Page 175 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

I moved down the corridor and he followed closely behind me. “Force of habit, I suppose.”

He laughed. “Vengeance is not a habit. And is it truly vengeance if you hurt yourself in the process?”

This time I halted, turning to face him. “Did you truly get hurt if you have achieved it in the end? Everything you do, even breathing, requires effort.”

His mouth pulled to a strange smirk. “We are more alike than you think, Snowlin.”

My eyebrows rose at his words. “And who are you to avenge?”

He leaned close to me, his green eyes unnaturally bright all of a sudden. “The gods,” he said, pointing above us.

I let out a sardonic laugh. “How have they wronged you more than they have wronged the rest of us?”

“In many more ways you know. I don’t hand secrets that easily, your pretty Highness.” He threw me a wink before turning around to leave. He was something I could not quite understand. Strangely skilled but not an Aura, my father’s general and his trusted dog—a dog that was neither respectful nor scared of him which confused me further.

Chapter twenty-six

Lux

Kilian

It had been four days since I’d had Snow in my arms. Four days since the night I couldn’t get out of my head. And four days too long for me to start thinking I’d imagined it all.

Visha had almost dragged me to her quarters to tend to my wounds which had now almost fully healed on the outside with the help of Cora Vayr. She’d insisted on a daily visit to Theros because Snow had sent word to her privately before she’d left—with a polite threat attached to it. Thankfully, the Sun Queen understood Snow’s mechanisms and found humour in her violence.

“This is entirely unnecessary, I’m feeling much better,” I insisted, unbuttoning my shirt.

Visha silently handed me a letter, not even bothering to say anything. It was how she had always been since she was young. I don’t think she even realised how much she resembled her mother down to every mannerism.

Make sure he sees you every day, my spies are noting all of our moves. Fail me and I will knit myself a scarf with those red locks of yours. –Sincerely, your beloved queen.

“She is delightful as poison, isn’t she?” Visha said, folding the letter back between her grimoire.

“It just happens that poison is my favourite taste.”

“You both make me sick, and I intend to keep my hair,” she said, completely stern, making me chuckle. “Don’t laugh, Your Majesty, I know her better than you. She has done worse to others. At least she didn’t threaten to turn my skin to leather stools like that poor unfortunate soul a few years back. Now lay back.”

Oryn rumbled with laughter from where he had sat in a small corner, perusing and studying all sorts of vials laid before him. He was adjusting well in Olympia. After he’d gained some weight, lost the beard, the overgrown hair, and dressed properly, he looked like the man of his worth.

The cold marble bit on my skin as I laid to face the ceiling. “What are those marks?” I asked, pointing upward. Burnt lines marked the obsidian stone ceiling that had broken in places.

Visha glanced up. “Snow’s attempts to be freed from the seal. When it opens even just the slightest, I have to close it, but it resists. Her magic is like its own form. Its own creature.”

“How often has it broken?”

Oryn’s attention rose to us again and he listened intently.

“Last time was after the Isjordian battle. But not enough to do any damage. There hasn’t been any instance when she has lost true control of it, if that is what you are thinking.”

It wasn’t what I was thinking. Did it hurt her, when it broke? Did it hurt her like that day when we fought the Ybris?

“It hurts her,” Oryn said, probably having read me. “There is nothing without pain. Nothing without cost. And I think you better than anyone know that, my king.”

The adept Crafter swirled a bunch of burning incense that smelled rottenly sour over my wound. “Your magic has trapped some of the beast’s essence. I’ve extracted most of it,” she said, bringing a small flask and bottling some of the white smoke. “I might be able to put a trace craft on this thing and chase it.”

“Can we keep this between us?” I asked, standing to put my clothes back on. “If Snow thinks she can hunt it, she will hunt it.”

The Crafter seemed to not understand my point because she blinked blankly. “That was the point of the trace craft.”