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He ran his fingers through his hair and turned away from her. Mostly so she couldn’t see how ruffled the near connection had him. If Eirah said anything else, he didn’t hear it as he strode across the courtyard and back into the palace. At that moment, he wasn’t sure what bothered him most: the possibility Eirah was the end of Frosteria—or the notion that she was only the beginning.
Whatever it was, Morozko needed to decipher it quickly.
Or he and the realm would cease to function.
* * *
Morozko had waited,for how long he wasn’t certain. An hour? Two? Nevertheless, Eirah never knocked on his door. He had half a mind to charge down the hall and drag her to his quarters, but the desire to bark at her, and cut her with his silver tongue, didn’t appeal to him. Perhaps it was the fact he didn’t want to test what her flighty abilities could do to him, or maybe it was that he preferred to wallow in his misery ofnot knowing what the fuck was going on.
He paced his room for a time, but when the novelty wore off and it was clear Eirah wasn’t planning on arriving, Morozko opted to retire for the evening.
With the flick of his hand, the candles extinguished in the room, casting it in utter darkness. He climbed into bed, willing sleep to overtake him.
Moonlight splashed onto the freshly fallen snow, illuminating the ice road in the village. It was the only light he and his party of twelve had. Fear gripped him, squeezing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. What would they find in the center of town?
No candles illuminated the windows of the homes. No chimneys smoked, and even the perched owls remained quiet, unwilling to announce their hiding place.
Eirah stood at his side, muttering under her breath. “We cannot stand by and do nothing.” Her gaze flicked to the night sky as an owl flew overhead. “No!” she hissed, then ran forward, her cloak billowing behind her.
“Eirah!” Morozko growled and raced after her.
The royal guard flocked behind them, boots pounding far too loud.
“Eirah, stop at once.” Morozko grabbed her by the arm as she approached the center of town. Bodies by the dozen littered the ground. Chests were torn open, and several pools of blood circled them, frozen like macabre art.
Morozko had seen death. Both by his hands and by those he had no control over. Death didn’t make him flinch or give pause. This was more than death. This was butchery. The victims’ organs had been consumed, save for the heart, which lay in a frozen, bloodied heap.
Eirah shuddered, and Morozko turned her away from the sight, holding her against his chest.
“We shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. His skin pricked with anxiety. Even the trees seemed to still, as if waiting for what was about to happen. “We need to get back to the sleigh—” The ground cracked beneath his feet, and Eirah jumped back. He was too slow reaching for his sword, and mid-grab, something struck him on his vulnerable side. Sharp pain burned up his ribcage, sending him stumbling forward. “Get out of here!” When he pulled his hand away from his side, blood coated his fingers. His attention wasn’t on the wound for long, because a waxlike figure leaped at him, and he whirled his blade around, slicing the creature’s head clean off.
The changeling’s skin looked crafted of a melted-down candle, yellowed and malnourished. A tuft of hair on the top of its head flopped in the breeze, and a mouth, nearly sewn together, hid most of its razor-sharp teeth.
“You know what we have to do!” Eirah shouted.
She shouldn’t be here. Why did he think she would listen?
An ear-splitting shriek filled the air, accompanied by several more groans as the land cracked. Panic seized Morozko and rooted him in place.
“Morozko! We have to do it!” Eirah raced up to him, placing her forehead against his. “It’s the only way.” She grabbed his free hand, and with her other, she held a knife.
He jolted from sleep, sucking in a ragged breath. It took him a moment to settle into reality, the dregs of the vision slowly leaving him far more exhausted than he was before. “Why are the visions never enough at once?” Morozko peeled back his blankets, his chest rising and falling quickly. “And do what, Eirah? What are we supposed to do?” Morozko’s voice raised, his fingers curling into his palms.
Someone knocked on his door, then Xezu entered. “Your Majesty, I have terrible news.”
Morozko’s limbs longed to tremble from the strain of the vision, but he steeled himself and slid toward the edge of the bed. “What could it possibly be at—” He glanced toward the window, the drape still open to let the moonlight in. “Not even dawn?”
Xezu shook his head, lips thinning into a grim expression. “There has been an attack on Vinti. Something has… slaughtered many villagers.”
Morozko didn’t miss the way his steward emphasized the wordslaughtered.His skin prickled with apprehension, and the image of the slain villagers in his vision came to mind.
He sprung to his feet, halfway across his room, when he finally spoke again. “Any more details? Any reports on what the assailants looked like?”
Vinti may have been a village of humans, but they were still his subjects, and it washisrealm. An unwarranted attack was a punishable offense.
Fury boiled within Morozko, fusing with his mounting trepidation.
“I don’t know how trustworthy it is, but it was said they were yellow-skinned, with slitted eyes, and the mouth—”
