Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Epilogue

A warm trickle of liquid slipped into her closed eyelid, the saltiness forcing Surina to blink the burning sensation away. When the blurriness of her groggy vision abated, fear found its way in.

Without moving, she scanned what she could from the unfamiliar bed, pushed up against the planks of dark wooden walls. The walls made up what appeared to be a bedroom. A singular window sat in the middle of the side facing her.

A possible escape.

The light of a long since risen sun glinted through the opening, with the soft chatter of fluttering birds. There was a crawling uneasiness from the serenity of it all.

Lifting her head from where it rested on a cushioned pillow, she winced, dropping it back down almost immediately. Surina eased her hands beneath the scratchy woolen fabric blanketing her, dragging it aside to find that she wore a large maroon tunic, long enough to cover her thighs, but underneath…

She peered in through the opening of her neckline, past where the amulet hung between her bare breasts. Bandages twined her abdomen. It was sticky and cool in the center where most of the pain originated. A medicinal scent wafted from it, like one of Moira’s salves to relieve pain.

Apart from the bandages, and the undergarments around her waist, she was completely nude beneath the tunic. Which meant someone had stripped her gown and slip to administer the dressings. Even the leather straps of her dagger’s sheath were gone.

Panic flooded when the memories of that night returned.

Ezra .

Gritting her teeth together, she sprang up, whimpering through the affliction. Tears swelled as the image of vacant, teal irises clouded her mind. She looked at her hands—which once had his blood on them—now wiped clean.

Ezra.

She froze the moment her feet met the oak floor, lifting her gaze to find two swirling eyes of varying greens, with slitted pupils staring from across the room.

He sat on a similar bed, dressed in a black sleeveless tunic, honey tanned skin glistening in the light of the stone hearth that blazed behind him.

Gripping the sheets on either side of her legs, she readied to shoot up from the bed and hurl herself out the window if he so much as blinked.

“If you’re thinking about jumping from the window, I wouldn’t. We’re three floors up, and I really don’t think you’d survive after the hit you’ve taken,” he admitted, voice warm and irritatingly soothing, but there was a hint of a warning laced into those words.

She faintly remembered those green eyes, edging in on her as she writhed in excruciating pain. “You brought me here.”

He nodded. “We did.”

We? Of course, there were at least two more. Callen and that ivory dragon.

“Our friend might have gone a little overboard when she saw you in that… state. But you wouldn’t have survived. I doubt you had any healers there that specialize in internal bleeding.”

No wonder it felt like her torso had been ripped in two without any blood to show for it.

Her gaze flicked around the room, passing over the door to the chambers, to where a metal pitcher sat among a crowded table of glasses—there were no weapons, or anything that could be used as one.

The male followed her stare. “Water? Should probably get some fluids in you.” The bed creaked as he rose, the size of him forcing her to tilt her chin up just to see his face.

While he had a similarly muscular frame as Callen, he had maybe an inch or two of height on him, begging the question of the average size of most dragons.

Chocolate brown strands fell just past his shoulders, the top half of his hair tied back, showing off the strong cut to his features. Looking no older than Surina, deep brown flecks faintly sprinkled his face and neck, adding a youthfulness to his appearance.

Moira appeared young, too, but it was the way her eyes and gait carried her age—her wisdom—that gave away how ancient she really was. This male didn’t have the same hold to his gaze but appeared kinder. More naive.

She could take advantage of that.

Ignoring his last question, Surina stopped her gawking long enough to swallow down the fear of asking what she’d been wondering since waking. “Where is Ezra?”

“The Nightwood king?” The male crossed the room, grabbing a chair from the dining section and placing it backwards a couple feet from where she tensed at the bed’s edge. He sat with his chest against the back of the seat, leaning forward to hand her the glass. The slits of his irises expanded and narrowed as he waited for her to accept the offering.

She didn’t—poisoned, no doubt.

The male sighed, placing the glass on the bed post at the end. “I don’t know. We left immediately after to fly here. To Montrove.”

Did that mean Ezra could be alive?

Her hands balled into fists when the sound of his bones breaking echoed in her mind.

“How can we be in Montrove? How long was I out?” How could they have even made it without crossing the bay? The boat ride alone would have taken at least a day.

“You were out for a few hours by the time we landed here. You didn’t even stir when the healer fixed you up.” His stare fell to her stomach, where the bandages would be underneath the clothing. “How are you feeling?”

She was feeling nauseous. Wait— He said landed? As in… from flying ? That meant no one could have followed, or even tracked her to this location.

Her heart sank, immediately skipping back to life with her next thought.

If they were in Montrove, there would be Thesian soldiers she could find within the city, she just needed to get out of the damned room first.

A warmth pulsed through her blood then, rising the length of her arm from the sun scar. It was Callen, and he was close—she didn’t know how she knew, but she did.

“You think I want to have a chat with a dragon about how I’m feeling ? After what you did to him?” She lifted her chin, a hollow ache in her chest carving out the bitter reply. It was a guess, that he was the one controlling the roots that came for Ezra—a good one, apparently, when the male’s face fell against her accusations.

The glow of his irises receded, shifting to a muted, mortal green with circular pupils. The same shifting abilities that allowed Callen to hide among the fae. “I’m sorry, but he would have gotten himself killed if I hadn’t. Callen would not have been as merciful.”

“ Merciful ? You snapped his spine right in front of me .” Her voice cracked through a sob, but she held firm, not wanting to give the creature the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Arguing with the beast was just wasting time anyway. She needed to find a way out. Now . Who knew when the others would return?

Clenching her jaw, Surina stiffened through the agonizing exertion, shoving her palms at the male to blast him with winds.

Nothing happened. Not a single breeze.

With wide eyes, she gaped between her hands and the dragon.

What the fuck.

“Did you just try to use magic on me?” He was shocked, but didn’t make a move against her.

A huge mistake, because next, she did something he didn’t expect—something she didn’t expect from herself.

She crashed her head into his, smacking the bridge of his nose. The male fell backwards from the impact, covering his face with a hand.

With the room spinning, she managed to hobble towards the door, ripping it open to escape, only to barrel into a wall of a chest.

Surina fell against the floor, yelping as the hard ground shot a fierce, aching stab from her abdomen to her spine. Following the dark leather boots from the ground up, she stilled, clutching her stomach.

Knowing she was right to trust that feeling in her blood earlier, she only wished she’d acted sooner, because there he was—her nightmare. And this time, there would be no waking from a haunted slumber. There would be no one to save her. Not even that thing that resided in her mind, because when she reached for it, it didn’t reach back.

His lips stretched into a diabolical smile, the flare of his eyes searing her in place.

“Going somewhere, little faerie?”