” She swallowed, remembering the way something sparked in Giselle’s eyes upon tasting her blood. “Is it my blood? When Giselle tasted it…”

Surina didn’t really know how to explain the female’s reaction. It was nothing like Ezra’s. His was full of amazement and wonder, while hers had been triumphant . Like she’d won some age-long game of chess.

“Whatever Giselle said to you was likely fabricated to justify her actions.” The king’s glare frosted over with a rage so fierce, sliding along the welts and bruises clouding her throat and cheek before ultimately landing on her eyes.

Ezra knew all she’d encountered in the apothecary this evening. After being brought back to her room, she’d gone through every detail with the kings and Galen, no matter how gruesome. It could be the difference in finding the male who wanted her dead—who was likely the one responsible for the other deaths in the keep.

Easing a hand towards her, he hesitated, seeming more unsure of himself than worried she might shy away. Either way, he didn’t attempt to touch her, and instead, drew the water from her hair, letting it frost over into little fluffs of ice in the wind.

“It has nothing to do with your blood, Surina, and everything to do with you . I told you that I kept all of this from you to protect you, but that’s only half of it. Really, I was afraid you would never return my feelings. I thought if you knew the truth of my past, you would want nothing to do with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I swear by the divines, any resemblance you share with Sienna amounts to nothing. It’s your heart that lured me in. Your soul that captured me. That light in you… there is nothing like it in this world.”

She couldn’t stop her stupid little heart from flipping at the sincerity in his words. As air found its way into her lungs, how close she’d come to death tonight came barreling through.

“Tonight, when I—” A sob caught in her throat, and as a tear slipped free, the brush of his thumb along her cheek mended the shaky breaths with each stroke. Blue-green irises pulled her right back to now—to him. “When I thought it was the end, all I could think of was never getting the chance to tell you that your past doesn’t matter to me. You’ve always been there, Ezra. Even now, after all the terrible things I said to you.”

For twenty years she’d been caught up in her own loss, not ever considering the possibility that the grief of her parents’ deaths went beyond her closest friends and family. Ezra, he’d lost them twice, and had been suffering alone ever since.

“I should have listened to your side.”

This time, he took her hand into both of his, and she must have been near frozen, because there was hardly a difference between the temperatures of their skin. “I deserved every bit of what you said. I’m the one who hurt you. I’m the one who lied—who antagonized Giselle, knowing full well what she was capable of. If I’d just given her what she wanted, none of this would have happened.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how I can even begin to earn your forgiveness.”

They had both done and said things they regretted, so what good was it doing, pulling one another back into that darkened pit? She knew there’d be no common ground in this one, though, not when he was intent on remaining the villain.

Curling her fingers around one of his hands, she brought her voice down to match his own, the slight tilt of her lips curving around her next word. “Well,” she whispered, “there is the matter of your heart.”

“My heart?” he repeated, brows knitting together in confusion.

“You did say your heart was mine to do with as I pleased, should you hurt me again.” A warmth churned in her chest, bringing with it the images of last night. “Perhaps we could start there.”

A tired smile of understanding worked its way into his features as he appeared to remember that very promise. “Perhaps.”

“Good, because I seem to recall you saying I could tear it out.” Surina shrugged, the tired, nonchalant roll of her shoulder only bringing a far grander smile to his lips. “If it pleases me,” she tacked on.

As the little gleam in his eyes melted the arctic feel of her skin, the sight of him reaching for the cut of his blouse made her lungs falter. He swept through the first few buttons in a matter of seconds, just enough to part the fabric over his heart. “And that would please you?”

Her palm, the one with the sun scar, burned with a passive heat. She dismissed the sensation, splaying her fingers on the bare skin of his chest. He shuddered under her touch, those long lashes sweeping over his cheeks as they fluttered closed.

His heart beat steady beneath her—familiar, and in time with her own, it felt like.

“Will you stay?” Her voice was hushed, and she held his stare when his eyes flew open.

Teal irises darted across her face before he found a response. “You’re sure?”

She nodded—it was all she could do.

“Then I’ll stay.”

He’d clearly already planned on staying close by, regardless of her permission, but they both knew she didn’t mean for him to remain outside. That was evident in the way he sped past her, faster than her mortal vision could follow.

The paned door opened to offer its warmth and light, the sudden burst of heat an invitation. Its crackling request made her realize just how cold it really was outside, even with Ezra’s interference. Her teeth chattered with the wicked contrast.

Neither of them said a word as she slipped past him, bare feet making faint pats on the marble when she crossed to the furthest side of her bed.

He didn’t follow her all the way in. Instead, he lingered by the doorway, the sheer fabric of her bed’s curtains the only semblance of a barrier as she began removing the ties of her robe, undressing to the nightgown beneath. Her breath caught a little, but it didn’t make her stomach flip as much as it would have any other night. Maybe it was the soft way he studied her. There was no hunger or burning desire that held the air tonight, only this newfound gentleness—this knowledge that neither of them should be alone.

Soon after, he followed her motions, stripping the outer layers of his clothing until he remained in nothing but the linen cloths beneath his breeches—and that made her heart do all sorts of things. How could it not, when the fire only accentuated every remarkable cut and groove of his body, some muscles in places she’d never imagined possible.

Without letting herself get too caught up in the beauty of him, she climbed beneath the covers of her bed, the drag of sheets against her flesh like silken waters. He drew closer, idling just at the edge, hesitant to even place a palm down. It was strange to see him this way—exposed and unsure.

Sliding the blankets back, Surina patted the space closest to her in invitation. The bed shifted beneath his weight in acceptance, and the rush of mint and pine drifted to her. He lay beside her in silent awareness, resting his head on the pillow next to hers, chest rising in one heavy drag of breath, and she wondered if that was him taking in her scent too.

Without meeting his stare, she slid under the blankets, lying in such a way that her eyes were level with his lips, and the strong lines of his jaw.

“Ezra?” she sighed into the shared space between them.

“Yes?” he murmured, the deep rasp making her legs curl in response.

Twining the chain of her necklace around a finger, she tilted her chin up. “Will you tell me about them one day? My parents.”

They were friends, once, he’d admitted to her, and he was the only one who would know what they were like— truly know what they were like. Ezra would have seen past the guise of a king and consort, into who they were at their core.

After a few moments of deliberation, he nodded, bringing a hand to where she anxiously slid the silver crescent along its chain, halting her movements. “One day, I’ll tell you everything.”

It was sad, the way he said it. The loss of a mortal life was inevitable, but an immortal one? He’d moved on as much as he probably ever could, and whatever he’d lost in the midst of his reign, that would stay with him forever.

A cool, tender wind slid down her back, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was of the gentle aura’s making or not, but that light, airy feeling only persisted as she sank further into the feel of him, until her head fell against his chest.

Arctic fingers trailed her arm, dragging up until they twined with her hair. “Close your eyes, Surina,” he commanded in a sweet hum. “You’re safe now.”

She didn’t realize that was what she needed to hear, because the moment he offered the security of his word, her eyes grew heavy. Not even the ghostly chill that crept in could steal that peace away. Or the nightmares that followed her into sleep.