She had to admit she was somewhat worried the general might catch her trying to duck out before being excused, so she tiptoed to the door and cracked it open. When she saw that the hall was empty, she sighed in relief. Sometimes it was easy to assume one could escape this place without being spotted, but in a House filled with Wolves, she supposed sense of smell was a stronger weapon than any a guard could carry. Then there was the issue of the head count at breakfast and supper; it was likely easier for a person to sneak in than it was to sneak out.
Nocturne hurried down the hall and then the stairs, praying no one would spot her.
But as she passed by the entrance hall, she caught sight of Kit standing in the arched doorway, his back to her as he stared out at the blue-white courtyard. Forgetting all about her mission to get to her rooms without being seen, she walked down the hall, toward the general.
“General?” she called. The single word echoed softly.
He turned only slightly, but kept his eyes trained on the courtyard.
Nocturne stopped. There was something truly frightening about a skin-changer giving himself over to his animal senses. A peculiar look had entered Kit’s eyes—a look that suggested the Fey parts of him were far away right now.
“I caught someone’s scent,” he said at last, his voice so quiet Nocturne barely heard him.
She took a step forward. “Whose?” A brisk wind swept through the open door, disturbing her hair and the folds of her robe.
“Avalon’s.”
Nocturne stilled. “The king’s daughter?” But why would she be here? The king had sent the princess back home to Hilsian nearly a week ago.
“He sent the Wraith out.” Kit’s voice was nearly inaudible, as if he spoke words so horrific, he was afraid he might wake the Underworld. “To hunt down his daughter and Hadrian.” Hunt them down…and kill them.
Nocturne’s blood ran cold. The Wraith—the king’s best and most wicked fighter. Better even than the Leviathan—a monster of a man towering over seven feet high. Some claimed the Wraith could walk through walls and summon shadows.
“I think they were here,” Kit murmured. Finally, his eyes found hers as he said, “I think they were looking for something.”
~
This book justhadto be the heaviest damned thing to ever exist, didn’t it?
For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, Avalon wished they still had their horses. They’d had every intention of stealing a couple from the stables, but they were forced to leave the House in a hurry. Thankfully, Hadrian had managed to swipe a bag of apples, a loaf of bread, and a square of cheese from the cellar. At least they had something to eat tonight.
After Avalon had found the book wedged deep between two flat stones inside the tomb, they heard guards approaching. A moment later, Hadrian had spun around the corner, terror lighting his eyes, and the two had retreated, leaving mud and melted snow in their wake. They’d barely escaped the House without being seen, and somewhere along the way, as they hurried through the courtyard, Avalon lost her mother’s bracelet. She’d tried to turn back, but Hadrian had grabbed her wrist—the skin now bare—and towed her toward the woods.
“I’ll buy you a new bracelet if you stop pouting,” Hadrian said as they headed into the shelter of snow-heavy trees, far from the House of Ice.
“There is no buying me a new bracelet,” Avalon snarled, the realization that she’d lost it hitting her like a stone to the face. Every step they took brought her farther away from it—and away from the faint memory of her mother. “That was mymother’sbracelet.”
“We found your beloved book. Can’t you at least pretend to be happy?”
Avalon spun around to face him so quickly she almost slipped. “Why should I?” she barked, her face inches from his. “All my life, all I’ve done is pretend! Pretend to be okay with what my father does; pretend that I don’t give a damn that he disappears for weeks—sometimes months—on end as he tears the world apart like some sort of monster! I pretend to be okay that I’m a useless human, living in the world of the Folk—”
“Avalon,” Hadrian tried, but she cut him off.
“I pretend to be okay that I don’t have a mother!”she fumed, her throat turning raw as her words became shouts. “And I pretend to be okay that I’ve all but lost my only friend in the world because he started caring about being the best captain my horrible father has ever had, instead of being there for me when I need him—” Her breathing hitched. She crossed her arms as her heart throbbed, threatening to crack right in half. Angry tears stung her eyes.
Even after all these years of pretending, all these years of crying herself to sleep over the things she’d lost—things that remained painfully within her reach, but unable to be grasped—she’d never said anything. Now, her words were like poison on her tongue, and she wished she could take them back. Not because she didn’t think that what she’d said was the truth or that it deserved to be heard, but because she feared she might lose what remained of her best friend. Of the man she had always believed was her soul mate, her other half.
Hadrian was stunned into silence. For a moment, nothing existed but the bitter wind, carrying away the words she’d set free. The pain in her chest turned quickly into numbness, and a faint ringing began in her ears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wished with all her might that all of this would turn out to be nothing but a bad dream, but the wetness on her cheeks made it real.
“Avalon.” Hadrian’s voice was barely a whisper, and snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped closer.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Hadrian was watching her in concern, one hand outstretched toward her, as if wanting to touch her. Comfort her. But he did nothing of the sort. And the more time passed, the more disappointed Avalon became.
“I think we should get some sleep.” These simple, emotionless words nearly shattered what was left of Avalon’s heart.
“There’s no way I’m sleeping in this cold,” she mumbled, her voice thick with tears.
He gestured behind her, and she turned to see the Temple of Ice far off in the distance, shrouded in mist that clung to the mountains.
