Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Twenty-Six

It’s your fault.

Every step down the west wing hallway felt like Leirie was treading through water. By the time she made it to Surina’s door, she was fighting to stay above the surface.

Slamming the door closed behind her, she collapsed against the wooden surface, her chest tight with anguish.

You’re the reason she almost died.

“I know,” Leirie whispered to herself, clutching at the base of her throat when air struggled to fill her lungs.

She needed you, and you threw her out .

“I know!” she screamed this time, the vacant echoes of her friend’s suite hitting her just as hard as the guilt.

Sunlight poured in through the windows and doors lining the balcony-side wall, reflecting off the marble of the keep. A sob croaked in her throat.

All of Suri’s rooms had been neatly packed away, furniture covered in ivory sheets to protect them during her absence, however long that might be. Until they found the killer, she guessed, but it didn’t matter. Regardless of when her friend returned, Leirie would be an immortal—a killer in her own right.

Her fingertips pressed into the cool, paned-glass door separating her from the balcony. Stepping into the brisk air, Leirie hardly felt a thing, and she wondered if that blatant resistance came from Fynn’s gift last night.

Sparse as the blood was in the wine, there had been an immediate rush of power in her veins afterwards. It was still there, holed up in her core—a life force that had been stolen and now hers. The wine did as he promised, assuaging her thirst and any cravings for blood.

The potted plant nearby rustled The wind, she thought, so she ignored it, trying to spy Suri’s carriage departing beyond the tops of the trees. A strange whistle followed another shift of the flora, though, like the sound of someone blowing on a leaf between their fingers.

This particular pot housed a bunch of alfalfa that had been growing in nicely through the beginnings of fall. Maybe it was a mouse, collecting food before their winter sleep.

Did mice even hibernate? She wasn’t really sure.

Leirie dropped to her knees, bringing her eyes level with the soil.

“Are you in there, little one?” she called to it, carefully spreading the green stems so as to not scare the thing off.

She yelped when something poked her finger and a bead of blood collected at the top. Either she’d found a thorn large enough to break skin, or the mouse had bitten her.

Leirie glared at the pot as another chittering whistle sounded. She shoved the stems apart, not as carefully this time. “If it’s food you’re looking for, you little brat, I can get some cheese from the—”

What she found wasn’t a mouse to any degree, but something like a stick bug. Though this actually appeared to be made from wood, and not just a perception of it. Then, the thing turned around.

Falling backwards, Leirie nearly shoved the pot over in the process.

It had eyes—glowing green eyes—like a… person? It stood on two legs like one.

Eventually finding the nerve to sit up, she had an even harder time talking herself into approaching it again. Luckily, it made it easy for her, waltzing right out of the forest of alfalfa to seat itself on its tiny rear. It looked up at her with a full mouth.

“What are you?” she whispered, a wonderful bemusement filling her question as she finally got a good look at it.

With scraggly limbs of wood, it dug through the soil beside it, rifling for more legumes while still finishing up the last. It had cute little pointed ears and dots of vibrant green leaves that freckled its body in various places.

One of Suri’s bestiaries on faerie-kind described something like it once. Some sort of woodland sprite, which would have been sealed into the faerie realms with the rest of Seros’s creations. But what was something like that doing here ? she mused.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you, little one?”

It didn’t respond in any way she could comprehend, but the hum that came from it seemed like some form of communication.

Leirie grinned, slowly reaching in to pluck the sprout it was struggling to free from the soil. Her heart nearly fainted when its dainty fingers curled around the seed in a show of excitement.

“Do all of your kind eat so much?” she jested aloud, not thinking it would understand her, but it paused mid-bite. Tossing the legume aside, it jumped to its feet, rushing back into the bush of grown alfalfa.

Had she offended it somehow? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Runa mentioned you talk to plants in your spare time,” a smooth, princely voice called from over her shoulder.

“Fynn!” she gasped, twisting at her hips to look between the now-hidden creature and glittering dark eyes.

“Do they talk back?” he inquired, not seeming to have noticed the sprite.

The crook of his lips warmed her blood. “Sadly, no.” She laughed sheepishly, thankful she hadn’t gone that far off the deep end.

He feigned relief, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “Thank the gods. I’m not sure what I would do if I lost my chances with a beautiful girl because a plant was more interesting than me.”

Realizing the creature had evacuated the pot upon Fynn’s entry, her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Leirie rose, dusting off her skirts. “So you think I’m beautiful?” All fae were beautiful, in their own ways, but to hear it from him made it worth more.

Fynn frowned. “I could have sworn I mentioned that last night.”

“Not that I recall.” And she definitely would have recalled that . The most he would let show last night was his intrigue—not uncommon for many who spent time with her. It was a residual effect of her magic sometimes. She could never really be sure if those around her truly cared or if it was forced upon them through this dark power she didn’t have much control over.

“Well, the secret’s out now, isn’t it?” Fynn drew closer, and his scent washed over her in the most intoxicating way. Just as enticing as the blood from last night.

She returned his smile, her stomach fluttering as she found the courage to say, “I could say the same to you.”

“ Could ?” He cocked his head, onyx irises floating down to linger at her lips, only to fall to her neck, where he lifted a hand to a mahogany curl there.

“Okay. You are beautiful,” she breathlessly confessed.

Fynn twined the curl around a fair finger, a small laugh passing through his nostrils. “I heard the good news.”

Hypnotized by the soft motions of his hand, it took her a while to realize what he’d said. What good could have transpired after a tragedy like last night?

Seeming to notice her silent question, he spoke up. “You’re staying here.”

Right. She was no longer leaving for Cillica. Her father volunteered to head the investigations in Ezra Nightwood’s absence. It would win him a lot of favor in the Court of the Sun. An opportunity he couldn’t refuse , according to him.

Now to be moved into the east wing when the worst of the transition began, Leirie imagined herself residing in the Court of the Moon’s housing, and the company she would share the halls with.

The lighthearted flutter turned to stone in her chest. “I am.”

He paused the winding of her curl. “You’re not as excited as I thought you’d be.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. While the cold hadn’t bothered her this morning, a chill climbed her back. “It doesn’t really matter where I am for the transition. I’ll still be restricted to my room.” Granted, the sounds of Cillica’s oceans probably would have been a better alternative to court gossip in the east wing.

Fynn slid his finger free, letting his hand fall to his side. “Why would you have to stay in your room?”

“Because that’s the way it is here. We’re kept away from humans while we change to protect them. It won’t be long before they realize something’s wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Leirie. Do you really want to spend your days imprisoned because you’re afraid of what humans think of you?”

“There’s no way to know when I’ll lose control. I could hurt them. I could—” Her mouth closed, then opened again. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Fynn.”

She gasped when his warm hand grabbed hers.

“I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

Taken aback by the intensity of him, she remained in a stunned silence. There was no way he knew about her power. Unless she’d been too obvious that day with her father.

“You’re kind and compassionate. The fact that you’re willing to sacrifice your freedom to protect mortals says so. But you don’t owe them a thing. I’m not saying the hunger won’t be a challenge, but if you lock yourself away, then you’re resigning yourself to being the monster they want you to be. And there is no overcoming that , I assure you.”

“You say it as if you don’t have remarkable restraint for a fae so new to immortality. It’s not that easy for everyone.”

He inhaled, irises flicking away with his removed touch. “I have my own demons, Leirie, but I can help you with yours. If you’ll let me.”

Sometimes, she could see when he escaped into his mind. There was never an emptiness to him when he did either, only another side of him that surfaced. Much like herself last night, with Suri. “I don’t know any other way.”

“Spend this next week with me then. I’ll show you it’s not so bad to be a fae. You’ll see that you don’t have to hide who you are with me, or anyone else.” Fynn dragged a palm down her arm, the sudden shock of heat revoking any of the lingering chill.

“Say I agree and give it another week,” she began reluctantly, chewing her bottom lip. “How do you propose we keep the hunger at bay long enough for me to do so?”

The broad grin that followed made her realize he’d already anticipated that very question. “Leave that part to me.”

There wasn’t a reason she should discount anything he was promising, but she really hadn’t known him more than a few days—excluding their chance encounters when they were kids. He had been right about the laced wine, though, hadn’t he? And even his sister had been nothing but brutally honest with Leirie from the start. If Fynn thought she had a chance to combat this new thirst, didn’t she owe it to herself to at least try? Didn’t Suri deserve a friend who would try ?

“Unless you have more interesting company to keep?” Fynn’s irises roved over the plants crowding the balcony they occupied.

She glanced at the alfalfa plant again, hoping to find the little sprite staring back at her. It must be gone, though, considering the lack of noise.

Suri would have fallen in love with the thing, like she did with any pitiful creature—even a rabid dog she prayed to the King of Creation to heal for days on end. Seros never answered her prayers, and Galen was forced to put it down. Would Leirie be the next pitiful creature awaiting mercy at the end of a blade?

“I’ll spend the next week with you,” she relented, lifting a cautious hand to hold off the flicker of excitement that arose from Fynn. “ But , can I ask one thing of you?”

His eyes sparkled with a peculiar twinkle. “Anything.”

“I want you to help me find the killer.”

Then, his smile faltered. “I… thought it would be a request of the romantic type.”

Her face flushed. Why would he preemptively agree to a romantic request without knowing what it was first? “We would have to keep it between the two of us. That’s kind of romantic?”

Leirie wasn’t sure how far his feelings for her went, but the sooner the murderer was found, the sooner the deads’ souls could rest in the Eyre and be reborn again—the sooner Suri could come home.

“In that case—” Fynn dipped into a bow, voice a sly coo alongside his wink, “—I am at your beck and call, detective.”

She laughed, and the strange icy prickles along her skin faded. “I should call you detective. How did you even know I was here?”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his head, fluffing the copper waves. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, really.”

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “More embarrassing than talking to plants?”

Fynn rendered an awkward splay of teeth. Something like a smile. “I may have tracked your scent.”

“Well, that’s—” primal , she thought, instead saying, “—impressive. I have a scent?” Fynn had a scent too. It was woodsy and strong—luring, like dusk’s invitation to night.

He nodded. “You do. Everyone does, you’ll come to learn. Yours reminds me of flowers in the rain.”

Was it because of her affinity for water? Or because she spent all her time doting on her flowers? “Is it a good smell?”

He chuckled, brushing the hair from her shoulder in a warming sweep, nostrils flaring as he angled his head in such a way their breaths mingled. “It’s heavenly.”

The nearness of him was overwhelming, and not just because of the striking, dark beauty of his eyes and the contrast of his skin, but the shifting blood beneath. It called to her the same way her own power did. Begging to be used.

All it would take was one simple command, and he would have no choice but to offer it to her. Her stare fixated on the pulse at his throat.

“Leirie?” Fynn’s worried voice came over the sounds of his heartbeat.

She blinked several times.

Fynn was immortal—she shouldn’t be craving immortal blood.

Leirie wavered, taking a step back, her fingers trembling.

With furrowed brows, he let her shrug him off, though she could tell it hurt him to have her pull away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Fynn. I’m so sorry. I think I just need a moment alone.” Leirie didn’t pause to hear whatever apology Fynn had no right to say, because he really hadn’t done anything wrong.

Whatever was happening with this transition went beyond what power her mother passed on to her—beyond the boundaries of the curse.

◆◆◆

Runa steeled her body against the sweeping blade, angling just in time to block the strike to her side—a little too close for comfort. The jolting clang of metal rang in her ears like a harsh song, but she gritted through it, shoving back against the male who stood at least a foot taller than her.

It was hardly a fair match, especially when Nadia demanded she leash her fire affinity during sparring. In reality, the male would be a pile of soot before he could even think to draw his sword.

Barely managing to create a few inches of space between the two of them, Runa sidestepped his next move, bringing her knee up and into his ribcage. She didn’t hold back either, his snarl returning a gratifying flutter to her chest.

“Blade on blade only!” Nadia’s voice chimed, a slight approval in her warning, which only made Runa’s smile deepen.

Nadia had been weirdly nice since last night, and by nice , she meant she hadn’t called her out on anything all day—coming from Nadia, that was practically coddling. She hadn’t asked Runa to return the dagger either. It was stashed away in her room, where not a soul would find it. Secretly, she hoped Nadia would forget about it, but it was far too remarkable to be forgotten.

So why hadn’t she asked for it yet?

Blaine’s forearm connected with her sternum, the unpleasant thud throwing her off balance. She over-corrected her footing, trying to regain her stance while unknowingly stepping onto a misshapen stone that helped form the cobbled training area. Her ankle groaned in protest, and she went down. Hard. The ground came up quick, a sharp gasp cutting through her lungs on impact.

Then a cool, steel blade slid under her chin, urging her to look up, and into sparkling blue eyes, creased at the ends with a haughty grin.

Eventually, she found her breath, once the painful heaving of her chest ended. “Real smug for a male who just hit a princess,” she coughed out.

He snorted, making no move to drop the deep press of the blade from her throat. The arch of his brows flattened into a scowl. “You’re no princess of mine, Calaechian.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was yours, golden boy. From what I hear, you couldn’t even handle the last princess you had.”

The cut of his jaw tightened with her returned sneer.

She might have inquired a little bit about his relationship with Princess Surina. Leirie didn’t have to say much either. Runa just gathered what she needed from her mannerisms and awkwardness after every question.

With his glossy, strawberry-blond hair tied back to reveal smooth, unblemished golden-tan skin, she wondered what it would feel like to run her hands down it. It was a shame, really, because she liked the pretty ones. This one just happened to have a personality as shallow as the outskirts of the Eyre.

“Let me know if you need any help matching your other cheek.” Blaine rolled his shoulder after removing his sword, the snide twitch of his lips making her wish she’d kneed him elsewhere.

The bruising from her father had darkened overnight into a lovely shade of purple—unfortunately, purple wasn’t her color.

A spark caught on the handle of his blade, hastily bursting into a blaze. He threw the sword onto the ground in a panic, patting the flame from his gloved hand. That hand curled into a tight fist. “You little fuc—”

“That’s enough you two. It’s the first day and you’re already running my patience thin.” Nadia trudged closer.

Blaine’s nostrils flared with Runa’s laughter. “Why is she even here? She can’t be trusted any more than a dragon. Has the general forgotten who spawned her?” He pointed a finger to where Runa reclined against her palms, crossing one leg over the other as she watched his face turn a fuming red.

“You would do best to watch your tongue, Blaine. What you say and do here actually has consequence, as you well know.” Blaine didn’t acknowledge any bit of what Nadia said, so she shifted to block his view of Runa, jerking her chin towards the palace. “You’re dismissed.”

Blaine just scoffed, kicking the still burning sword before heading towards the bridge linking the garrison to the rest of the palace.

Apart from the nearby soldiers glaring in Runa’s direction, there were small groups of females doing the same. Mortal girls, strolling by in prissy little gowns of gossamer and lace, who were looking to seal their futures with the most promising soldier. A Castmont would be at the top of their list, no doubt.

Blaine knew it, too, based on the way he strutted past, smoothing his temperament over with a lordly charade. He returned their wide-eyed gawking with a gentlemanly bow, and a chorus of giggles followed soon after. Runa nearly gagged at the sight.

“What a fucking dunce,” she grumbled, ignoring Nadia’s offer of a hand and climbing to her feet herself. A bitter defeat washed through her as she rounded up her stuff.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Nadia asked, unclasping the fabric of her blue cape.

Blade in hand, Runa tested her weight on the injured ankle, wincing when a stinging bite shot halfway up her calf. “You said we’re dismissed?”

“Blaine is dismissed. You are just getting started, girra .”

As much as she loved being in her leathers for the first time in weeks, after everything that happened last night, all the magic she’d expended, and now her ankle, she was ready for a hot bath. “I’m exhausted, Nadia. We’ve been up since dawn.”

Nadia ignored her pleas, the twirl of her sword a mystifying motion, stopping every complaint that was about to follow. Her dark hair was tied back in the usual strict braid of a female warrior, but some strands had freed themselves during her instruction earlier, framing the heart shape of her sandy- brown face. Runa couldn’t help but wonder what she would look like with the rest of her hair down.

“You’re distracted today. What’s bothering you?”

Runa sighed, a deep, exaggerated huff. “Did you ever think that you could be the one bothering me?”

The corner of Nadia’s mouth swung up, and Runa had to pause for a glimpse of that smile—Nadia took that mishap as a chance to move, though, lashing out with lethal speed.

Barely leaning back in time, Runa watched with an open mouth as three copper strands were shorn from her head, sparkling in the sunlight as they drifted to the stones at her feet.

“Are you crazy ? You could have—”

Nadia didn’t pause to listen, already shifting for her next swing. Runa met her strike this time, grunting as she took the force of an immortal’s strength—or rather half of it. It still made her teeth chatter, though.

“You need to clear your mind when you’re out here.” The breath from Nadia’s words tickled her cheeks.

With their faces so close, Runa got a good look at her eyes in the sunlight—they weren’t just a deep brown but held subtle notes of gold.

“That’s easy for you to say when you don’t have an entire crowd watching and waiting for you to fail.” Digging her feet into the soles of her boots, Runa leaned into their crossed swords.

Nadia countered her weight by pushing back. “I know what it’s like to be hated for the blood you were born into.” Her voice was completely void of effort, whereas Runa was struggling to even keep her arms from shaking, let alone her words.

She rolled her eyes. “Everyone here talks about you like you’re a goddess in the flesh.”

Nadia snorted. “ You don’t.”

Shrugging weakly, Runa feigned disinterest in the subject, which probably looked genuine, considering how tired she was. “What kind of goddess doesn’t have magic?”

“You think power comes from magic?”

“Among other things.” Like titles, armies, and territories.

Then, Runa was practically tossed backwards, her stomach flipping on the way down. The straw and wood of a stuffed target caught her, though she managed to bump her elbow in the process, which only pissed her off even more. Her eyes narrowed, rising to Nadia to find she brandished a smile. She was enjoying this—at Runa’s expense.

“Power comes in many forms, girra .” Nadia twisted the blade again, slicing through the air with a whistle. “It can be an affinity, sure, but there’s also power in—”

Charging forward, Runa put everything she had into the burst, hoping to catch Nadia off guard. She didn’t, and the counter-hit to her blade jerked her sideways.

This time, she did fall, landing on a piece of equipment that knocked the wind out of her.

“—patience.” Nadia finished the statement Runa had interrupted. Hovering overhead, she pressed two fingers into her temple. “There’s power in focus.”

“There’s power in fire ,” Runa snapped back. Flame erupted in a circle around them, along with a wave of whispers beyond the conjured walls.

The warrior shook her head, a solemn mask erasing the earlier fun she seemed to be having. “There’s power in trust ,” she countered, extending a hand to Runa. “You need allies, just as much as any affinity or weapon.”

Runa’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Is this your way of earning my trust then?”

“I just want you to see you’re not alone, Runa.” Her stare softened, much like it had last night.

That nasty, dark blackness inside of Runa leaked into her blood, and into her next words. “So you feel sorry for me, is that it?” Runa had grown accustomed to girra , but to hear her name spoken from someone who was only around her because she was forced to do so made her body shake with an inconsolable rage. “Extra training to distract me from my miserable existence?”

Nadia’s spine stiffened with the heated accusation. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

The surrounding fire dwindled to molten stone. “And your sudden change in attitude towards me? What is that if not pity ?”

Those brown eyes searched her face for a few daunting seconds before becoming resigned. Her jaw went taut with clear acceptance. “We’re done here, princess. Grab your things. I’ll take you to the palace.”

That cold use of her title stung, even if it was exactly what Runa had been hunting for—distance. It was easier that way. Caring for others only made it harder to look out for herself. And with Lucius watching her every move now, guarding her own back would be challenge enough.

Her narrow glare fell to the red-hot stones encircling them. “I know the way.”

“It’s my job.” Nadia was curt in her reply, drawing her own line in the sand. If Runa’s reaction hurt her, she didn’t show it. That was the warrior in her—the Phaetrian . Because being “born into hated blood,” as Nadia put it, was like any battle or war. Cutting oneself off to the needs and wants of the heart wasn’t just essential for victory, it was essential for survival .

A wolf in sheep’s clothing .

They were more alike than Runa cared to admit, but that discovery did little to fill the hole in her chest.