Now that Sable was remembering as far back as the day when she was sealed inside the Iron Blind, Avalon could no longer avoid the truth. Her father was responsible for Sable’s imprisonment and the erasure of her memories.
With shaking hands, Avalon pulled the mask down to cover her face. The silver coating sealed with her skin, and for a long time Sable said nothing.
It was my father,Avalon choked out.My father did this to you.
Sable stayed quiet, but Avalon knew she’d heard her.
I’m sorry,Avalon said, her inner voice a broken sob.I’m so, so sorry.
It was your father,Sable whispered. Her words held zero emotion.
Yes.Tears ran down Avalon’s cheeks, sliding through the space between her warm skin and the cold silver of the mask. How could Sable ever forgive her?
Your father did this to me,Sable repeated. Then she added firmly,Not you.
The tears ran harder, and Avalon nearly sobbed again in relief.
You have nothing to be sorry for,Sable said.You are not your father.
I am going to save you,Avalon promised.
When Sable answered, her voice was filled with certainty.I know.
43
Over a week had passed since they’d entered the Outlands. Nocturne was beginning to wonder if the king and his men were well and truly lost, led around in circles like sheep by the cunning Shadowfolk. The thought of never finding their way out of this place was enough to drive her mad.
The sun was rising, spilling light across the sprawling camp they’d set up beside a great river. Nocturne sat by the fire closest to her tent, nibbling on a scrap of dried deer meat. It was far too tough and salty for her liking, but she needed to get some food into her stomach.
She watched as the other soldiers prepared for another day of endless searching, and she was not surprised when she caught wind that the king, the Wraith, and Killian would be leaving within the hour. They were to head back to Hilsian, she’d overheard two pack members say, though Nocturne couldn’t fathom why. After all, mere days ago, the king had wanted nothing more than for his northern branch to locate and slaughter the Shadowfolk. Perhaps he’d finally realized how foolish an errand this was, though it was likely the prick had simply grown tired of the cold.
On the other side of the camp, the Wraith, Killian, and Kit were exchanging a few words as they fastened their weapon belts and strapped their shields into place. Nocturne’s chewing slowed as she observed, wishing she could hear what they were saying. Was she the only one who found it odd that the three had become so close during this trek through the woods? The Wraith wasn’t known to like anyone except himself, and Nocturne supposed the same could be said about Kit and Killian.
As Nocturne watched the Wraith and the Wolf of Winter shake hands, she sat up straighter. She unfurled to her feet as the three said their farewells and parted ways. The Wraith, Killian, and the king, accompanied by a dozen guards, set off on horseback, heading south. Kit stood outside his tent as he watched them leave, his cloak undulating in the wind.
For once in days, Nocturne kept her eyes on him as she maneuvered through the camp, weaving around the countless fires melting the snow and the tents creaking in the wind.
Only this once,she told herself.Speak to him just this one time.
Kit caught sight of her when she was only a few feet away, and the eye contact nearly brought her to a stop. She forced her numb feet forward, clenching her fingers into fists inside her tattered gloves. The surprise on Kit’s face was easy to spot, though he managed to compose it by the time Nocturne reached him.
The general nodded once. “Miss Wycherley,” he said by way of greeting, his voice gruff from the bitter cold.
“Any word?” Nocturne’s voice was barely a squeak. Why in the Nine Hells had she believed she would be capable of talking coherently to him?
The look on Kit’s face informed her he knew precisely who she was referring to, though his eyes darted behind her, as if searching for eavesdroppers.
“I haven’t heard.” His words were nearly inaudible.
Nocturne bit back the urge to accuse him of lying. Everyone in the House of Ice had heard what Elden Kipling—the Wraith—had delivered to the throne room that night he’d arrived with a sack in hand. Rumor of its contents had traveled swiftly through the corridors; even those residing several kingdoms over had heard.
Being as it was the Wraith himself who’d delivered the evidence, most believed the rumor without a second thought, though Nocturne wasn’t fooled so easily. Especially after observing how Kit had dealt with Elden in the days that followed. The untroubled look in his eyes, the absence of stress in his face, the easy tone he used when speaking to him. If Elden had indeed murdered Hadrian and Avalon, Kit wouldn’t have been so forgiving.
When she spoke, Nocturne kept her voice as quiet as his. “Are you certain, General?”
In the time it took him to answer her question, Nocturne understood the real reason why she’d marched over here: she wanted Kit to tell her the truth. She wanted to see whether he would lie to her, after he’d trusted her to accompany him to the Temple of Ice that night when they’d found Avalon and Hadrian.
He trusted me then,she thought.What makes this any different?
