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Eirah was a bit embarrassed to admit what was budding between her and Morozko, but more so because she’d never felt this way about anyone. “I may have tumbled him and have feelings for him,” she said under her breath.
“You gave him yourflower?” Saren gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“After everything, that’s what you’re most surprised about?” Eirah laughed, her cheeks warming.
“Well, youdidwish him dead the last time we truly talked about him,” Saren pointed out, her eyebrow arched.
Before she could discuss any more about the Frost King’s heart not being completely ice, a screech tore through the encampment. Another changeling had been found.
23
MOROZKO
Not everything Morozko had seen in his visions had come to fruition. For one, he wasn’t swaying on his feet, bleeding from his side, and two, Eirah wasn’t looking at him, panicked and fearful. However, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come to pass. There was no way of knowing if that would take place tomorrow or two weeks from now.
But seeing Eirah’s friend, Saren, in a state of possession, thrashing, and fighting against them, it was the sobering truth of the dangers they now faced. Not knowing fully who was no longer themselves but a prisoner to a changeling.
Morozko peered down at his hand, stained blue from battling rogue changelings. There had been half a dozen possessed villagers, far too many, in his opinion. He coiled the leather whip around his knuckles and lifted his gaze to Andras as the warrior approached him.
The captain of the guard grimaced and bowed his head. “Another small swarm is approaching.”
Morozko’s brow furrowed. They’d been burning the captured changelings, and the smell of charred flesh permeated the air. “Get ready, and protect the mortals.” He glanced at the hilt of his ice blade, jutting from the scabbard at his hip. The stone Eirah gave him dangled from it, pulsing a vibrant blue. He blinked, his attention once more on the thick brush before him in search of where the demon was hiding.
A twig snapped, and low chittering filled the clearing.
Morozko’s muscles tensed. “Steady—” The stone had been accurate, for a changeling leaped at him, shoving him to the ground hard enough that he saw stars. But Morozko was quick to lift his arm and knock his fist into the side of the changeling’s head, sending it careening to the side.
The Frost King didn’t wait for the creature to scamper away—Morozko unwound the whip, then coiled it around the creature’s neck.
“You dare,” he seethed, standing once again as he hauled the changeling to the fire to burn. The lesser being thrashed, clawed at its throat and bared its hideous mouth at Morozko.
The demon could buck, scrape at the ground, and wail until its throat bled, but it was useless. Morozko would not relinquish the bastard to anything but the waiting inferno.
He stalked to the fire, boots crunching snow and leaves beneath his weight. This changeling was just one of many that would be tossed into the flames, but they had to continue or face an infestation of them.
Morozko uncoiled the whip and gripped the changeling by the throat. “I wouldn’t,” he ground out, narrowing his eyes. He pried iron cuffs from his hip and secured them around the changeling’s slender wrists. They were almost too thin for the manacles to hold the bastard. “I pray Maranna is in the depths you return to, and when you do, tell her she has failed. That I have wo—” The changeling swatted at him with its claws, scratching his face open. Blood trickled down his cheek, and he clucked his tongue, tossing the creature into the flames.
Embers jostled loose from the bonfire, and screams filled the air once more. The demon didn’t thrash for long, the fire too hot, the bastard more willing to return to the depths of where it came than to stay behind and fight for the moment.Pathetic.
“Morozko!” Eirah called to him.
Panic lanced through him. Eirah, where was she? He spun around in search of her, noting the royal guards had done their part as well, and hauled the creatures toward the fire. But Eirah wasn’t among them. She wassupposedto be with her father, with Saren.
Something akin to distress—fear—no,worryplagued him. Morozko’s gaze flicked from guard to guard, to villager, to ice house, until they settled on Eirah, hunkered down outside a nearby home. Her hair had come loose from its braid and whipped around her face as a breeze kicked up. When her gaze met his, Morozko saw the apprehension reflected in her eyes.
“Little bird,” Morozko purred. “What are you doing?” He sounded deceptively calm for how quickly his heart hammered in his chest. Part of him had expected to find her with limbs shredded or a hideous, gaping wound on her side. Still, he wasn’t necessarily at ease even with her crouched down beside a…
He squinted, cocking his head. A child sobbed, cradling its face. Boy? Girl? He couldn’t tell at the moment, only that their hair was red. Morozko didn’t know if it indeed was a child, so he unsheathed his sword, readying to use the butt of his blade to knock them unconscious if he had to.
“Are you mad? Put your sword down. It’s only achild. I checked.” Eirah shifted her hand, revealing a stone in her palm.
Morozko’s shoulders eased downward, and he sheathed his sword. He sighed, wishing he could send her away from it all, yet knowing better than to think she’d just accept that sentence. Morozko jerked his chin toward her hand. “Can you make more of those? One for nearly all the frost demons?”
Eirah nodded. “I’m low on stones, though. I’ll need to find more.”
Morozko wasn’t keen on the idea of her venturing off to the river by herself. “Go with a guard.” The child shifted in Eirah’s grasp. He stared up at Morozko but didn’t speak at first.
Tears spilled from his vibrant green eyes. So, it was a boy. Freckles scattered along the bridge of his nose, onto his cheeks, and disappeared into his hairline. “They won’t stop screaming,” he whispered. “The monsters.”
