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Morozko sighed. His patience grew thin, and while he wasn’t opposed to blocking her nose or forcing her mouth open, he wanted her to make this move.
He pulled his head back a fraction, but the cup still lingered in front of Eirah. “I promise to fulfill your wish and bring you tools immediately. Otherwise, we can continue sitting here until you decide to.”
Eirah licked her chapped lips. The hours in a warm room no doubt had driven her thirst up. She finally nodded, the only hint of compliance she showed him.
Morozko slid behind her, stroking her slender shoulder with a hand. Tension rippled through her—though warm, she was as unyielding as the mountain. He brought the cup to her full lips, and to his surprise, she opened her lovely mouth and drank.
His free hand lightly touched the crown of her head. “There, there, little bird…” he cooed. Eirah sputtered on the wine, and he drew the cup away. He shifted to stand beside her. “Our bargain is sealed, and as such, you can relay your list of needs to Xezu or Ulva.” Morozko collected a napkin from the table and dabbed away the trail of wine from the corner of her lips in slow, lingering strokes.
“Oh, I shall have plenty on the list,Your Majesty.”
Morozko shook his head. He flicked his hand, making the bindings disappear. At the same instant, the servant returned with plates of roasted quail, boar sausage, cheese, and a cup of winterberries. “By all means, eat until you’re content.” He circled the table, sat down, and drew up a fork and knife. Whether she ate was of no consequence to him because he had what he wanted for now. It was only a matter of time until everything became clear, and he discovered just who and what Eirah of Vinti was.
* * *
The following morning,Morozko spent breakfast by himself, poring over the events of his vision in the journal he kept. It was the best way to decipher them—he’d learned this when he was a boy. A secret he’d kept from his mother until just before the end, and it was why she thought nothing of plaguing Frosteria—her son—with a curse. He had seen her demise a thousand times over. Perhaps if his mother had been kinder, he would have relinquished the knowledge to her, but he’d witnessed, and even experienced her cruelties enough to know better.
She’d cast him aside, locked him in rooms, and belittled him in front of guests. Over time, fondness for his mother festered into hatred.
Morozko never uttered a word about the uprising. He had allowed the frost demons and mortals to turn on her. Maranna had earned such a fate in the end. Hiding him had been self-preservation, and she wanted to save Frosteria by saving her flesh and blood.
His only regret was not silencing her before she uttered the spell, summoning her creations to live behind the seal. Maranna was no fool. She knew Morozko would have to balance the loyalty of the mortals and frost demons. Without it, the seal would weaken… as it was now, the human village had lost its way. And he shouldn’t have had to remind Vinti of how important the ritual was, shouldn’t need to tend to the sheep-like mortals and their soft, forgetful minds.
Xezu entered the study just as the candle on Morozko’s desk snuffed out. He’d been at his notes for the better part of the evening, and it seemed efficient to start where he had left off. Smoke billowed from the sliver of a wick, and he reached into a drawer to pull out a new candlestick.
“Your Majesty.” Xezu bowed his head. “I’ve retrieved Eirah’s tools and supplies.”
Morozko swapped out the candles. “Bring them here.” He wondered how Eirah felt after consuming a portion of his blood. He didn’t sense anything on his end yet, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t beginning to show signs. Some grew ill, while others, if their innate abilities sparked to life, would exhibit small indications of their particular gift.
“Of course.” Xezu bowed again, then left the room. It wasn’t long until he returned with four large black sacks.
Curiosity got the better of Morozko, so he stood from his chair and crossed the room. “What’s inside them?”
His steward shifted his weight, and an uneasy expression formed on his face. Like he didn’t want to say. Why, Morozko had no idea. “Her tools, Your Majesty.” Xezu grimaced when Morozko curled his lip, sneering. “For making toys.”
Morozko’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Toys?” He had never considered what her role in the village had been prior to him selecting her. But the notion she was a toymaker surprised him. Someone as venomous as her ought to be the village crone. Still, he crouched down and opened one of the bags, finding a block of wood that had the makings of a shape. What would it become? A doll? A toy soldier? Morozko shifted a few other things around, noting all the sharp tools. One that could take out his eye, another to pierce his heart, and perhaps one that could clip his finger clean off. He supposed if Eirah wanted to try at his life again, she’d have to go through his guard and his magic as well. Morozko studied the four velvet bags. “I’ll bring them to her.”
Xezu’s eyes widened. “Surely not, Your Majesty… You need to focus on your visions.”
While it may be true, nothing was coming to him while he sat in his chair. He may as well make himself useful, or at the very least, pester Eirah with his presence. “I’ll decide what suits me better at the moment, and I say that I’m taking the sacks to Eirah.” This time, there was no argument. He scooped the bags up, grunting at their weight, and strode out the door, heading down the hall to Eirah’s room.
Morozko slanted a glance at Kusav, who stood outside the room. The guard bowed his head but remained quiet.
He didn’t knock. For one, his guests were usually in his bed, and for two, this was his home. Eirah wouldn’t be the first—nor the last—female he would see naked. It wasn’t as if she possessed any appendage he hadn’t seen or dragged his fingers across before. While he hadn’t done such things to Eirahyet, he wasn’t an inept lover. Still, a pity she’d denied him. He had it on good authority that tumbling someone with such strong feelings, be it hate or otherwise, only heightened the experience.
Surprisingly, Eirah didn’t spring across the room or snarl at him. Although, judging by the early hour—she could have been asleep. However, she sat on the edge of her bed, twisting her fingers into the sheets. Out of all the behaviors he’d seen thus far, this wasn’t like her.
With a half-hearted sigh, he hurled the sacks down, motioning to them. “As I promised, yourthingsare here. Let it be said that I am a gracious host. Because you are fed, and have your tools,” he said all of this by way of greeting. “You can try attacking Kusav, but I’m afraid you won’t get very far. He’ll have magic coiled around your throat before you can pierce his flesh.”
When she said nothing, he glanced down at the sacks. Morozko smirked, toeing the overstuffed bags with his boot. “I can always burn them if you’re not pleased.”
“Stop,” she stated, turning her gaze to him finally. Dark circles lined beneath her eyes. She didn’t look particularly well. “Don’t you knock?”
“Not in my home. My guests are for pleasure, and if they are an enemy, well, they don’t get to come in and play.” He cocked his head, running a finger across his lower lip. “Are you wondering where you fall, little bird?”
“No,” she croaked and stood, slowly crossing the room.
Whether he was heartless or not, he couldn’t help but notice she looked as though she were about to keel over. Morozko inched closer, scrutinizing her appearance. Sweat beaded her brow, her lips were drained of color, and her tan skin was now as pale as his. “Eirah, are you well—”
