Page 166 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“Another round,” she demanded, straightening herself as if none of that had happened, as if I’d imagined those moments. But I still felt her touch, scent, her gaze on me, reminder how I’d take burning days and chilly nights of lifetimes to forget. If one could forget her.

I stood and grabbed onto her wrist, pulling the dagger from her hand and sheathing it down her thigh. Her tired eyes followed my movements intently without word. Sign of her fatigue, no words, no retorts, no maddening flirts.

“Ken, the cook, I had him ready your favourite stew.” I pulled her out of the pit. To my surprise and luck she didn't pull away or reject, but she shook her arm free following besides me while we made our way to the dinning chambers. My head still fogged with what had just happened a moment ago, the feel of her lips on my skin.

Ken laid down a hot steaming meal, to which Snow took in pleasurably licking her lips in anticipation, digging down the food as if she had been starved for months.

“Snow!” She stuffed her face so tight and ate so quick she coughed a few dozen times. Before it amused me, now it had gotten concerning, this was a habit—a bad one. “Just who is chasing you?” I asked, shaking my head at her wondrous sight.

She stopped chewing, her cheeks swelled at the amount of food resembling a squirrel collecting nuts for winter. She lowered her eyes straightening and slowly continued. She finished two rounds of food before one could have three spoonful’s.

“The way you spar, it's not a style I have seen before,” I said to her, somewhat impressed and curious. The way her body moved, the lean muscle almost feline, the light steps that of a dancer. Sparring was strength, tactics, bulk built favoured, yet she could swiftly put down someone thrice her size with impeccable speed and minimal effort. The soldiers spoke how she’d gained her position, taking down a general. That wouldn’t have come easy.

She leaned back on the chair, lazily rubbing a hand over her pleased belly. “My guardian, Alaric Drava, he was my mother's friend, an Olympian general, he taught me. A fighting technique brought down by Zephyrs called Peregrine. I am not as good as a Zephyr would be, like Cai; they would use wind magic to swift them up in the air. I have to rely on gravity, agility and muscle.” I knew it was one I had never seen before, had the man been the one to look after her when her father tucked her away following the attack?

“Alaric, he is the one that raised you?” I asked curious about her life before she came back to Isjord. Alaric Drava, even I knew the man, everyone did; the famous Olympian general.

She looked up at me, mischievousness written all over her gold chips. “Why, are you looking to kill him too?”

“Snow!” At my frustration, she chuckled. “You called me Alaric that day.”

She stilled and quickly retorted, as usually avoiding my point, “Well, one can’t really see while they sleep, I am an ybris not a bat.”

I folded my arms. How I loved her logic. “Bats sleep with their eyes closed.”

She rolled her pretty eyes. “You get my point, Adriatian.”

I pursed my lips and shook my head. “No, not really.”

A smile rose up her face that I almost unconsciously traced with my own.

“My turn now,” she said, leaning forward in all her eagerness. “Let’s say I have a skilled fighter and a handsome Umbra, how can the two break through a crafter's veil? Ah, and possibly unnoticed as well.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously at the thought.

She spun my patience in circles, tension building on my neck. I moved it back and forth to release the pressure from the exasperation.

“No,” I answered strongly.

Her features dropped. “Fine, just the skilled fighter I suppose,” she said standing up. Gods she was going to kill me.

I followed swiftly behind her. “What is of this importance that you have to get in there?” The building quarter where we had been that night neared, ominous and threatening if blocks of rocks could be.

“I will answer that the second we find out.” We halted before the large dark building doors. There was no crafter’s veil shielding it anymore, the whole area was lifeless and empty, as if there truly had been no life here. She reached forward cracking the door open, the sound of the rusty hinges combined with the heaviness of the wood consonant about the vacant surroundings. Releasing my magic I dispersed the shadows, leaving only faint light from outside to brighten the empty chambers. There was no one and nothing in it, completely empty.

She hovered about the room, her features drawn in disbelief. “You said I am not mad, did we or did we not see them coming here that night?” She groaned in frustration, taking in the unexpectedly empty surroundings.

I examined the empty space, filled in cobwebs and reeking of death. “She must have known you would try to come back, and warned your father. Whatever they were hiding they wanted it to remain as such—hidden. What is it Snow, what do you fear he is hiding?”

She let out a heavy breath. “Nothing I will like. Do you sense anything strange here?”

I expanded my magic further, despite feeding in my reducing life energy. I surveyed the room once again and stilled. Had she felt it as well? Patches of an unnatural luminescent green shadow lurked here and there about the room, the whole area buzzing heavy in crafters' magic and something else—unearthly.

“They have practiced here, strong craft. I cannot tell what sort if it is. Portallers, Potioners, Summoners or Medians, whatever it was it has left a heavy print of it.”

She squatted down, cupping her face in her hands soaked deep into thought. Why was it so important to her what her father did? She had gone out of her way to find out about the Solaryan vandals, enlisted Samuel and was now hunting down her father’s dark crafter. It was bothering her more than enough. In the beginning I had thought she intended to find more to elevate herself in court, but none of this made sense.

A shuffling sound came from behind us, and I reached for my sword. Memphis came inside swiftly growling in my direction before nestling around her bonded companion, crunched on the floor. She looked up at me, examining my weapon. “What happened to your black steel?”

“A gift from Caiden, much lighter just as deadly. I like this better,” I said sheathing it back behind. Her eyes felt as if they could unravel my truth, perhaps they did.