Sable’s sigh was nearly a growl. “If your sheer idiocy gets me killed, I will haunt you in the afterlife.”
“Trust me,” Hadrian murmured.
“Trust!”she snorted. She pointed a finger at him. “I’m warning you, Captain: I don’t tire easily alive. My ghost will have even greater endurance than I do now.”
“Iwouldlook forward to it,” he said, “if I was afraid this wouldn’t work.” And then he turned his face to the ceiling and shouted, “Kaia Stormblood! I do not fear a single creation the bowels of your House may conjure. I do not fear them—and I do not believe in them.”
Sable gaped as the creatures continued to advance at the same quick pace.
“But I believe inyou,”Hadrian continued. “I’ve heard the rumors. You traded your freedom in exchange for your loved one to live, and now you suffer the consequences. Love is cruel, isn’t it? You’re trapped here for the rest of time, torturing all who wander too close.”
The Skorpios slowed.
“This is madness, Kaia!” The captain’s voice boomed against the walls. “If you allow my friends and I to walk out of here alive, I promise to sever your oath and your ties to the House of Dreams.” The Skorpios stopped. Sweat ran down Hadrian’s temples. “You will be free, Kaia Stormblood. And the curse of being weak enough to love will finally be undone.”
Sable counted as the seconds passed, her gaze flicking between Hadrian and the Skorpios.
One.
Two.
Three.
The creatures faded away like smoke on a breeze, until not even one was left. The air cleared of the stench of death, and the House changed—not into the ruins of what they’d first walked into, but something new. The walls became sparkling white stone, and the floor transformed into polished wood. The chandelier gleamed a bright gold, and the fireplace glowed with rosy warmth. The sky beyond the windows was pastel-blue, and a rose-scented breeze swept into the room, drying the sheen of sweat on both their faces.
Kaia Stormblood’s voice broke the silence, but this time it held no undercurrent of threat. In fact, she sounded very much like a frightened little girl.
“You would do that?” Kaia whispered, her musical voice wavering. “For me?”
26
In his office on the third floor of the House of Ice, Kit leaned back in his chair—and winced.
Only a day had passed since he’d been dealt two-dozen lashings with the same whip the king had used on Nocturne. Only a day since he’d come face-to-face with the king and the Dragon after watching Nocturne struggle to dig a grave near the easternmost wall of the courtyard.
The frozen ground had been nearly impenetrable. Nocturne had barely managed to carve two feet in depth before she’d kicked at the snow in frustration, fell to her knees, and wept. It was then that Kit had made the decision to go back inside—when the wind had shifted, alerting her to his presence. And when he’d drifted back through the open doorway, reluctantly pulling his gaze from hers, he’d found the king and Killian standing just down the hall. Watching him.
Kit’s voice had been gruff when he spoke. “I’ll take her punishment.” The punishment Nocturne would face for cutting down her aunt’s body and digging her a grave. For giving her a proper burial, a place to rest her soul in peace.
The king had peered down his nose at him. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”
Kit’s nostrils had flared, his eyes blazing. There was no way in hell he was going to allow the king to hurt her again.
So he’d pulled off his shirt and balled it into a fist. “I said I’ll take her punishment.”
The king’s face had betrayed nothing as he glanced at Killian and said, “I trust you’ll do a thorough job,” before turning on his heel and striding down the hall.
Kit had barely felt the lashing as he’d knelt on the floor of the throne room—empty save for a handful of guards who’d wisely averted their eyes. His rage had been enough to numb the pain.
Though now, as he readjusted again in search of the slightest bit of comfort as hail plinked against the curve of windows behind his desk, he gritted his teeth. Ifhe—the Wolf of Winter—was inthismuch pain, he loathed to consider how Nocturne was faring.
Night had fallen an hour ago, but the House still hummed with activity. The soldiers would have finished supper by now, and the scullery maids would be scrubbing the mountain of dishes in the stuffy kitchens.
He sighed, propping his elbows up on the desk as he rubbed his eyes. On nights like these he had to remind himself why he was here—why he was still serving in the North. He had to believe he would see an end to all this suffering; that one day he might see his mother and sister again—the only two surviving members of his family, and the very people he was protecting by staying in this wretched place. Their survival depended on him.
Believe. He had to believe.
A knock came at the door, but he didn’t have the will to lift his head from his hands as he mumbled a command for whomever it was to enter.
