Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“My first time outside of the capital,” Surina said, the echoes of her voice sounding far more somber than one should for having dreamed of this moment for years. “Any advice?”

Two sets of eyes held her gaze, one of cerulean blue, the other a mossy green. It’d been months since she’d been to the gallery, and even longer still since she’d spoken to her parents’ portrait. Not knowing how long she’d be away, it felt like she needed to say goodbye.

She snorted a laugh, mostly at herself, for thinking this was going to somehow make her feel better. If anything, it made it worse, reminding her why she’d been sequestered in a castle all her life.

“You know, I used to blame you for not being here,” she said to the vacant faces of her parents. The artwork was stunning, but it didn’t quite bring them to life. “I thought if you’d simply left the dragons alone, we’d all be together. A happy family. But we wouldn’t, would we? It was a lie I would tell myself, because honestly, I don’t think we’d be all that happy.”

She swallowed down the sob in her chest. “No matter how many times I’m told I’m gifted or blessed by the divines, I know the truth. The truth that no one wants to say aloud.”

Twisting her wrist up, her head drooped to peer into the sun scar in the center of her palm. “I’m not special or blessed. I’m broken. There’s something wrong with me. Something that can’t be fixed. That’s why they’re sending me away, isn’t it? Because they don’t know what I’ll do next. They blame it on the dragons and the dangers of court, but I am the real reason.”

Images of fire swarming the apothecary flashed through her mind—the haunting remnants of Giselle’s bloodied body. The constant whispers and shadows that stoked her magic…

The door clicked shut behind her, and she swiped the tears from her eyes before turning to face the intrusion.

“Gods, Galen, I said five minutes! No one’s going to try and kill me in the middle of—” She bit her tongue as a head of golden-blond swiveled in her direction. “Cyril,” she breathed with a heavy surprise. “I thought you were Galen.”

“I gathered that.” He laughed, but it was bare…sad. “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted a moment with you,” Cyril said abashedly, scratching the back of his head as he came to stand beside her.

She turned to peer into the painting, hoping to hide the streaks now surely staining her face.

“How are you feeling?” he inquired after a long moment of silence passed between them.

“Sore.” She’d woken this morning so painfully stiff, she practically had to roll out of bed. And her face… it bore bruising that had darkened throughout the night, clouding her cheek and down the length of her throat. She’d worn a mahogany-tinted gown with a raised neckline just to cover up what she could of the bruising. No amount of powder could conceal what remained though.

“If you’re not well enough to travel, we could push it back to—”

“ No .” The snappy reply came out before she could stop it, and it wasn’t until he looked down at his sleeve that she realized she’d gripped onto the fabric of his shirt too. Clearing her throat, she relinquished the hold of his blouse before opening her mouth again. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little nervous for the journey.”

His eyes widened as he found the evidence of her lie. “Suri,” he murmured, a hand raising to cup her cheek. He removed the pesky tear that gave her away. “I am so sorry. I have failed you in every way. As a king and a brother—what kind of male can’t protect his own sister?”

All she could do was gape at the outright admission. Her head shook before her tongue could even find the words. “You’re wrong, Cyril. You’re not to blame for any of this. I wasn’t thinking straight last night when I left the keep. I was just so angry, at myself and at Ezra…”

And because of it, she’d gotten two people killed. If not for the human’s timing, she would have been killed too. “I’m selfish and I screw everything up. I’ve made your life nothing but hell and—”

Her words ended there as she was yanked into an embrace, the tight squeeze of his arms wrapping her into a windswept hold. “You’ve made my life nothing but a joy, Suri. You must know that. There is nothing— nothing —that I would change about you, do you understand?” His words were a muffled shaky rasp into her hair.

She nodded against his chest, but he kept her there, just to be sure, until her trembles ended with an exhale.

He withdrew, holding her shoulders while dipping lower to meet her stare. “You’re incredibly stubborn, Surina Fairlight, but all I see is someone who fights for what they believe in, just as our father did. And your courage… I haven’t witnessed anything like it in all my life, in any soldier or warrior.” Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, he brought his voice down, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes only deepened. “Not even Galen has courage to the likes of yours.”

She rolled her eyes, failing to stop the half smile that came after.

“I am so proud of you and who you’ve become.” Once he lifted a hand from her shoulder, she twisted sideways to follow where he looked up at their parents. “And I know they would be too.”

Placing her under the weight of his arm, he pulled her close, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. “They never wanted this life for you. None of us did. We put your safety above your happiness and lost both along the way, and for that, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Shifting beneath his arm, she looked up at the side of his face, her lips parting to argue all the blame he was putting on himself, but he cut her off.

“Castmont Keep will be safe. I think you could be happy there too. At least for a little while.” It was then that he met her stare, the glassy sheen over his eyes making her chest tighten.

“I wish you could come with me,” she admitted softly, twining her fingers together in front of her skirts. Her brother would remain in the capital—someone had to run the kingdom.

“I wish I could too. You’ll have Ezra, though.” A gritty reply, sure, but it didn’t sound nearly as bitter as usual.

Her brows pinched together. “I thought you didn’t trust Ezra.”

“I trust him with your life, and that’s all,” he returned gruffly, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth down.

“I’ve never heard you say a single kind word about him. Could it be you two are becoming friends?” She cracked a smile, nudging her elbow into his side.

Cyril flexed his jaw, brushing off her humor. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

The door opened as the soft echoes of her laughter filled the gallery, and Galen’s mismatched eyes peered into the room.

“Apologies, Your Majesty, but the general has readied his men. They wait for you, princess.”

General Castmont would take them as far as the outer walls of the capital. Cyril and Ezra had hand selected those who would escort them the rest of the way.

Cyril nodded with acknowledgment before bringing his attention back to Surina. “Are you ready?”

That question danced along her ears, filling her with a strange mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“I am,” she said, with one final glance back at her parents.

They made their way through the doors of the palace, where the shaded nails of that chilling aura, which hadn’t relented since she awoke, seemed to disperse with one last caress.

A row of coaches awaited their arrival, all filled to the brim with chests and boxes. Waiting outside of the carriage in the center stood Ezra, his eyes a glittering teal in the oranges and pinks of the rising sun. As they neared, those eyes never left her.

Now, he wore a deep, red-brown leather jerkin—close to the same shade as her gown and matching cloak. Beneath the jerkin was a cream-hued blouse and breeches tucked into a pair of leather boots. Though he likely wouldn’t feel the sting of the cold, he still wore a dark, forest-green cloak. She’d rarely seen him in anything other than the usual deep-blue silks and velvet of his court attire, so this was a sight that was completely foreign to her.

According to Livia, who helped her dress this morning, royals and nobles didn’t travel in the colors of Thesia, for fear of attracting the worst kind of attention on their journey. With five carriages, and an even grander escort attached, what the hell was a different color dress and tunic going to achieve?

Before she could make it to Ezra, Duke Windspire stepped from the side, offering a quick bow before bringing a lovely bouquet from behind his back. “Fair travels, Princess. Leirie wishes you the best on your journey. She wasn’t feeling well enough to see you off, but she asked me to give you these.”

As he extended the bundled flowers to Surina, she accepted it with a weak smile, knowing Leirie wasn’t actually ill. Slowly, that false smile grew into warm surprise as she took note of how the blooms had yet to open. Leirie knew she loved to open them herself, despite how much it annoyed her friend.

It was a peace offering, the color of white, for forgiveness.

“Thank you, Ophellius,” she murmured, brushing a finger down a closed bud. “Could you tell Leirie that I’m sorry?”

His head cocked to the side. “Whatever for, Your Highness?”

For not being there when her best friend was struggling with something—something Surina couldn’t even guess at, because she’d been so caught up in her own problems. “Please, just let her know.”

He simply nodded.

Feeling a looming presence behind her, she barely turned around in time to be jerked into the air, the tight squeeze of Galen’s arms crushing her in a breathtaking hold, which squished the flowers between their bodies.

“Be careful with her, Galen,” Dahlia tsked from over his shoulder.

“Oh, she won’t break,” he muttered into the top of her head before setting her back down.

She glared between the now rumpled bouquet and Galen’s snarky grin. “I’ll break you .”

He barked a laugh, pulling her in for a far less forceful hug that time, one she leaned into. The crescent hilt of his sword dug into her side, but she ignored the discomfort, not knowing the next time she would see the male again.

Galen was staying behind to protect the crown, since that was his oath given to her father. The only reason he’d ever followed Surina around was because of Cyril’s obsession with keeping her out of trouble—a lot of good that did.

While she would miss the old grump, she could leave knowing her brother and Dahlia would be watched over, especially since the one responsible for all these deaths still roamed the halls.

“Keep those elbows up like I showed you, and give my cousin hell, Suri,” he whispered into her ear.

“Only if you do the same to the other,” Surina returned with a roll of her eyes. She knew Blaine had come to the capital to train in the garrison. The oaf could fall on his sword, for all she cared, she was just glad he wasn’t here to see her off.

A dangerous promise sealed between their smiling faces, just before Dahlia shoved a stiffened arm into his shoulder. He grumbled a snide curse under his breath, relenting only when Cyril shot him a warning glare.

“I’ll miss you, Suri. I’ll visit as soon as I can, okay?” Dahlia’s voice was sweet, but sorrowful, her arms slipping around Surina with a featherlight tug, though the tight squeeze that cinched her in afterwards nearly crushed her lungs—these Castmonts would be the death of her.

As they broke the embrace, she turned to her brother one final time. He was waiting to hand her a parcel, nearly the length of her forearm, wrapped in a shimmering gray fabric.

She turned it over in her hand, inspecting the neatly packed box.

“For your birthday. I know it’s not for a few months, but you can open this one whenever you’d like. The rest of your gifts are packed away. Wait until your actual birthday for those.”

Would she really be gone for three months? She thought it would only be until they caught whoever wanted her dead. And what about the Solstice? Or the Awakening? Surina doubted she’d transition in time to take part in the Awakening herself, but to miss the celebrations...

Cyril looked as glum as she felt, leaning down to bring a kiss to her forehead, when a rush of frigid air slipped over her skin.

“Take care of her,” he said to someone behind Surina.

“Always,” a cool, silvery voice returned.

There was no animosity in the request, nor in Ezra’s response. As a hand pressed into the small of her back, Cyril nodded his approval.

Stepping into the strong curl of Ezra’s arm, she let him take the parcel and flowers from her hands. He guided her towards the coach, and she scratched at the strange itch along her hand, stopping just shy of the entrance.

Lifting her skirts enough to climb into the carriage, her lips parted as warm, amber eyes greeted her. They slid down to the cuts and bruises of her face.

It was him.

A crooked grin washed away the man’s brooding glare almost immediately, and he stretched to open the door to the carriage, extending a gloved hand to help her inside. That motion sent a rush of citrus and... something else to her nostrils. Like a smoky musk.

She chastised herself when his smile broadened, and she realized then she’d been staring into the subtle groove of his chin, which only deepened with his amusement. Averting her eyes, a faint flush warmed her cheeks as she rendered a polite nod in thanks, practically scrambling into the coach to hide from his continued stares.

He probably thought she was a snob, not even having the decency to thank him properly for saving her last night. But she didn’t know how . She couldn’t exactly say, Thanks for stabbing a fae in the chest to save my life , could she? And how did he get chosen to be of the few to take them to Castmont Keep? It had to have been Cyril’s doing, because Ezra didn’t seem to particularly care for the man, based on how wary he was of his nearness to Surina. Or maybe he was resentful of Giselle’s death.

Don’t even go there , she told herself, tossing every ounce of doubt from her mind. There was no room for that anymore. Ezra made his feelings on the matter abundantly clear—he cared for Surina, and whatever he had with Giselle, it was only to keep tabs on the information sent back to Liliana.

On either side of the interior, there was a row of plush seating. She chose the side closest to the back, where a leather satchel occupied the corner.

Ezra sat opposite her.

“What’s all this?” she inquired, fumbling with the metal latch on the satchel and opening it up to find an assortment of books.

“Couldn’t let you leave without all of your favorites.”

He’d urged her to go to the library this morning instead of the gallery, to pick out a few novels for the journey, but she didn’t want to go anywhere near the east wing. Not after this past week.

“Am I to believe you actually know my favorites?” Her fingers slid along smooth, scaled bindings, and the shudder that forced her fingers to recoil tore her eyes from the text.

He’d packed the dragon-scaled book.

Ezra sank smugly into the fabric of the cushions, crossing an ankle over a knee as he rested his arms along the back of the seat.

Keeping her mouth shut, she rummaged through the remaining texts, her stomach fluttering with every title she pulled from the bag—each being a book she’d read over four times, and the last…

Passion’s Call .

“A literary classic,” he said with a spectacular amount of wryness. “Maybe I’ll read it to you, to pass the time.”

Her face blazed, brilliant and hot, before she threw it back into the bag, shoving it away to mumble under her breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Attempting to ignore the wicked flash of teeth that followed his quip, which did an unimaginable amount of damage to her chest, she peered out the window as the carriage lurched forward, hoping to get one last glimpse at all she was leaving behind.

Then, her chest filled with a new kind of thrill—the thrill of the unknown. Not just the travel or the destination, but with whom she would share the journey. Surina knew now there was much to learn of the king, and as she studied the somber gazes of the family she was leaving behind, she swore she would make it worth it.

This wouldn’t be about finding somewhere safe to reside for the time being, but about finding what would have been, had the dragons not taken everything from her.