14. Isla
14
ISLA
“ P ut your hands where we can see them!” a man yells. “Any use of magic against us is a use of magic against the Crown.”
“I am the Crown,” Konstantin rumbles.
“Yes, and I’m the Queen of Nebba,” the man says. “Now, put your hands where we can see them, and step away from each other.”
“Do not step away from me. And do not turn,” Konstantin hisses.
I imagine the second bit is in regard to my state of undress. I peer over my shoulder, which widens the stares of the three Glacin soldiers standing behind me, swords at the ready. A twig snaps to my right. Two more soldiers, haloed by a few sprites, creep toward us.
“Avert your eyes!” With a muttered curse, Konstantin bands an arm around my waist and scoots me into his bare chest. “And fetch me a coat.”
I wish I were frightened—if only to distract me from the unfortunate peaks my nipples have become, pressed as they are against the king’s smooth, warm skin.
“Soldiers, stand your ground until we understand what we’re dealing with,” barks the head honcho of the twig brigade.
“You’re dealing with an increasingly angry monarch. Toss me a coat. NOW.” The rumble of Konstantin’s voice vibrates my chest, stiffening my nipples some more.
I try to put a sliver of distance between my very tender breasts and his very solid abdominal muscles when a black streak bangs into the forest floor. As much as I didn’t mind being found by a bunch of Glacin soldiers, I do mind being found by a Crow—especially if that Crow turns out to be related to me.
When the shadows morph into flesh, relief washes over me.
“Who knew red would suit you so well, Kostya?” Aodhan quips, wearing a shit-eating grin that dwindles at the sight of me. “…Isla?”
“Hi.” I lift one hand and wiggle my fingers.
“Coat,” Konstantin grits out.
Under my breath, I say, “Now that Aodhan’s here?—”
“Stay.” After a beat, he adds, “Please.”
A heartbeat later, fur-lined wool drops over my shoulders. Konstantin grips the lapel as I poke my arms through the sleeves. Once I’m buttoned up, he seizes the second jacket out of Aodhan’s outstretched hand.
“I’ve never seen Salom and Borat so panicked,” my fellow Crow says. “They’ve knocked on every door and peeped through every window in Voshna.”
And he thought no one would come looking for him…
“Why are they panicked? Did something happen while I was gone?” the Ice King asks.
Aodhan’s eyebrows slide low. “They’re panicked because you were gone. You should’ve seen their expressions when a guard found your clothes heaped behind the pirozhki stand. Salom lost decades off his life.” His brown gaze bounces between the two of us. “Look, I know you’re a private person, but any chance I could learn the reason why the two of you are dressed like doxies and prancing through the woods together?”
I grin. Konstantin does not.
“We weren’t prancing ,” he mutters, before addressing the sprites and commanding them to find Salom and get the ship ready for an immediate return to the capital.
It’s only once we start walking, and faint voices emerge from Konstantin’s jacket pocket, that I remember the shot glass.
The soldiers keep enough distance between us that they don’t seem to hear the chatter, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Aodhan, who asks, “Are you holding a sprite hostage in your pocket?”
Konstantin fists the fabric, muffling the babble. I understand why he does, even though I’d very much like to learn what’s being said.
“Let’s wait until we’re behind closed doors for that particular story,” he says.
Aodhan nods and leads the way toward the harbor which, thankfully, isn’t too much farther. There, we find a fuming general pacing the quay, and a sprite pacing the air above Salom’s disheveled blond mane.
Both must’ve been forewarned I’d be part of the jolly troop, for neither reacts to my presence. Once on the ship, I follow the men into a large cabin at the stern, which I assume must be the captain’s quarters since it holds a queen-sized bed, a large desk, and maritime charts.
“Perhaps Isla could soundproof the cabin with a sigil?” Aodhan suggests.
I snag my lip with my teeth as I contemplate the symbol I’ve never been able to reproduce. With my luck, it will remove the walls or sink the ship.
Konstantin snatches the clothes Salom has laid out on the bed and carries them behind a wooden folding screen. “Unnecessary. The walls are plenty thick.”
I doubt Konstantin refuted Aodhan’s suggestion for my sake, but I’m still immensely relieved. Judging by how closely Salom observes me, I think he senses it. I wonder what he makes of it.
The sharp sound of a seam ripping redirects the general’s attention. A moment later, the king steps out, garbed in his sky-bright uniform. He walks over to the desk and sets the shot glass down, then drags his hands through his long hair and winds it up into a top knot.
“Thirsty?” Aodhan asks.
Konstantin secures his manbun with a silver hair prong Borat the sprite has hefted his way. “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water, if you’re offering to fetch me one,” he says, dropping into one of the chairs.
Aodhan snorts, and though he does collect a carafe from the nightstand, he must understand the thimble-sized glass isn’t just a recipient because he grabs a normal-sized cup on the way. “I’m guessing the shot glass is an integral part of the story?”
Konstantin glances toward where I lean against the wall of the cabin. “Miss Ríhbiadh, would you care to enlighten them?”
“Your king tricked me,” I say, before proceeding to tell them how Konstantin and I came to find ourselves in the human district of Voshna, where we planted a listening sigil linked to the shot glass. Though our grand adventure widens Salom’s pupils, what blows them even wider is when I drop Mestyla’s name and her affiliation to Svyato.
“I want them both brought to me,” Konstantin says once I finish.
Salom nods. “Release me from our bargain, and I’ll go fetch them immediately.”
For a long minute, Konstantin is silent, evidently uneasy about recalling his magic. Curiosity as to what this bargain entails eats at me.
After drumming his fingers, Konstantin flattens his palm and says, “Salom Melchanko, you may approach Svyato Suprovic.”
As the painful clutch of magic seeps from his chest, Salom expels a short breath and then he’s striding toward the door and jerking the handle.
“Unharmed and alive.” Konstantin’s demand brings his general to a halt.
A silent battle wages in their locked gazes.
But then Salom blinks and pivots toward the sprite. “Borat, tell the captain to steady the ship so we can disembark.”
The sprite’s diaphanous wings beat, but not to carry him out of the cabin. No, he hovers there, loath to leave.
“Go!” Salom growls, springing the winged soldier ahead of him. And then he’s ramming a hand through his shoulder-length locks and stalking out after him.
Aodhan props his ass on the edge of the table and crosses his arms, seemingly nonplussed by the stalemate that just went down. Either it’s a usual occurrence, or he was in on the bargain.
“Why are we chasing after Svyato and his kid?” he asks.
Konstantin peers out the cabin’s window at the white-capped bay, adrift like his galleon. “Because Miss Ríhbiadh believes my sister has resurrected and that Svyato is hiding her.”
“No, that’s not—” I roll my lips. “That’s not quite…”
“ Alyona ?” Aodhan exclaims. “You think someone resuscitated her?”
I whirl my head toward Konstantin. “Your medallion nulls the effect of iron. Could it have blocked the toxic effect of the blade?”
“Only if the sword was aimed at me,” he replies, meeting my stare.
“Could someone have switched your blade out?”
That wins me a scathing look from the Ice King. “How much of a dunce do you believe me to be, Miss Ríhbiadh?”
“This has nothing to do with intellect. Silver resembles iron. Someone could’ve swapped your sword for a replica.”
“I test my blades before every battle. All of them.”
“On who ?” I ask.
Aodhan cuts short our absurd deliberation by asking, “Can you two stop bickering for a second and bloody explain to me why we’re contemplating Alyona being alive?”
“Because the Cauldron showed Taytah and Behati a prophecy in which I…” I bite my lip, still reticent to use the word murder , even though there’s no love lost between Alyona and her family. “In which I kill Alyona. Konstantin believes, like you, that she’s dead and that someone’s borrowing her face, which would mean a bloodcaster’s invol—Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re a bloodcaster, aren’t you?”
I fold my arms in front of my chest, imprinting the silver buttons of the borrowed coat into my skin. “Because murdering someone, whose appearance I change, makes so much sense?”
“It makes more sense than the princess having been resurrected by an affable Shabbin who just so happened to be in the vicinity and decided to give up her life for Alyona’s.”
“How many bloodcasters reside in Glace?” Konstantin asks.
“You have bloodcasters here?” I ask, somewhat shocked. Actually, not just somewhat…extremely shocked. I’m uncertain why, seeing as the wards collapsed twenty-five years ago, so Shabbins are free to travel anywhere they’d like.
“Two, and around a dozen Crows. No Serpents yet, though. I’ll question the bloodcasters.”
Why did I think Glace was so insular and boasted so little diversity? Because the Ice Kingdom lies so far from the others? Because the land seems so barren and inhospitable?
“Perhaps your grandmother could consult the Cauldron for additional details about the prophecy?” Aodhan suggests.
“She has,” comes a deep rumble, one that steals up my spine and bunches up my shoulders.
Woe is well and truly me.