8. Isla
8
ISLA
K onstantin stands with his back pressed against the wall, one polished boot propped against it. The high color of his cheeks leads me to think he’s been out here a while.
“We have fur stoles— synthetic fur—at our guests’ disposal. Would you care for one?”
I curl my fingers around my fistful of trapped flakes, feeling them liquefy almost instantly. “Generous, but my dress has been spelled to keep my skin toasty.”
“Nothing quite like Shabbin magic.”
I lean back against the railing. “Shouldn’t you be inside, schmoozing?”
He rolls his neck. “I have two more days of this. Not to mention a lengthy supper to sit through.”
“Why organize a Jubilee if you find hosting it tedious?”
His silver eyes return to the blizzard-bleached landscape.
“Because I’m incapable of refusing my sister anything.” With a sigh, he lowers his boot from the wall and straightens. “What Izolda wants, Izolda gets.”
“Does this apply to all your sisters?” Like Taytah would say, I don’t beat around the Amkhuti.
In my defense, the Ice King gave me the perfect segue to plunge into his family dynamics.
His pupils tighten. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Ksenia that I haven’t already done for Izolda.”
His third sister’s name tickles my tongue.
I spend a full minute trying to fashion a question that won’t betray the promise I made my father. “Did you feel the same way about Alyona?”
His features, already so severe, sharpen like the icicles clinging to the roof’s edge. “Yes.”
Interesting. What would prove even more so would’ve been a padded answer. I wait. He adds nothing else for me to nibble on.
“You’re lucky to have so many siblings. I mean, Naev is like a sister, and Elio and Lach like brothers, but still…I would love for my parents to have more children.”
“They surely will.”
“Fingers crossed.” Since he makes no move to return indoors, I pursue chatting. “Do you know where the expression comes from?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever looked into it, no.”
“It has its roots in Shabbin folklore. The symbol to create a ward is composed of intersecting lines. A knot of sorts.”
To my great frustration, a highly complex one that I’ve never been able to reproduce, because each time I lift my finger to sketch a new shape, the whole design wobbles, and I either misplace the necessary curl or angle it wrong. Mimi insists it’s a feat for even the most skilled bloodcaster, but plenty of my peers have already mastered it.
“Wards are supposed to keep evil at bay, thus the crossed fingers,” I finish.
“Fascinating.”
“I’ve noticed your palace is warded.”
“Only my private quarters. At least, they’re supposed to be. It was a gift from your great-grandmother Meriam for my coronation.”
“Along with your necklace?”
His bruised lip kinks. “You’re well-informed.”
“I’m a curious person.”
“Curiosity has killed many cats.”
“Thank Mórrígan I’m not of the feline genus then.” I grip the cold, varnished log at my back. “So, the reason I couldn’t shapeshift earlier was because of the medallion, or because your rooms are warded?”
“My medallion only prevents magic and iron from irreparably harming me. Apparently . I wouldn’t put it past Meriam to have given me a false sense of invulnerability, though.”
“I could ask her.” I let go of the railing and step toward him. “Or…I could try a little spell.”
“Define little spell .”
“I could chop the tip off one of your fingers. I’d grow it back immediately.”
His lips remain crooked. “Tempting.”
“I’d offer to lengthen your nail, but that’s not exactly an attack, so it wouldn’t help test the effectiveness of the medallion?”
“Why such a vested interest in whether I can be harmed?”
“I’m a curious person, remember?”
“So, you’re not looking to injure me further?”
Not tonight… “I don’t know about you, but I actually enjoy not being at war.”
It takes him almost a full minute to uncross his arms, and then another to present me with his pinkie. “Worst comes to worst, it’ll grow back on its own as long as you don’t use iron talons, correct?”
Speaking of which… I try to shift. When it doesn’t work, I surmise the medallion’s keeping my Crow at bay.
“Correct,” I finally reply, pressing the pad of my index finger against the ruby spikes at my ears.
Before he can rescind his invitation to divest him of a body part, I wrap my fingers around his to steady his hand. I’m momentarily shocked by how soft his skin is—like velvet. Most men I’ve touched have calluses. Most women, too. Especially Shabbins.
Focus. And not on the pliancy or warmth of his skin .
I sketch a circle around his top phalanx with my other hand. His fingertip doesn’t break off. Then again, the ruby band doesn’t even penetrate his skin.
I lift my eyes to his, only to find him already staring down at me. “Seems like you’re Shabbin-proof, Vizosh.”
He doesn’t say anything, yet I can feel him thinking. If only I knew what was running through his mind. No, no, I take that back. Knowing would mean sliding into his thoughts, and then he could slide into mine, and, well…that would prove most inconvenient.
“Thanks for letting me experiment.” I lower my gaze and thumb off the excess blood. “Wouldn’t happen to carry a handkerchief?”
“What exactly are you two doing?” Izolda’s voice startles me so hard I jump.
“Your friend was trying to saw my finger off with magic,” Konstantin deadpans, as he slips his hand out of mine.
What the—Is he serious? A glance at his curved mouth reveals that he’s not.
“A real shame it didn’t work,” I say, which catches on the steel flecks of his irises.
Izolda snorts. “Well, sorry to interrupt your magical butchering session, but no one can sit until you do, Kostya.”
She gestures for him to head to his place at one of the tables arranged to mirror the shape of the Lodge.
Once he’s out of earshot, she murmurs, “He never cracks jokes. He so rarely smiles. And yet you get him to do both? I may have to kidnap you and keep you in Glace, Isles.”
I’m aware she’s jesting, yet I think of the prophecy and how this winter—or another—I’ll be back, and not as a source of entertainment.
She winds her arm through mine. “By the way, you’re sitting between me and a very lovely Glacin arms dealer who’s begged me for an introduction. He’s good people. Unlike his father.”
Since she never badmouths anyone, I take it that the father must be quite the scumbag.
“Anyway, Lev is a childhood friend, whose company you’ll enjoy immensely.” Right before we reenter the Lodge, she murmurs, “Did I mention he was easy on the eyes?”
“So if I don’t enjoy his conversation, I’ll at least enjoy the sight of him?”
“Exactly.”
It turns out that my neighbor, Lev Zaslofsky, is not only easy on the eyes, but also incredibly charming.
For a heartbeat, I even find myself daydreaming: What if it’s him? What if he’s to be my mate?
“Will you be touring our factories with your parents tomorrow, Príona?” he asks, using the Crow term for princess with surprising fluency. Then again, he speaks my father tongue better than most Lucin Faeries.
“Your factories?” I ask.
“Most monarchs will be visiting our factories instead of heading to Voshna.” Lev flips a mahogany curl off his brow. “I was just wondering whether you’d be on that tour, or on Izolda’s?”
“Please choose mine.” Izolda seizes my forearm and squeezes. “Please? I swear to make it more fun than a factory visit.”
My father must sense my temptation to pick the factory, because he says, Once you’ve seen a shotgun, you’ve seen them all.
Except, I’ve never seen a shotgun…
If there’s anything of interest, I’ll tell you about it.
Though I don’t dislike shopping, I don’t particularly want to spend my entire day in fitting rooms.
The same way that if you discover anything of interest in Voshna, you’ll tell me all about it. Did I mention that Alyona’s last known residence was the Voshnan human quarters?
A smile blooms over my lips. “I guess I’m going to Voshna.”
Dádhi must’ve come to terms with me not only staying but also helping. Though I do suspect that the instant winter hits Glace, he’ll want me gone.
“What time will you be docking, Iz?” Lev asks.
“Late morning, so everyone can sleep in and have plenty of energy for what I have planned.” She waggles her eyebrows. “It’s quite possibly the event I’m most excited about.”
“ Kohanosh , you’re excited about all the events.” Aodhan cups his love ’s hand and carries it to his lips for a kiss.
Izolda’s cheeks heft with a grin. “He’s right. I am. But this one is going to be extra .”
“Us, Voshnans, are aware,” Lev says with genuine levity. “Your party planners have besieged the old town with the zeal of a rival army.”
“I thought this was a shopping trip,” Naeva says from the other side of the table.
“There will be plenty of shopping, but also plenty of… other things.” Izolda seems to vibrate in her seat, as though bursting with the desire to reveal all these other things. “Kostya, I know you have meetings all day tomorrow, so you’re off the hook until four, but at four sharp, Aodhan will be around to collect you.”
“I’ve been informed of my schedule,” Konstantin replies genially.
As guests try to wheedle more information out of Izolda, Lev murmurs, “I hope you’ll do me the honor of visiting my home. I live on the cliff overlooking the harbor.”
Even though a tryst isn’t my intent, if I don’t break away from the group at some point, there’s little chance I’ll make it to the human lands.
“I’d love to see your house. Interiors fascinate me.” Which admittedly, isn’t a lie.
Lev’s amber eyes glint as though his fire-magic has converged behind his irises.
“ If Izolda allows me to escape, that is?” I turn toward my other neighbor.
“Escape?” Her eyebrows peak, which jostles her iridescent stripes.
Izolda always matches her Crow paint to what she wears. Seeing as her dress and complexion are both ivory, she had to go with the next best thing—mother-of-pearl.
“Lev offered to show me his home tomorrow.”
“Did he now?” Inuendo vibrates her voice. “At the end of the big event, you’re free to wander.”
“I’m simply dying to know more about the big event ,” Phoeppa says, his face luminous with excitement and glittery stripes. Like Izolda, he’s taken to matching his stripes to his clothing.
“Are you more excited for the big event than for the shopping, Phoeppa?” Naeva asks him.
Phoeppa twines his long fingers around his crystal wine goblet. “Never more than for the shopping. Glacin cashmeres and wools are simply exquisite. And their beadwork…chef’s kiss. I’ve actually created a little something special for this winter—a bodysuit woven from cashmere. I might have samples in my Voshnan boutique.”
As Phoeppa tells a very intrigued Milana about his latest creation, Lev asks, “Are there any foods you don’t eat?”
His gaze dips to my half-eaten beef stew, which was delicious, if a little copious.
“No,” I say, aware he must be planning a meal.
How surprised will he be when I suggest he take me to the Voshnan human quarters? Will he refuse or indulge me? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Either he takes me, or I pass on his offer of dinner and take myself.
He sips some of that clear liquid Glacins brew from root vegetables. A drink that is eye-wateringly terrible and so high in alcohol, I’d be surprised if it left livers intact.
“I hope you’ll love my city,” he says as our shallow soup bowls are cleared and dessert arrives.
Konstantin is served first. He doesn’t even sample the tort made of twenty-five alternating layers of pastry cream and flaky puff pastry topped with sugared rowan berries. I, on the other hand, devour it.
To this day, I strongly believe that people who aren’t endowed with a sweet-tooth are either too uptight or marginally boring. I glance at Lev’s plate, reassured when he spoons the flaky dessert into his mouth. A male after my own heart.
I lift my eyes to his temple to pilfer a thought.
Nothing.
My attention strays once more to the Glacin King. Is he free to love whoever he wants, or will he marry out of duty? His gray stare clangs against mine, its steely intensity like a whetted blade.
What angers you so, Konstantin Korol? This Jubilee? My curiosity?
He thrusts his chair back and stands in one fluid motion, inciting most Glacins to all but leap out of their seats. They nod or bow as he wishes the assembly a pleasant slumber in a tone that belies his kind regards. Evidently, the male doesn’t care how anyone sleeps.
As he marches away, my gaze latches on to my mother’s. Her mouth is drawn and her arms crossed at the elbows, fingers tapping away at her biceps. Is she about to call in the favor that Konstantin owes her? Is she worried that he’ll hurt me?
I ask her on the sleigh ride down to the palace, whispering my question into her ear so Naeva and Taytah, who share our sleigh, aren’t privy to it.
Mádhi tucks me into her side. “I’m your mother. I worry about any man who takes an interest in you.”
“I was talking about Konstantin, not Lev.”
She weaves her fingers through my long hair. “So was I.”
I’m so taken aback by her conclusion that it takes me almost a full minute to explain, “You mistake interest for wariness. I asked too many questions earlier.” Curiosity may not have killed any Crows yet, but there’s always a first time for everything. “When you do call in your bargain, make sure to add the clause that he cannot ask any friendly bloodcaster to turn me into a Forever-Crow.”
Her fingers stop fording through my unbound locks. “No Shabbin would dare.”
“It’s not a question of daring; it’s a question of bargaining.”
Although we course down the mountain at great speed, by the time we pull up in front of the palace, my lap is white with snow. I dust it off before the fabric of my dress can thaw it.
“If someone with blood magic owes him a favor,” I murmur, “they’d have no choice but to unmake my magic.”
My mother scowls as though angry at whoever would dare. “The Cauldron would remake you. But, yes, I’ll be sure to add that clause.”
Perhaps the Cauldron would remake me, but what if it remade me into something else? Or worse, what if it didn’t find me worthy of another whirl?
As Naeva and Taytah climb off the sleigh, Mádhi asks, “You didn’t imprint with anyone tonight, right?”
I smirk. “I’m surprised you think I wouldn’t have told you the second it happened.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t happen, laenath .” She sketches the frame of my face with her blistered thumb.
“I’m not. I get to go on hundreds more first dates.”
My comment finally lifts the caution and worry edging her expression. “Hundreds, huh? I can’t wait for your father to hear about that.”
We share a laugh as we finally disembark. “Where is he, by the way?”
She looks up at the sky. “Taking a digestive stroll through the heavens.” In other words, hunting for information.
“Do you think he’d kill her if he found her?” I whisper.
My mother tenses. Only her eyes move, veering left and right. Yes, there are guards, and, yes, they might be paying attention, but there are many hers in this world, and my father’s lethality isn’t exactly a secret.
“In all honesty, Isla, that’s why I haven’t claimed my bargain yet. I worry what he might do.”
What she doesn’t add—but which I hear loud and clear—is that it might not be my name she’ll need to thread into the bargain, but my father’s.
My carefree heart clatters at the contemplation. “Force him to go home tonight.”
“He’ll never leave you here alone.”
I raise my gaze to the midnight sun burning through the dense snowflakes. “The sky was dark with stars, Mádhi.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that he won’t leave you here alone,” she repeats.
“I’m not alone.”
“You know what I mean.”
I wind my fingers through hers and squeeze our palms together. “I do, but saviors also need saving.”