The Alien’s Vicious Starflash Manor (Empire of Frost and Flame #2)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

IVRAEL

T he next morning, I pull the Starfire Crown from its hiding place in my study wall safe, where I’d stashed it before falling into the bed the night before. Its twisted metal gleams, the blue gem at its center pulsing against my palm with a rhythm that feels disconcertingly like a heartbeat.

Setting it on my desk, I draw Starflash from its sheath, the sword humming with familiar power, a counterpoint to the crown’s pulse that resonates through me, sinking down into my bones with an ache I can’t deny.

I place the sword on the desk next to the crown, handling it with ceremonial precision.

My own pulse quickens as I circle the polished surface where I’ve cleared everything else away, leaving only the crown and my father’s sword.

Uanna’s lady’s maid reported to me moments ago that Lara and Izzy are still sleeping. I’d stationed her outside their door and instructed her to keep them busy if they woke, thus ensuring I would have this time to work.

To finally unlock the secrets I need.

To fully understand what I’ve undertaken.

To find the key that will make everything possible—or reveal that I’ve built my plans on nothing but ancient myths and desperate wishes.

That’s my hope, at least, since my entire plan hinges on understanding how the crown was originally used to expand magic across Trasq. Without that knowledge, I risk destroying everything—including Lara— especially Lara—for nothing.

Clenching my jaw, I dismiss that thought.

I will not torture myself over what must be done.

I trace my fingers through the air above the artifacts, not quite touching, watching intently for any reaction.

I’ve done this before, of course. Countless times since that night in the cemetery when Lara unknowingly led me to the crown.

But something feels different today—perhaps the looming deadline of Jonyk’s summit, the knowledge of what I must accomplish with these relics.

“Show me,” I whisper, reaching first for Starflash.

The sword’s grip fits my palm perfectly, as always, but today the metal feels almost warm, almost alive.

When I lift the crown with my other hand, bringing the two pieces closer together, my skin prickles with anticipation.

But nothing happens beyond their normal ambient magical resonance, just as nothing has happened every other time I’ve attempted this.

“Dammit, I need to understand you.” The temperature in the room plummets as my frustration builds.

I force myself to set the crown down gently, though everything in me wants to hurl it against the wall.

Instead, I summon my ice magic to my hands, gritting my teeth against how difficult it’s become. The spell dances between my fingers in delicate crystalline patterns that remind me of how our magic weakens, how little time we have left.

Frost crystallizes around my fingers, and I drop them to the desktop, where a thin layer of ice crackles across my desk, spreading from where my hand rests against the wood.

I direct the spell toward the crown.

The magic slides off it like water off glass.

Of course. I’ve tried this before too, testing every variation of Caix power I possess. None of it affects either artifact. The magic inevitably dissipates like morning mist before it can even touch the metal.

But I have to keep trying.

“Fine.” The word comes out more growl than speech.

I sheath Starflash with more force than necessary and move to the cabinet where I keep Cyan’s modified testing equipment.

The devices look absurd here in my study, gleaming metal and blinking lights amid the ancient stonework. Technology that would see me exiled—or worse—if anyone knew I possessed it.

But I’m running out of options.

The scanner whirs to life with a hum that sets my teeth on edge, its beam sweeping over both artifacts. I watch the readout screen with the same desperate attention I once gave to my father’s lessons in swordplay, but the display shows nothing but standard background energy readings.

Just as it has every other time.

“Fuck!” I slam my fist against the desk as ice spreads from my feet across the floor. My voice echoes in the empty room, bouncing back to mock me. “I don’t have time for this.”

Inhaling deeply, I speak aloud to the crown and sword as if they can hear me, understand me. “I need to know how you work. How you were used to expand magic across Trasq. How you can save us now.”

The crown’s gem pulses brighter for a moment, and I lift it again, studying the intricate metalwork that weaves gold and silver together. The blue stone at its center throbs with power I can feel but can’t touch, don’t understand.

My hand shakes as I grab Starflash again.

“What am I missing?” I murmur, bringing the sword closer to the crown once more.

The crown and sword mock me with their silence. I’m running out of time. The peace summit approaches, my powers continue to weaken, and I still don’t understand the tools I need to save my world.

Everything depends on understanding these artifacts—my entire world’s survival hangs on unlocking their secrets. And I’m failing.

Just as I failed to save my father when his mind began to fracture.

Goddess. Am I truly doomed to kill everyone I?—

I cut the thought off before I can finish it. My father’s death might have been in vain, but that kind of failure is not my destiny.

I won’t allow it to be.

Something shifts in the air, a change in pressure that makes my ears pop.

Starflash’s hum deepens, reverberating through my chest. The sword grows warm in my hand—not the gentle warmth of before, but a heat that threatens to burn.

Before I can release my grip, Starflash suddenly flares with brilliant light, a bolt of energy arcs outward, leaping from its blade to the crown.

The blue gem blazes in response, flaring blindingly bright as power surges between the artifacts, creating a feedback loop of raw power that slams into my chest.

My knees buckle as raw magic courses through my body. I stagger back as foreign energy courses through me, ancient magic that tastes of blood and starlight.

It’s too much—ice and fire and starlight all at once, overwhelming my senses.

Through the maelstrom, I glimpse fragments of understanding.

My vision whites out as centuries of knowledge try to pour into my mind all at once.

I catch fragments—the crown’s original forging in flames hot enough to melt stars, the desperate attempts to unite the bloodlines of ice and fire, rivers of royal blood, magic expanding across a half-frozen world...

The true price that must be paid to save Trasq’s magic.

Images flash through my mind faster than I can process—King Caix wearing the crown as he expanded magic across our realm, the sacrifice that powered his spell.

The power surge peaks, magic crackling across my skin like lightning. My muscles seize as the feedback loop intensifies, the connection between sword and crown growing stronger until the light is blinding even through my closed eyelids.

I try to release Starflash, but my fingers won’t respond, locked around the hilt as magic continues to pour through me.

The last thing I see before my consciousness fades is the crown’s gem pulsing in time with my heartbeat in a rhythm that feels like doom.

When my awareness returns, I find myself sprawled on the floor of my study, gasping, with the taste of copper in my mouth, frost spreading out from my body in elaborate patterns across the stone.

Starflash lies beside me, its blade dimmed to a dull gleam. The crown rests on my chest. They have both gone dark again, but now I know—the answer isn’t in either artifact alone. The key lies in the blood connection between them.

I push myself to sitting, head spinning, and stare at the artifacts that have just confirmed my worst fears. The visions showed me what I both hoped and feared to learn—that my plan can work, that when used together, the crown and sword can indeed restore our magic.

But they also revealed the cost, higher than even I had calculated. Not just the Evans sisters’ deaths, but their willing sacrifice.

The crown requires both blood and choice, freely given.

Yet I know Lara would never choose this. And even if she were willing to sacrifice herself, she would never agree to the possibility of sacrificing her sister.

That doesn’t matter. It can’t.

Pulling myself to my feet, I straighten my spine and roll my shoulders back.

I will simply have to find some way to convince them—or a way to circumvent the need for their agreement altogether.

In the meantime, I have a throne to usurp. And I also need the Evans sisters’ participation in order to do that.

I’ll simply have to consider convincing them to participate in learning to function among the Icecaix as if it’s practice for persuading them to sacrifice themselves.

At the thought, I laugh aloud, a dark, cynical sound that echoes through my study. Shaking my head, I ring the bell to call Khrint.

There is no way to go but forward. Nothing left to do but follow the plan.

Even if all is lost, it’s still time for Lara and Izzy to begin their Ice Court training.

And time for me to actually deal with those ice-maze blueprints Uanna sent over.

A quintclick later, I’m standing in one of the fields behind Starfrost Manor—the one where I usually fly my snowhawks—preparing to meet with the firnator, the magic-user who will create the replica ice maze. The morning sunlight reflects blindingly off the fresh snow, bright enough to make my eyes water despite my Icecaix heritage.

Cyan’s analysis of Uanna’s blueprints plays through my mind. No obvious traps in the data itself, though the AI had pointed out several suspiciously empty spaces in the design—perfect places for the kind of “accidents” Jonyk favors.

I’ll handle those details myself. Better to keep such knowledge limited.

Hiring Firnator Syella is a risk. She’s been creating ice structures for the court for decades—for all I know, she’s the one who created this maze for Jonyk. She has connections I can’t fully track, loyalties I can’t guarantee. But her skill is undeniable, and I need this maze built quickly and perfectly.

I could attempt it myself, but even if I have enough raw power left—and I’m not certain I do—I lack the technical precision required. The maze must be exact, must mirror Jonyk’s

Syella approaches across the field, her silver hair blending with her white robes, those robes merging with the snow until she seems to float, ghostlike, toward me.

Ice crystals form in the air around her with each breath, more delicate and controlled than any I’ve seen before. This is why I need her, despite the danger of involving someone else in my plans.

“Your Lordship.” She doesn’t bow—ice-mages rarely do, their pride in their craft outweighing court protocol. Her pale eyes study me with unsettling directness. “An interesting commission.”

Heat flares beneath my skin. Does she suspect something? But I work to keep my expression smoothly bland as I hand her the blueprints. “Welcome to Starfrost, Firnator.”

“Hmm.” She examines the blueprints, weathered fingers tracing the intricate paths. “These specifications are unusually precise. Almost as if you’re copying something that already exists.”

My chest tightens. “Can you match them exactly or not?”

“Oh yes.” A smile curves her thin lips. “Though it will require considerable power. And discretion, I assume?”

I let frost edge my tone, though I doubt my power will intimidate her. “Your usual fee will be doubled for your silence.”

“Triple.” She doesn’t look up from the plans. “And I want access to any information in your library on ice-crafting techniques.”

Clever old woman. It’s a good trade—my family has collected information on cold-magics for generations. “Done. Begin whenever you’re ready.”

Spreading the blueprints on the ground, Syella gestures toward them, freezing them in a solid block of clear ice—holding them in place so she can consult them while completing her work.

Moving to the center of the space, she raises her gnarled hands in a series of practiced gestures, her magic more like a dance than a spell. The temperature plummets as she draws on her power, pulling moisture from the air. Ice begins to form, spreading outward in patterns so intricate they seem alive.

The display of pure skill makes me wonder what she could have done before our world’s magic began dying.

“The basic structure should be complete by nightfall,” she says, never taking her eyes from her work. “The more intricate details will require another full day.”

“Excellent.” That should give me enough time to set facsimiles of the traps the prince is likely to set, and the Evans sisters enough time to learn their way through it.

“Though I’m curious about these empty spaces in the design.”

I freeze, going as still as if I’ve been encased in one of Syella’s ice blocks before finally inhaling. “Focus on the structure itself. I’ll handle any modifications.”

Her knowing look makes my skin crawl, but she nods. “As you wish, Your Lordship.”

She sees too much.

I begin to turn away, but her voice stops me. “Ice can be treacherous, even for those who think they control it.”

What does that mean?

I raise my eyebrows. “Indeed it can.”

She glances from the growing maze structure to the blueprints, and then her gaze shifts to hold mine for a long moment as if considering whether or not to say more. Finally, she nods as if coming to a decision. “Whatever game you’re playing with the prince, Your Lordship, I do hope you’ve considered all the angles.”

I clench my jaw against a sharp retort. She’s right, damn her.

“Send word when you’ve completed this phase.” I turn away before she can voice any more uncomfortable truths.

The morning’s other tasks won’t wait, I tell myself—especially checking on the Evans sisters’ progress with their court training.

My boots crunch through fresh snow as I head back toward the manor, each step taking me closer to Lara.

The thought sends an unwelcome surge of heat through my veins, despite the frigid air. I shouldn’t want to see her. Shouldn’t crave her presence like an addiction. Every moment spent near her makes my inevitable betrayal more difficult.

And yet I nonetheless find myself quickening my pace.