Nocturne rose from her crouch.
For three days, the wolf had followed them. And after a full day of looking over her shoulder to find the scruffy thing always watching from a distance, Nocturne realized it wasn’t followingthemat all—it was followingher.
There was a time when she’d dreamed of bonding with a wolf; of sprinting through the forest on four legs instead of two. She’d always wondered what it would be like to see the forest through the eyes of a wolf, to taste the waters of a river from an animal tongue. But those days had been put behind her the moment the king’s men had marched into her family’s village and taken her prisoner. The moment all her dreams had gone silent.
If she knew anything about the Wolf Pack and what the members of the army were expected to do, then that wolf might be the very thing to lock the gate on her cell here in the North. The fact that she had no secondary form was the only thing protecting her, the only thing keeping her from fully bonding to the pack.
Swift as lightning, Nocturne snatched up a rock from the icy shore, wound up, and threw it. It missed the wolf by several inches, plinking harmlessly into the still lake. The wolf merely shuffled her paws in agitation.
Nocturne grabbed another and threw. And another.
At least three of the six rocks she threw hit the wolf. The last one was as large as Nocturne’s fist, and it hit the mutt square in the nose.
The wolf yelped and took off into the trees.
Nocturne’s chest frantically rose and fell, her nostrils flaring wide. The next time that foul beast dared to come this close, she would slit its wretched throat.
35
In the dining hall in the Ocean Palace, at a long table made entirely of seashells, Avalon and Hadrian devoured crab cakes, mussels in tomato-wine broth, spiced shrimp with mango salsa, and nut-crusted yellowtail snapper.
The hall was entirely silent save for the sound of forks and knives scraping plates—and Avalon and Hadrian’s obnoxious chewing, each smack of their lips louder than the last. They’d already drained an entire jug of fresh juice unlike any Avalon had ever tasted. When she stopped her gorging long enough to inquire about the flavor, the beautiful dark-skinned prince whose name she’d learned was Jamal grimaced.
“It’s pineapple, kiwi, and mango,” he said as he carefully spooned jasmine rice into his mouth. He gave his sister—the princess Serenade, who sat at his right—a look that barely concealed his horror. Serenade merely smiled beautifully and tucked a strand of dark, tightly braided hair behind an ear.
At the start of their meal, when the servants had brought out dish after dish of enticing tropical delicacies, and Avalon and Hadrian had dug in without giving anyone else a chance to go first, the thought that they were perhaps being rude had crossed Avalon’s mind, though only briefly. As a princess, she should’ve slowed down. But the truth was she simply didn’t care. Not about what they thought of her, and least of all that she was a princess. She had no desire to be a princess anymore, and as far as she was concerned, her father had disowned her the moment he’d ordered his men to kill her. So why should she care about manners?
The Lord of Aquatica—Oceathus, referred to by many as the Sea Lord—sat at the head of the long table. Aside from introducing himself, he hadn’t said anything this entire time. Instead, he merely watched as they shoveled food into their mouths, his own fork limp in his hand, the metal spotless and gleaming in the light of the coral chandeliers. Turquoise eyes were set in a round, caramel face, and his hair and beard were as white as the sand of the sprawling beaches Avalon had glimpsed from the many jeweled balconies dotting the palace.
Lord Oceathus cleared his throat. “When was the last time you two ate anything?” His deep, rumbling voice reminded Avalon of thunder.
Avalon had the decency to swallow what was in her mouth before she spoke. “You mean food like this?” She poured herself a fresh glass of that glorious juice and took a sip. “Weeks. A month, maybe.”Foreverwas more like it.
The lord speared a spiced shrimp and dipped it in mango salsa. “And how long have you been on the run?” He popped the shrimp into his mouth.
Avalon glanced at Hadrian in search of an answer. Since her father’s men had tried to kill them that second night away from the House of Ice, time had meant little to her. And when she had learned time passed slower in the House of Dreams, she’d lost track completely.
The captain took a sip of juice. “Just about three weeks, I would say.”
“And what do you plan on doing here in Aquatica?”
The table was silent for a long time. Neither Avalon nor Hadrian expected him to ask this question so soon, and they were unprepared. After Avalon had changed into more appropriate attire, the stunning princess Serenade, with her dusky skin and braided hair that hung to her narrow waist, had escorted them to the dining hall. Not a second was spared in which they could’ve discussed what to divulge to the lord and his court, and whether the truth would get them anywhere.
The lord took their silence as a cue to continue. “I think we’ve all delayed long enough. I’m interested in knowing why the king has announced a hefty reward for anyone who brings his daughter and the Captain of the Guard back to him, dead or alive.”
Avalon glanced at Hadrian, her gaze beseeching. He nodded once, and her stomach twisted into a knot of nerves. She felt like she was back on that ship, jostling through the waves with that bucket in her hands. Eating her weight in seafood might not have been the best idea…
Hadrian reached into the bag at his feet—which they’d discovered with no small amount of relief had never left his side since they were brought into the Ocean Palace—and produced the mask.
Awed intakes of breath rippled through the room, like the breeze sweeping in through the open windows lining the hall. Everyone at the table sat up a little straighter, and Avalon didn’t think she was imagining the hint of shock that crossed Serenade’s lovely face.
The Lord of Aquatica whispered, “It’s an Iron Blind.”
Avalon glanced at the mask that shone like liquid starlight. “It’s silver.” She felt stupid for having to state what she thought was obvious.
“It’s an Iron Blind, girl,” he growled. “It’s only silver on the surface; beneath is an ancient, powerful iron crafted by the gods at the dawn of time. They called itCold Iron.It was designed to contain the souls of the corrupt; men and women who grew too powerful to control their powers, and those who chose to use their gifts for only evil. Whoever is inside it should never be let out. Whatever game you’re playing—”
“You don’t even know who’s in it,” Avalon snarled, her fingers instinctively tightening around her fork.
