A Heart of Ice and Shadow (Shadows Eternal #2)

Chapter 9

It was embarrassing. Mortifying. She’d fallen asleep. For how long, she had no idea. Gwen’s cheeks burned as she and Sirus crunched along the path back toward the castle. She didn’t know what this meant.

Sirus had woken her delicately, and all she could feel at first was horror that she might have drooled on him—she hadn’t, thank goodness. Sirus had suggested they return, and Gwen hadn’t known what to say other than, “Sure.”

Her head was swimming. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Each step was a cacophony in her ear, reminding her that she wasn’t talking. They hadn’t discussed what happened. Sirus had barely said anything. Did he regret it?

Gwen glanced at him as he plodded along, his shirt and hair coated in snow. His eyes were locked ahead. She didn’t think he regretted it. He hadn’t pulled away from her or made her feel awkward, but he hadn’t exactly been warm either.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The silence loomed. It was driving her nuts.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, awkward and loud.

He stopped and turned to look at her.

Shit. Her cheeks burned, and she looked away. “I’m sorry you—uh—didn’t get much out of that,” she fumbled. What the hell was wrong with her? Gwen wanted to dunk her head in the snow, if only it were deep enough yet to do it.

Sirus let out a deep breath that drew her eyes up. His gaze locked on hers, and he took a single step to fill the gap between them. Her heart fluttered. As he stared down at her, there was a darkness in his eyes that made her insides turn liquid. “I enjoyed it very much,” he told her, the words low and gravelly. He looked to her lips. “Every moment.”

Well…that was something. His words made her cheeks flame and her insides grow hot and gooey. She swallowed a lump of air. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but a sharp wind cut through and she shivered, bracing against the growing cold and quickly falling snow.

“Come,” he encouraged her. “Let’s get you warm.”

Soon they were standing inside the east wing, brushing snow off themselves. Gwen looked to Sirus. Sirus looked to her. The silence loomed like a two-ton elephant.

Sirus seemed as he always did. Calm, cool, and collected. It unnerved her even more. Her heart raced as she tried to come up with something to say. She didn’t want this to be it. She wanted there to be more, but she couldn’t seem to form words. Instead, she slipped his jacket off her shoulders and held it out to him. He hesitated for a moment before he took it. When he ran his hand up through his damp hair, a sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach, and all her insecurities slammed into her like a freight train.

“I enjoyed it too,” she admitted awkwardly. Her whole face felt scorching hot.

He dropped his hand, and whatever he’d been about to say seemed to be lost. Gwen leaned up onto her tiptoes, bracing her hands against his chest. Sirus leaned into her touch, and all her paranoia evaporated. She pressed her lips to his, and he wrapped his hands around her waist and slid them to the small of her back, pulling her closer to give her balance.

The kiss was soft at first. Gwen shifted her hands up to his neck, and Sirus responded with satisfaction, opening his mouth to her. She happily flicked her tongue along the edge of his lip, and a soft growl vibrated through him, sending a swarm of butterflies through her stomach.

Gwen felt his hunger. She felt her own. Sirus pulled away suddenly from their kiss but didn’t remove his hold around her waist. “Barith is coming,” he warned.

The butterflies vanished, and dread smashed into her. Without thinking, Gwen immediately stepped away from Sirus, all the way to the other side of the hall. He didn’t try to stop her, but he watched her as she pulled away. Her stomach twisted in knots when she saw the coldness take hold of him once more.

“There you are,” Barith commented as he lumbered around the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks when he realized Gwen and Sirus were both there. Suspicious, the dragon looked at Sirus, then at Gwen, then back to Sirus.

“You’re late,” Sirus remarked.

Barith cocked a brow. “I don’t recall having a curfew,” he snarked. “What were you two up to?” He looked at the clear remnants of snow and damp in the hall around them.

“Sirus found me in the woods,” Gwen explained. “Just a walk. It’s snowing.” She said the last two things far more shrilly and pointedly than she’d intended.

Barith looked her up and down, then eyed Sirus. “I noticed,” he grumbled. Sirus glared back. Gwen swallowed the lump that felt like glass in her throat. “Levian and Niah are back,” Barith added after a few seconds of weird silence.

Sirus nodded.

“G-great,” Gwen stammered too excitedly. “Are they okay?”

“Peachy,” Barith replied, still not looking at her. Gwen felt her face grow hot. There was no way Barith could know about what happened between them, but it didn’t make this whole thing any less awkward. Clearly, he suspected something. “Lunch is ready,” he added.

“Great!” she repeated.

Barith glanced at her, then back at Sirus again, before turning to head back the way he’d come. For a second, he lingered, clearly thinking Gwen was going to follow, and she nearly did but stopped herself.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” she told him.

The dragon glanced back over his shoulder. “Aye. I can take a hint, but at least give me a few seconds to get out of earshot.”

Gwen cringed. She wasn’t sure what this was, if it was anything. She wasn’t really ready for anyone else to know that they’d…Her cheeks flamed.

“Gwendolyn—” Sirus began, that ice seeping back into his words.

Without thinking, she closed the space between them, leaned up, pecked him on the cheek, and said, “Tonight. Come find me.” Then she turned and ran down the hall after Barith as fast as her legs could take her.

She’d be damned if she let either of them ruin this before they even got a chance to figure out what in the hell this was.

“It was a horse,” Barith declared, downing the remnants of his glass.

“You were drunk,” Levian snapped, crossing her arms curtly and leaning back in her seat. “It was a donkey.”

“So they were both dressed like a donkey?” Gwendolyn asked, her face scrunched in confusion.

“Yes,” Levian confirmed, in tandem with Barith’s, “No.”

The mage and the dragon scoffed at the same time, and Gwendolyn laughed. It made Sirus’s blood stir, that sweet, simple sound like the song of morning birds.

Over the last week, he’d found the group’s shared evenings in the den to be pleasantly diverting, even if most of the conversation had mainly consisted of Barith and Levian recounting poorly remembered escapades from their past.

“I’ll bet you a hundred florin,” Barith challenged the mage, leaning over the table between them.

The mage huffed. “A hundred? I’ll bet you five hundred!”

They both looked to Sirus.

“So, which is it?” Barith asked.

In the hour he’d sat there, it was the first either of them had looked to him to confirm anything. “Neither. It was two men dressed as one ox,” he clarified.

Both Levian and Barith made the same twisted expression of distaste.

“You know, I think he’s right,” Levian admitted sheepishly.

Barith shrugged. “Either way, it didn’t look natural.”

Sirus watched Gwendolyn as she giggled. This was why he’d agreed to come at the start. To see her at ease like this. To hear her laugh. See her happy. His chest tightened when she turned her amused eyes squarely on him, as if to say, Aren’t they both ridiculous? He was tempted to smirk in response. She did not know the half of it.

“So you were there too?” she asked him through her smile.

He nodded. “I was.”

“Did you dress up as well?” Niah questioned.

“I did.”

Gwen’s eyes widened with interest. “As?”

“A skeleton!” Levian blurted, as if it had finally come back to her. “That mask was rather well-made too.”

“Really?” Gwen prodded with a smirk, cocking a brow. “A skeleton?”

“When in Rome,” he said coolly. Which was where they’d happened to be at the time.

Barith barked a laugh. “You must be drunk, vamp, if you’re making jokes.”

He was far from drunk—he could not get drunk without significant effort—but the jest had fallen into the conversation relatively easily. His dry humor had not gone unnoticed. Gwendolyn smiled again, the effect reaching her eyes. Heat rose inside him seeing that smile, and Sirus shifted his focus to his wine. He cherished drawing out her smiles, even if they did unsettle him to his icy core.

Tonight. Come find me. His blood heated. He took a hard swig of the merlot.

“I think that mask is in your study still,” Rath added. Sirus realized he’d been gripping the arm of his chair so hard, he’d dug his nails into the wood.

“It is,” Niah confirmed.

“Perhaps you can model it for us one evening?” Levian proposed with a wicked glint in her eye.

Sirus didn’t need to say no for the room to decipher his stoic expression.

Barith and Gwendolyn chuckled together, as if they’d been friends for centuries and not weeks. A bond akin to that of siblings seemed to have bloomed between them since the mirrors. Sirus was glad of it. Though he’d not appreciated the dragon’s glare of warning this morning in the hall. Even if it had been warranted.

He finished his wine in one gulp and glanced at Gwendolyn’s smiling face as she and Barith whispered some joke to each other. Levian rolled her eyes, overhearing them.

Would she stay? Sirus wondered. He pushed the thought from his head, angry that he’d let it come at all. No. She wouldn’t. More importantly, he would never ask her to. A flutter of something filled his chest, followed by a hollowness at knowing she would soon be gone.

“Shall we get to the matter at hand then?” Rath questioned, his knitting needles clacking away in his giant, clawed hands.

A weight fell over the room in an instant. Rath was right. They needed to discuss what Levian had learned during her audience with the Council of Mages, but Sirus had not necessarily planned it to be now. This moment.

“I suppose now will do,” Levian agreed, albeit a tad bit reluctantly. She smiled widely. “The good news is the Council doesn’t know anything about you,” she told Gwendolyn. “Not directly, anyway. However, they do know Nestra is hunting something.

“The Council has been watching the zephyrs,” she continued. “They’ve had a particular interest in their High Priestess for many years. As I suspected, Nestra has guarded her secrets well. For a time, she spun her webs without drawing attention, like a spider beneath a table.” Her face grew pensive. “But soon the bodies of flies will fall to the floor, and the spider can no longer be ignored.”

Barith twisted in his seat, and Sirus could see the worry in his face. When Levian spoke in such metaphors, it never boded well. “And they don’t know anything about Gwen?” the dragon pressed, to be sure.

Levian shook her head. “They know of something, but the witches in New York covered up the details rather well. Your witch, Bridgette, would have had a hand in that, I think,” she told Gwendolyn with a soft smile.

Gwendolyn fidgeted with the sleeve of her blue sweater and cleared her throat. “So you didn’t find out anything new?” she asked, the words heavy with anxiousness.

The mage patted her arm softly. “Not exactly. One of the sitting Mages on Council owed me a favor. She’s the only reason I was able to obtain the information I did,” she lamented. “According to her, there is a rumor that a ghost with mirrors for eyes does the High Priestess’s bidding. They say he haunts the acropolis of the Temple of Strye.”

So Aldor was indeed Nestra’s soulless little puppet. Sirus looked to Gwendolyn, whose face had turned deathly pale as she stared down into her lap. Once more, he regretted he’d not torn the cursed creature’s head from his shoulders when he’d had the chance in the Hall of Reflections.

Levian took Gwendolyn’s hand and squeezed it. Sirus tensed. He knew they needed to have this conversation, but it did not make it any easier to see Gwendolyn struggle. It did not make it any easier to know he could not be the one to touch her. His fingers twitched, and he gripped the arms of his chair tighter.

Gwendolyn gave the mage a small, measured smile.

“What else?” Sirus pressed. Gwendolyn’s eyes flicked up to his and back down again. It was enough that his skin grew tight.

Levian’s expression darkened, her gaze drifting as she became lost in thought. “There is a long-brewing struggle for power within the Zephyr Court, it seems. Nestra is a fixture of the Temple, chosen as High Priestess by the Dawn King himself. There were even rumors they were lovers.” She cocked a brow and let out a heavy breath. “It’s said that she tried to get him to kill his queen and take her as his bride instead. To blend the Temple and the bloodline of kings.” She made a sour face. “The queen did die in childbed, but the Dawn King never took Nestra to wife. Thurin loathed the High Priestess and always suspected her involvement in his mother’s death. When Thurin took the throne after his father, the rift grew deeper until the High Court became split. There are those who stand with the High Priestess and those who stand with the throne. Neither of them are quite powerful enough to overthrow the other.”

“So she’s going to try and overthrow the king?” Barith scoffed. “The zephyrs would never go for it. Thurin’s descended from their Dawn King. He can do no wrong in the eyes of his people.”

Levian pulled a wary face. “Thurin is descended from the Dawn King, but his mother is a fae, a fact Nestra apparently often spouts to her more devout within their High Court. She was chosen by the Dawn King. If Thurin falls, all she needs to do is claim divine right to take his seat. He has no heirs—I wouldn’t be surprised to discover she played a hand in that as well. Both are like snakes coiling around each other. Nestra and the Temple against Thurin and his throne. One will win eventually.”

Barith ran his hand through his hair in frustration, matting it over his head. He leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “So why won’t the mages help Thurin chuck Nestra out on her arse before she gets the chance to try? They would favor his rule over hers, wouldn’t they?”

Levian scowled.

“They’re waiting,” Sirus cut in. Nestra and King Thurin may have been vipers coiled around each other, but the Council of Mages were snakes themselves. Only they remained hidden in the grasses, waiting to see who would prevail. Waiting to strike when the victor was still weak from battle. There was a reason they did not wish to interfere. At least, not yet.

“And we are the bloodthirsty leeches upon the world,” Niah clipped with disgust. Rath huffed a small sound of agreement.

“If the mages are watching all of this unfold,” Barith posed to Levian, “they just let you waltz in, ask questions and tell them half-truths, then walk back out without a word?”

The mage cocked a brow. “Hardly,” she snarked. “Though some of us are better equipped at handling scaly creatures.”

The dragon snorted and leaned back in his chair.

“The Council already knew much of what I told them about New York and Nestra’s involvement, and they knew I believed she was after something precious and powerful,” she explained. “I gave them morsels enough to whet their interest, but nothing too revealing. They acted as if I’d wasted their time, and I acted as if I were doing them a grand favor by bothering at all. We all played the parts we always play,” she mused with bitterness.

“My contact and I conversed in private after the Council had dispersed. I suspect she only told me what she did to see if I would confirm any of what they knew.”

“They tried to tail her,” Niah threw out. Levian looked daggers at Sirus’s sister, who stood behind Rath’s chair next to his own. The mage had obviously told her not to say anything.

Gwendolyn was startled. “They followed you?”

Levian shrugged. “It’s nothing new. They do it every time I bother to come to them. We all know there’s always an ulterior motive.”

“And?” Barith demanded, not reassured.

“And nothing,” Levian snapped, turning her head sharply toward the dragon, leaning out from her seat to do so. “I took care of it.”

“How?”

“The mage will be lucky if he remembers his own name,” Niah answered for her.

Levian’s expression was harsh, but a little blush of color filled the tops of her cheeks. “It was just a little spell to scramble his memories,” she scoffed. “He’ll remember—eventually.”

Barith grumbled something, and the two of them bickered back and forth until Sirus grew tired of it. “What of Gwendolyn?” he pressed Levian. Those emerald green eyes shot up to his for the second time, and a surge of lightning spread into his bones. Come find me. The words had vibrated through him since the moment she spoke them.

Levian let out a huff. “It was difficult to uncover much,” she admitted reluctantly. “I did not want to give anything away, of course, but I did glean a few things.”

Gwendolyn’s attention fell fully on Levian, her body tense with anticipation.

The mage turned to her. “Now, I cannot say any of this is for certain,” she prefaced. “But I saw someone else while I was away. A friend.” The mage reached into a pocket of her dress, pulled out a gold chain with a small ruby pendant, and held it out to Gwendolyn.

Sirus fell utterly still. He’d noticed that Gwendolyn hadn’t worn it to the spring, but he’d assumed she left it on purpose. He’d been wrong.

Gwendolyn held out her hand, and Levian placed the necklace delicately in her palm. “Your mother was human, but I believe she did have some witch’s blood.” Gwendolyn's breath was sharp and short, the emotion laced in her features so raw. “Her family hailed from Massachusetts, where they lived for some generations,” Levian went on. “I could find no trace beyond your great-grandparents.”

Levian’s eyes held something as she peered down at Gwendolyn, as if she brimmed to say something but thought better of it.

“So my grandmother could have been a witch?” Gwendolyn proffered with apprehension.

The mage gave a little shrug. “It’s hard to say. There would be records if she were a part of a coven, but I’ve heard nothing to confirm it from my contacts.”

Gwendolyn’s face twisted, and that little wrinkle grazed her nose. “So does that mean my father was magickal? If it didn’t come from my mother?”

The mage kept the secret veiled, but Sirus was too trained not to notice it flicker over her features. Barith noticed as well. No one said a thing. The knowledge of it merely hung around them. Sirus felt a heaviness settle deep in his bones. It was obvious the mage was hesitant to speak about anything more in front of Gwendolyn.

“It is likely,” was all Levian replied with a soft smile. “I will try to find out more.”

Gwendolyn was clearly disappointed but masked it well. The little nuggets Levian had given her were enough to chew on for the time being. “So, what now?”

The mage let Gwendolyn’s hand go and leaned back in her seat. “We continue on,” she replied with a smile. “I won’t give up so easily, as I hope you know by now.”

The gears in Gwendolyn’s brain were clearly turning, but she managed a small smile and words of gratitude to Levian for finding out what she had.

“There’s a kitchen to clean,” Rath remarked, putting away his knitting and standing so that he cast a shadow over them all as he blocked the firelight. “Gwen, will you help me?”

Gwendolyn often helped Rath in the kitchen. In this instance, the intention to lure her away was obvious to everyone except her. She stood without argument and drifted toward the door like she were in a fog. Sirus watched her, though she did not look at him once. Her focus was lost in her own head. Only when she turned in the doorway did she glance back. She met his gaze like he were a target for her arrow and bit her bottom lip.

Come find me. The words repeated in his head, and Sirus suspected they repeated in hers as well. Her face flushed, and she darted away.

Sirus wanted to curse, but he managed to hold it in. He calmed his heated blood with nothing but controlled determination and looked to the mage. He felt like an ass for keeping whatever was to be spoken from Gwendolyn, but he trusted Levian had her reasons. “What haven’t you said?”

Levian leaned back in her seat, took in a heavy breath, and let it out slowly. “Nestra is determined to prevail,” she said. What little bit of soft joviality she’d managed to muster for Gwendolyn was now gone. She seemed weighted and wary. “But this is not simply about Nestra or the danger she poses.”

Niah took Rath’s now vacant seat and handed Levian a dram of whiskey. The mage took a heavy pull before she continued, “I wanted to tell her, but she is still so new to our world. I was afraid to scare her.”

Sirus swallowed his trepidation.

“Tell us,” Barith prompted.

“I’ve not been able to let it drop,” Levian admitted. “It bothered me…that Abigail saw a mage in her scrying bowl. A mage who she admitted was clearly not me,” she continued. “I’ve been poring over texts for weeks. Corresponding with everyone I thought was safe…I spoke the truth about her mother. I wondered if perhaps the mother she’d known was a guardian of sorts, but I was wrong. The woman who died in that car accident was her mother by birth.”

Sirus was sad for her, but Gwendolyn had never suspected anything different. Her grief over her mother had already been real, so that was not new, at least.

“She is the daughter of witches,” Niah said, giving voice to one of the many threads that spun around them.

Levian nodded. “Yes. But not powerful witches. If her mother had been of power, Gwendolyn would carry more essence of the craft in her.”

“What of her father?” Sirus pressed.

The mage’s lips pursed. She looked as if she was still unsure whether this was appropriate to share, which only meant that it was important. Her expression softened and turned almost sad. “Gwendolyn is the single daughter of single daughters, each breaking three generations of sons who bore but one son.”

A ripple spread over him like the eerie touch of a ghost. Single daughters of single daughters for two generations could be considered mere coincidence. For three or more, it was nearly always an omen of powerful magick. For their coupling to break single lines of sons was something even more potent.

Barith cursed, anxiously running his hand through his matted hair.

“How far back?” Niah asked.

Levian shook her head. “I cannot say. Far enough that it doesn’t matter. Only magick brings something like that about. Only—” Her gaze shot to Sirus’s. Only destiny.

Bile rose in his throat. Destiny. Fate. The mere insinuation sent his blood to ice. He said nothing.

“And her father?” Barith pressed. “You think him a mage?”

Pain laced Levian’s expression, and it gave Sirus pause. It struck him suddenly how invested they all were in Gwendolyn and her fate. She was no longer a mere curiosity or a contract to keep entertained. He could sense it in Barith and Levian and even Niah. They cared about what happened to her. They did not wish her to feel pain any more than he did. Only they all knew the same truth: pain was a part of this life and could not be outrun by mortals or immortals alike.

Levian’s face was brushed with a familiar knowing that sent his hackles rising. “He knew what she would be,” he guessed, barely containing the disgust in his own voice.

The mage’s violet eyes widened and met his. For a moment, she was unveiled and raw, but she quickly recovered. “There were a few mages some years back who disappeared without any word. It may not have struck anyone particularly strange, except one was on Council. Jacard was his name.” Her face turned pale. “No trace of him has been discovered since. Gwendolyn would have been an infant around the time he disappeared.” She braced a hand on her stomach. “He was whispered to dabble in dark magicks. There was gossip he was of D?kk blood.”

Barith hissed. Niah shifted in her seat. Sirus was leery to ask what more she held on to, but he knew it must be done. “What more?”

Levian glanced up; she looked nearly ill. “I found a picture of him.” She shuddered. “They have the same eyes.”

That ghostly touch manifested over him until he felt shrouded in a cold veil. It did not unnerve him like it might have another. Sirus was used to such feelings. For Gwendolyn, he felt the prickle of ice that came with it. Her mother was dead, likely her father too. He ached for her.

“You believe he did something to her?” Niah continued. “Her father?”

Frustration flared in Levian’s face, and she shifted in her seat uneasily. Sirus expected her to withhold, as was her nature, but she spoke freely. “I don’t know if he cared for her mother, if this was all planned and arranged, or if it was just the Fates at work…” She stood suddenly and went to the fire. She glared down into the flames as if they held the secrets of the cosmos and she wished to douse them out of spite.

“I cannot say what he felt for Gwen, but I know she was not born this way,” Levian admitted. “The power within her is not a power she carried in the womb. I believe he put this burden upon her head.”

All this time and talk. All this chatter and doubt. Sirus could see it in the mage’s face. The truth and uncertainty of it all at once. “She holds a Star,” he guessed. The words came hollow and cold.

Levian looked pained as she met his eyes. Pained and angry. “She is a daughter of Fate and a mage of D?kk blood. Where better to hide one?”

Sirus could not breathe under the weight of it. His skin tingled, and his mouth ran dry. Gwendolyn’s magick had been unlike anything he’d ever known. It tasted of life and magick itself. He’d thought her a Goddess this very day as she’d stood on the edge of the hot spring, beckoning him to her. She was as close to one as could be, he recognized. A Star made flesh.

“That’s impossible,” Barith snapped.

“How?” Niah pressed, leaning forward in her seat. “How could it even be?”

Levian began to pace before the wide hearth. “The D?kk,” she replied eventually. “They had spells to harness all manner of magicks. Why not a Star? Hell, they thought themselves capable of harnessing time itself and everything in between. So much of their spellbinding is now lost, but it’s not improbable they discovered a way to harness a Star or at least part of one. They were destroyed because of their hubris, but that is not warning enough for some. Power is an intoxicating mistress, drawing you in with coy kisses and smiles. Showing pieces of herself slowly, until you are nothing more than a lapping dog at her feet, begging to see more and more. Not realizing that she is laughing at you all the while, waiting to eat the flesh from your bones.”

“If she does contain the magick of a Star, what does it mean for her as a mortal?” He had not wanted to ask the question, as he felt he already knew the answer, but he must. He had to hear it.

Levian stopped her pacing. She did not need to speak. It was written plain on her face.

Sirus did not let his emotions show, but a shiver of true fear slithered up his spine. He might not have ever felt such fear in his life if not for Gwendolyn. Fear of an enemy he could not fight. That alone was enough to undo him, but there was more to it. This was a hard truth that was always looming. Each day, Gwendolyn marched closer to her death while he slipped between its fingers. She would die. She was mortal. He had known it, but only then did he truly feel the truth of it. It was sobering.

Barith cursed and stood suddenly, going over to pour himself a drink.

“There is so much I still don’t know,” Levian admitted. “I cannot be absolutely certain that any of this is true. But if it is, and she truly somehow possesses one of the Celestial Stars…she is in danger. I can only assume Jacard had a plan that was foiled in some way, leaving Gwen to carry this burden on her own.”

The dragon downed his drink and filled his glass once more. “Can’t you do something?” he asked, turning to face her.

Levian let out a deep sigh. “It’s magick vastly beyond what I know,” she confessed. “Perhaps there is a way to contain it or bind it somehow. That may even be what was done to her at the start. I cannot understand why the mage would have done such a thing, but I’ve not allowed myself to get too far down that particular rabbit hole. There are only a few people I could even think of who might be able to help, and to take her to any of them would be a great risk.”

“The dryads would be able to help her?” Niah asked.

Levian nodded. “The Veil is said to hold a Star itself. Terra. If that is so, it’s possible Iathana would know ways to help her, ways I do not. If she agrees to take her. For now, though, I think she is safe here. The dampening spells around Volkov are old, and they seem to do the trick to keep her magicks at bay. She’s had a few little flares, but nothing of much substance.”

Sirus recalled the little flare of her power in the springs. How that magick had licked over him, sending his entire body burning with pleasure. Guilt tore through him. It was best she did not have any flares at all, and he’d brought one of them on himself.

“So, what do we do?” Barith snapped with impatience. “Just wait for either Iathana or Nestra or some other power-hungry prick to come knocking on the door?” He cursed again and downed his drink.

“There is another option,” Levian offered with a hint of distaste. “There’s only one person I can think of who might actually know and be willing to help.”

Barith eyed her with confusion. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” she retorted.

It took a second, but recognition soon dawned on the dragon’s face. “You can’t be serious,” he spat.

“If anyone would know details about such magicks, it would be him,” Levian replied, her face twisted like she’d sucked on a wedge of lemon.

“And what?” the dragon huffed. “You’re just going to stroll into The Prison and have a quick chat with Daddy?”

Tarchár, as it was called among the fae, was referred to more commonly as “The Prison.” It was ancient. Its name meant “a place without light.” It described it well. It’d been built by the faeries so far back, no one knew exactly how old it was, except for perhaps some of the prisoners themselves. It was of magick all its own. Built to be beyond the control of fae or mage or any of the Folk. Hidden in the depths of a glacial ocean where no natural light would ever touch. Any creature deemed too dangerous to live who could not be killed would find themselves forever imprisoned in the purgatory of Tarchár.

“Yes,” Levian snapped. “That’s exactly what.” She stormed over, snatched the bottle of scotch from the table behind Barith, and raised it to her mouth. They all watched her take several hard pulls. She grimaced and brushed the remnants from her lips with the back of her hand. “Merlin is a bastard, but he knows more about D?kk magick and the Celestial Stars than anyone else alive.”

“You think they would allow you in?” Niah asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I went once,” Levian confessed. “A long time ago. I didn’t see him, but I found out I could visit whenever I pleased.”

Sirus could think of a dozen times when her access to Merlin might’ve helped them over the centuries, but he held no ill will over her choice to not seek him out. Merlin was a fiend beyond words who had chosen power over his own family. Over Levian. Her access to her father came as a surprise to Sirus, but it was nowhere near the shock it was to Barith, whose eyes looked like they were about to burst from his skull.

“Ye canny be feckin’ serious?” the dragon seethed, the lilt of his raw accent coating his words. He raked his hand through his hair and over his beard. “You can’t go.”

“I can damn well go anywhere I like,” Levian snarled, poking her purple-painted fingernail in the dragon’s chest.

Barith cursed. “This is insane,” he snapped. “That place is dangerous.”

Levian stared up at him, her eyes full of fire, and threw her braids over her shoulder. “You’re worried I’ll stub my toe?”

The dragon gritted his teeth as he loomed over her, smoke billowing from his flared nostrils. “I’m worried you’ll never come out.”

“Then you can come with me,” she chimed, her demeanor turning sickeningly sweet. Barith’s face grew pale. “To make sure I don’t trip over any large rocks or get lost in the dark.”

Barith looked as if he could gnash glass. It would be a test of his fortitude and his feelings for Levian to go to The Prison. So far from the sun and sky. It was the embodiment of the dragon’s hell on earth.

Levian looked up at Barith as if she expected him to back down. Instead, the dragon clenched his jaw and replied, “Half an hour. That’s it.”

“An hour,” she countered, though they both knew the argument was moot. She could take as long as she wanted once she was there. Barith wouldn’t leave her.

The dragon answered by yanking the bottle from her hand and tossing what remained of it down his own throat.

“I’ll go as well,” Niah offered, glancing at Sirus.

Sirus gave a slight nod of agreement. It could not hurt to have her there. “Will they be allowed entry as well?” he asked.

Levian shrugged a shoulder, her eyes shifting to the fire. “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But I’m Merlin’s daughter, and as I’ve been told, getting what I want runs in my blood.”

There was truth to her words despite the acidic bite that came with them. Even trapped under that mountain, beneath the abyss of that dark ocean and removed from all power, Merlin still held influence.

Sirus had always questioned the Mages’ intentions in locking him away rather than severing his head from his shoulders. They’d said he couldn’t be killed. Sirus hadn’t believed it. Why kill what they could use? It was better to break him. But Sirus doubted five hundred years had been long enough. He doubted any amount of time would be long enough. More likely, Merlin would find his way free first.

After all these years of avoiding her father, Sirus assumed there was something else weighing on Levian’s mind beyond Gwendolyn or the Celestial Stars. Whatever the reason, he hoped she’d be able to find all the answers she sought.

“When?” Barith snapped after draining the bottle.

“Council can’t be the only ones who know what Nestra is up to, and they’ll all start looking for what she’s after, if they haven’t already,” Levian replied, fiddling with the end of one of her braids. “I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of much time. I need a few days to make arrangements.”

Barith’s face went slack, then tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grumbled a prayer to the gods, along with a few curses. “Fine.”

Niah nodded her understanding.

Sirus’s eyes drifted to the fast-falling snow outside. Gwendolyn deserved to know these truths, and he knew he needed to be the one to deliver them. Even if the idea of her pain sent an ache coursing through his own chest. How could he begin to tell her any of it? That she might be a daughter of the Fates, whose father was not only probably dead but had likely burdened her with magick beyond what any mortal could contain?

Sirus could not help but think of Merlin, and his skin burned with rage. Levian had spoken of the draw of power with such acute disgust because she knew what it was like to have a father fall prey to its temptation. At least Merlin had not used her to his darker ends. At worst, he’d cast her aside as if she’d been nothing more than a fly at his ear.

It was good Gwendolyn’s father was dead, Sirus thought, because he was a monster and held no shame in such things. If this Jacard still lived, he would track him to the ends of the earth and kill him himself.

As Levian and Barith shot barbs back and forth, Sirus struggled to focus. His skin still tingled from his encounter with Gwendolyn. It tingled with the promise of her challenge. Tonight. Come find me. Conflict roiled within him.

“It’s settled, then,” Niah said.

The dragon stalked out of the room in a flurry of grumbled curses, declaring he needed air and to help with the dishes.

“He’ll calm down,” Levian told them, watching him go with frustration. The mage let out a deep sigh and looked to the ground. “I don’t know what to tell Gwen,” she admitted.

“You should rest,” Niah told her. “It’s been a long few days.”

Levian smirked coyly. “Haven’t you heard? There is no rest for the wicked.”

“I’ll speak to her,” Sirus offered.

The mage looked grave and shook her head. “Perhaps we should wait to say anything,” she thought aloud, “until I can speak to Merlin. I don’t want to blindside her, and it feels cruel to say anything without knowing for certain whether any of this is true.”

Sirus was fairly certain without Merlin’s confirmation, but he liked the idea of not telling her. Not yet. Maybe he was a coward, but he simply did not want her to suffer the truth this day.

He nodded in agreement. What did it matter if they waited a few days more?