Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Thirty

The whining scrape of her fork across porcelain made her cringe, but it also rid her mind of the embarrassment of losing to Blaine today, so she kept doing it, stopping only when she looked up and into Leirie’s displeased glare.

Leirie stared her down from the opposite side of the table they occupied in the dining hall, an unspoken promise of immense pain in those deceptive doe eyes.

To divert that stare from herself, she pointed the fork at the untouched plate set before her friend—that’s what Leirie was now. A friend.

“You’re not hungry?” Runa asked, her voice semi-apologetic.

In the past couple weeks, Lady Windspire seemed to be the only person in the palace that would tolerate her since she’d pushed Nadia away. That included her own brother some days— most days. He’d been so moody lately. Likely Lucius’s doing, since Fynn would be the only one performing whatever meager tasks entertained their father for the day.

Leirie squinted at Runa’s plate, slapping shut the thin notebook she’d been scribbling in all evening. “I should ask you the same thing. You’ve been playing with your food for ten minutes.”

Pursing her lips, Runa scowled. The nagging clucks reminded her of a mother hen. “I have a lot on my mind.”

Those kind, brown eyes warmed over, and Leirie leaned in. “Aeric?”

Releasing her strain on the fork, Runa pulled her hands into her lap, where her stare fell. The halfling’s name was Aeric—the one who was killed in the library.

She was lying to Leirie, and she knew she was a shitty person for even calling herself a friend, but if the guilt of the lies weren’t punishment enough, then she would happily accept the depths of the Eyre in the afterlife.

Leirie prodded her until Runa finally confessed to getting little to no sleep each night, and rather than dive into the details of her feelings , she went for the easy way out. She told Leirie her sleepless nights stemmed from the male she’d spent barely an hour with.

And did Leirie let it go when she asked her to? Nope. She just dug up as much information on Aeric as she could, thinking that knowing his name and that he grew up in a loving family would make her feel better about the male’s demise.

In truth, it wasn’t the dead halfling who kept her up at night—horrible as that sounded—but recurring nightmares of her mother. The same one, really, and it was one she thought she’d outgrown. She’d wake in a puddle of her own sweat each night.

It always started with her at the top of a mountain, so high above the heaviness of the world that she should feel light and unburdened.

That was never the case.

A crushing weight was all it ever was. She searched and begged for breath that never came. Then, she would be in her room back home, her mother standing over her. The feeling of suffocation didn’t end when she left the mountain—even in her bed, air was all around her, but it never filled her lungs.

“It’s not Aeric,” she averted, hoping to dodge any follow-on questions. According to Leirie’s pinched brows, there would be, so Runa interjected preemptively. “It’s your little golden boy. A real fucking charmer, that one.”

Leirie laughed. “I’m not surprised you two butt heads. He and Suri always did. Too much personality in one space I suppose.”

A scoff whistled through her teeth. “ Personality? That idiot is as stale as his bloodline.” So is the Fairlight princess , she wanted to add, but knew Leirie was still struggling with Surina’s sudden departure from the capital.

See, she mused, the old you wouldn’t have hesitated .

Runa tapped a hand over the soft, ivory cloth of the dining table. “Speaking of smug little shits, spent any time with my brother lately?”

Leirie’s face fell, and she sank into the plush, blue cushions of the chair. “Not really. I’ve been so busy with the investigation…” Leirie’s fingernails grazed idle circles along the leather-bound notebook she used to notate all her findings. “Almost two weeks and I haven’t gotten any closer to a suspect.”

Only two people knew about Leirie sneaking information from her father’s investigation—Fynn and herself. Runa only happened to find out last week, when she bumped into her, rushing from the Fairlight king’s study, arms carrying piles of papers and texts with the most recent discoveries.

Turns out, the prim and proper daughter of a duke had a delightfully sinful nature. Stealing from a king would land her right in a prison cell. Or worse. But in doing so, Leirie had uncovered a lot that wasn’t being shared with the palace inhabitants. Like how there were more than just two deaths.

At least three other mortal servants and two fae soldiers were found in the exact same circumstances as the others—no marks or wounds to indicate a clear cause of death.

Sighing, she propped her head on a fist. “What about me ?” Runa jested with a smile, hoping to alleviate the tight wrinkles on her forehead by lightening the mood. She wagged her finger to ignite the candles at the table. “Maybe I melted their insides.”

Flinching against Runa’s crude fun, Leirie’s wary eyes drifted over every occupied table. “The autopsies showed no signs of stress within. And you have multiple alibis.”

Runa’s smile vanished.

She’d only been joking, but when the fuck had Leirie considered her as a possible culprit? Before she could ask, Golden Boy strode right into the dining hall, his usual posse of would-be lords glued to his ass.

“I just want to know why . What’s the motive? These deaths all seem so… random .” Leirie’s sad little sigh brought Runa’s attention back for a moment—only for a moment—before the pack of pricks’ laughter clattered through the hall.

Runa reached to take a swig of wine when Blaine looked her way, a shining smile plastered on that gorgeous face, which was crinkled with a carnal delight.

He was all too pleased with himself, having dislocated her shoulder at the beginning of their duel this morning. Thankfully, Leirie was nearby and had the means to conjure and craft an immediate ice press once Nadia popped it back into place. With the dragon gone, the next best healer was some halfling who barely had enough water magic in her to make Runa’s shoulder usable again. The healer told Runa to refrain from training for the next few days, which she’d scoffed at.

Extending a vulgar gesture to Blaine, Runa downed the sweetened liquid in one tip. “Some people are just sick,” she grumbled aloud, bringing the crystal goblet to the table.

“Sick,” Leirie repeated, mulling over the word before flipping through her notebook.

In the meantime, Runa poured herself another glass.

“Runa, that’s it!” Leirie suddenly chimed, her bell voice a lilted song as she leapt up so fast, the chair toppled backward. “You’re a genius!”

A ray of sunlight, Leirie shined beneath the chandeliers in her periwinkle gown, which would have looked plain on anyone but her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Windspire,” Runa muttered into her cup, indulging herself in a portion that went beyond the acceptable limit for a lady. “I don’t disagree though.”

Leirie rounded up her reading materials, a noticeable carefulness in each of her movements. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” the prim little fae called from over her shoulder.

“I guess.” Her response was dry, but it was just about the only thing Runa looked forward to each day—aside from every morning when Nadia escorted her from her room to the training grounds. Not that much was ever said between them in those moments. Just having her there almost made it feel like before, though.

By the time she finished the last of the wine, and got a good ten minutes of sulking in, Golden Boy was already gone. His little cluster of handsome, soon-to-be immortals remained, meandering the dining hall to flirt with girls of all mortalities—other mortal fae, halflings, and even humans. The males didn’t seem too particular in their choices when it came to physical appearance. Something they all had in common, though, was their attraction to prestige.

Leirie was kind enough to spin her up on the haves and have-nots of her court. The girls these males targeted were daughters, sisters, and nieces of many influential lords and ladies on the Court of the Sun—their ticket in, apparently.

Humans had been changing their ways, mixing an immortal into their bloodline every so often to give their families a leg up. The more fae blood in one’s parentage, the longer one lived, but whatever child came of it would be mortal—beautiful and long-lived, but still mortal.

If these males were anything like the ones from her home, their wives would be nothing but cattle with a coin purse. The sad part was, the women were willing —eager—if it meant they were to be on the arm of an immortal when they were wrinkly old bags of skin.

Noticing one of the males getting a little too handsy with a lady who was far from interested but too polite to say so, Runa shoved up from the table. The room swam with melding colors of gold, silvers, and blues, thanks to her extra helping of wine.

Keeping a steady hand on the table until her vision settled, she focused her sights on the girl again, who was practically barricaded in as the male whispered something she didn’t seem to find endearing.

With a whisk of Runa’s hand, an ember started at the end of his pants leg. Just a little one… not her fault the male’s vanity couldn’t bear to be without pants made from a very fine, very combustible fabric.

The material quickly caught flame, hastily climbing his legs. Shrieks sounded as every head turned to the chaos, but Runa aimed for the exit. The frantic screaming of the male tickled her stomach with a diabolical excitement—either that, or she’d had way too much to drink.

Leaving the vibrant light of the west wing to enter the quiet murkiness of the eastern halls, her humor gradually dissolved. The clicks of her heeled booties were deafening, a shudder rolling down her spine as she squinted through partial darkness. Lingering bodies idled just outside of the moon’s rays.

Fewer and fewer fae were attending court since the Fairlight king had started presiding over it in Ezra Nightwood’s absence. Technically speaking, he was still their king, but the fae here would sooner give up blood than bend to a Fairlight’s command—at least that’s what she’d learned from her hasty walks to her room each night.

Since the fae no longer spent their evenings in court, they searched for entertainment in other places. Most roamed the palace grounds in hopes that a mortal was daring enough to venture outside of their halls. And the rest…

She had to slither past two ogling fae with incredibly presumptive stares. The male was practically fucking her with his eyes. The female, sealed in a deep-blue, skin-tight ensemble that accentuated every luscious curve, leaned against the marble wall. Swirling the goblet she held, her red-stained lips parted to showcase the lethal beauty of her curse. Her tongue curled around a lengthy canine, suggesting an offer that went beyond sex.

A fae’s kiss—their bite —would be potent enough to dull the ache in her chest. It was a high that even opium couldn’t compare to, never mind a few glasses of wine.

Tempting as it was, there was no way Runa would come out on the receiving end in that exchange. Snapping her head forward, the sickly chill of their gazes forced her to summon a heated aura over her exposed flesh, and a warning flare at her fingertips.

Their velvet laughter followed her down the hall, until she finally made it to her bedroom door, which was no longer guarded by two soldiers. Lucius had deemed a male’s presence outside of her room as “improper,” so he dismissed them.

Her father never did anything that didn’t serve a purpose. Whether this purpose was to ensure she kept her guard up at all times or was to simply make her nights sleepless and endlessly terrifying, she didn’t complain. She sure as shit wasn’t going to beg him to reconsider.

As she crept closer to her room, though, a buttery glow seeping out from a crack in the door—a door she knew she secured before leaving for dinner—made her bounce around the idea of begging.

Screw it , she thought to herself. It had been too shitty of a day to let some slinking pervert ruin her night too. Or maybe it was the killer, thinking the only mortal in the east wing would be easy prey.

Her blood got a rise out of the sudden shock of adrenaline, which mostly cleared the fog of her last glass of wine. Runa slipped her booties off to make it easier to maneuver.

Not giving herself time to back down, she tore through the threshold. Her heart slammed against her chest as she made it four steps into the room. Stifling a scream, the fireplace flared brighter with the surprise of finding someone waiting in plain sight.

Sprawled out on the sofa, twisting Nadia’s dagger of red and gold playfully between his fingers, was Blaine.

“Took you long enough.” He flashed a grin, the sly tilt of his lips similar to his earlier glee after dislocating her shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she snarled, slamming the door shut to keep their voices sequestered to the room. Trudging across the chilly floors with bare feet, she snatched the dagger away, contemplating whether or not to open him up with it.

Blaine rose from his back to toy with the intricate lace of her dress’s corset. “You gave me the signal. I assumed—”

The faint scrape of the blade against his neck shut him up. She strained a vicious smile. “You assumed wrong, Golden Boy. That was definitely not the signal.”

“Well, since I’ve risked so much in coming here…” Smoothing his hands over her hips, he wandered around to cup her ass.

Pretentious bastard .

For the past week, they’d been using one another. Nothing more than a natural impulse to satisfy their physical needs. The goddess scald her for thinking it, but if he kept his pretty mouth shut, it was all too easy to get lost in that body.

She cocked her head, sliding the tip of the red metal over the bob in his throat, until it reached where the fabric parted above his pectorals. The dangerous gleam in his eyes matched the want of her racing heart.

Finding the surrender in her features, he blazed through his buttons with an eager purpose, stripping the shirt from his body. She ate it all up—the solid artwork of his muscles, the obvious flex of those muscles as her gaze swept over them, the scarred fingers that rested on his legs, twitching with anticipation... all the way down to the thick imprint of his cock, straining against his pants. Recalling how his cock had felt between her legs last night, a languid heat collected there.

Runa fixed her face, amending the longing with an apathetic glare as she pressed the blade to the waistband of his trousers next. “Take them off.”

It was evident by the way his eyes narrowed that he didn’t like being ordered around—especially not by a Calaechian. But she didn’t like having her shoulder detached from its socket, so, here they were.

She raised a brow, daring him to say something that would give her an excuse to kick him out of her room.

With flared nostrils, Blaine relented. The tight lines of his face hardened as he shucked his boots off first, moving to the fasteners of his trousers afterwards. Once he freed his proud length—and he was proud of it—he leaned back against the sofa, a slight jerk of his chin insinuating that it was her turn.

Fine.

With the dagger in one hand, she followed his stare while tugging the ties of her corset with the other.

Blaine didn’t bother looking at her face—pleasing as she knew it was. His focus was elsewhere. Like on the cleavage struggling to stay confined to the black lace slip she stood in once her gown fell to the floor.

Clicking her tongue, Runa slid the dagger to the underside of his jaw to bring his gaze back up. “Wishing I was someone else?” Someone with gray-blue eyes and shining blond hair. He’d already mentioned Surina more times than she could count in a single week.

He returned a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“ Jealous ?” she droned, stepping from the bunched fabric, all the while noting the way he sized up her long, snow-white legs.

Runa leaned in, propping a hand on the back of the sofa. Her copper hair fell forward to frame her cheeks. Scraping the blade away, she laid it on the cushion beside them.

“It takes more than this —” reaching for his cock, she claimed the space just below the tip, skating her thumb along the head in tantalizing strokes, “—to make me jealous, Golden Boy.”

His eyelids fluttered closed, and she studied his stunning, angular features, and how they twisted into a double-sided mask of bliss and loathing when her hand gripped harder.

Males were too easy—too predictable. Like the brief streak of surprise that crossed his face when she dropped to her knees, the parting of his lips as her tongue skimmed the underside of his cock, trailing the throbbing vein that ran along it. And how could she forget—the inevitable way his fingers twined her hair when her mouth closed over top, cinching tight to give himself the illusion of control. The illusion of power .

He wasn’t in control, and he held no power, but she would let him think it. For a time.

A bead of salted moisture met her mouth to mark the start of his pleasure. Runa ran her tongue along the slit, smiling when his shudder ran through her. “What would your sweet Surina think of you, whimpering like a little mouse for someone else?”

Blaine tugged at her hair before she could latch on again, forcing her to peer into the glassy blue that shone through his lashes. “You really think I would be here with you if I cared what she thought of me?”

Her temper boiled up, restraint snagging on the thorns of his words and the lashing fury she’d been bottling up since training earlier—been bottling up since forever . A fury that was scorching and fierce. She wanted to cut his hands from his body and turn them to ash right in front of him.

A sheep . You’re a sheep .

A dark grin stretched her mouth as heat washed her back from the fireplace. Steeling herself against the harsh sting of her scalp, Runa jerked her head down. The pain was worth it to see that sneer wiped utterly clean, though, when she swallowed him whole —well, swallowed as much as she could of him. She had to wrap her fingers around the rest. Every hiss between his teeth did something to her blood, and she despised it. Despised her body for reacting the way it did as a prominent slickness gathered.

“ Fuck , that’s it,” he sang as she picked up the pace. The tip bobbed against her throat in warm, stretching nudges, but she refrained from gagging.

Already evidence of his impending release was starting to show, by the way his back arched from the sofa, and the shallowness of each breath. He even tried to lift his hips to meet her movements.

Grating her teeth down the smooth, silken flesh, she sent him a clear warning—the only one he’d get. One he seemed to enjoy.

“Slow down, or there won’t be anything left for you,” Blaine rasped, the frantic tug at her hair only telling her she was doing everything right.

Her muffled laughter was all she returned. Lifting her hand out of the way, she braced herself on either of his thighs. Tears stung her eyes when she managed to get the entirety of him down in one, forceful plunge.

The moan that followed curled against her ears, and she felt the hum in her blood—in her spine and in her fucking bones . She burned to have the male between her legs, knowing it would be all she needed to void this wound-up tension.

In the end, though, this would be far more gratifying than whatever he could do with his cock.

More salt trickled in, and she readied for what came next.

“ Gods , you’re going to make me—” Hoarse curses poured from his mouth when she did it again and again, a full-body shudder rumbling through him before he snapped, bucking into her.

She kept down every drop of his release, as much as it churned her stomach to think any amount of his seed would be in her.

Rearing back, the softening prod of his length slid out in a satisfying departure. She wiped at the corner of her mouth, which she curved into a dastardly grin. “So easy to please,” Runa droned, eyeing the way his length now lay flaccid and defeated. “Maybe that’s why she left you?”

Pure, unhindered hatred consumed his features, eclipsing the hazy euphoria he was still clearly coming down from. Nearly knocking her over when rising to his feet, Blaine found his breeches and shoved into them, no doubt hiding what she imagined was the shame of losing a little piece of his ego to her. It didn’t take him long to settle into a pretend arrogance.

“So you know what to do with your mouth. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Taking his earlier place on the sofa to distractedly admire the dagger in the fire’s light, Runa’s stare flicked up from the spectacular glisten of the blade as he moved to hover over her.

Gliding a calloused hand up her leg to rest in the space between her thighs, his voice was low and hot against her cheeks. “I can repay the favor.”

“I’m not so sure you have the means right now…” Runa looked between them, to where his blood would be fighting to bring his body back to its former glory. Lifting a free hand to his face, she traced the swells of his lips. From what she’d learned from their previous encounters, all his mouth was good for was endless boasting.

Patting his cheek, she bent her face into a sugar-sweet simper. “I think I’ll take care of it myself. Thanks anyway.”

Blaine let out an icy thin laugh as he straightened his spine to stand tall. “If you think this means I’m going easy on you in the ring tomorrow—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to, Golden Boy,” she purred. “Hope you can last longer in the ring, though.”

His curses were endless as he gathered the rest of his clothes, hastily shoving his feet into his boots before slamming the door shut behind him.

The quiet was rewarding for all of thirty seconds before the weight of being alone caught up to her. Having already bathed after training, she decided to stay right where she was. The settee, while luxurious and soft, didn’t compare to the comfort of the bed, but it faced the doorway, and would give her enough time to react to any intruders. It also happened to be closer to the fireplace.

As her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, the lull of yellows and reds quickly made her eyelids heavy.

The shifting sound of paper broke that spell.

Straining her neck to search the floors, she noticed the corner of a page peeking out from under the furniture. Must have fallen from Blaine’s pants, she guessed, somewhat giddy as she hoped it was some dark secret she could hold over him the next few weeks.

Unfolding the parchment, her humor fizzled out when she saw it was just a boring list of names. Almost all of them had a score through them, aside from the last on the list.

“Galen Castmont,” she read with a curious question in her voice.

Blaine’s cousin?

There was another Castmont on the list, though this one had a strike through it. Runa only recognized it because Leirie mentioned him the other night, trying to make her feel sorry for Blaine.

The crossed off name was Blaine’s late father, the previous general of the Castmont forces— before he was killed during the accords.