19. Konstantin
19
KONSTANTIN
T he little box made of blue velvet that encloses my mother’s ring feels like a lump of steel inside my trouser pocket.
I realize it’s an illusion brought on by my guilt, but if I tell Izolda, then I’ll have to tell the other two, and I’m genuinely afraid of what they’d do at the news that Alyona may have had a daughter, and with Svyato Suprovic, no less. A daughter that Isla is foreseen murdering.
“A mate.” As we take the stairs beneath the esplanade down one level, Izolda rests her cheek on my arm and sighs contentedly. “The man who lives by the creed that marriage and love aren’t for him has a mate. Oh, what beautiful, beautiful irony.”
My heated skin warms the chain around my neck.
“Can you please tell Aodhan immediately? I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself much longer.” I feel her lips curve against my arm. “Gods, how insane that you and I both have shifter mates?”
I swallow, remorse waging a terrible battle on my insides. Why couldn’t I have just accepted Isla’s suggestion to have Zendaya wipe my sister’s mind?
Because an alliance of this magnitude will serve Glace.
I cling to the reminder like Izolda clings to my arm. Not to mention that if my niece is anything like Alyona, she’ll hate that I have a shifter mate. I picture the turbaned girl stirring stew while reading a novel. If the title of the book is anything to go by, Mestyla is more like the dreamer on my arm than the rebel in my ocean. But I must be wrong. Otherwise, why would Isla kill her?
“Poor Lev… He’s going to be so disappointed to find out Isla’s off the market.”
The mention of the dastardly Faerie clenches my jaw.
“Especially after all that time they spent together at the carnival.”
Most of that time was spent with me, since Lev spent the better part of his afternoon with Salom, going through a weapons cache discovered in the undercarriage of his sleigh. Though he insisted—under salt oath—knowing not how the hidden shotguns had gotten there, Salom was convinced he was playing the idiot card.
“Holy fuck, Kostya.” Izolda yips with laughter, startling me out of the contemplation I was having about burying Lev in one of my mountains. “Do you realize that this effectively makes Lorcan your father-in-law?”
She chortles some more at my expense, while I tense. I may not fear the Crow King, but I do fear his reaction to the news that his pride and joy will be pretending to be my mate for the better part of the coming year. Yes, I’m magically bound to protect Isla with my own life—Fallon saw to that yesterday when she dropped by my chambers at dawn to claim her bargain—but being a mated male himself, I suspect he’ll worry I’ll take advantage of his daughter.
The memory of Isla’s curves, cloaked in black silk, blazes across my mind. I clasp my lids to banish it, but it backfires, for more of her body develops against the soft tissue—her slender shoulders, her delicate neck, her sun-kissed skin, her rosy lips. I sweep my lashes upward, jamming them so high, I’ve no doubt the guards lining the stairwell think me utterly deranged.
“Relax, brother.” Izolda is grinning. “I’m certain Lore will be thrilled about the match.” She pats my knuckles that are now white with tension. “You’re everything a father could want for his daughter.”
“I doubt he’ll be thrilled about her living in Glace.” With a man who isn’t her mate…
“Luce isn’t that far away.” After a beat, she says, “Please give me a nephew or a niece immediately. Please. Please. Please .”
The muscle beneath my ribs thuds hard, flushing my veins with anguish. I cannot think of children, because thinking of children has me picturing Isla’s body once more, and I need to stop picturing her when she’s not around. I tug at the collar of my jacket to allow cool air to slick beneath the fine wool blend and relieve the fire engulfing my skin.
I concentrate on the candlelight flickering over the pale quartz walls as we descend deeper into the belly of my castle. When the air fills with soft music and the fragrance of warm pastries, I finally see what my sister has been up to for the last few months. “An ice cavern?”
“It’s all glass made to resemble ice. Isn’t it spectacular? The icicles were handblown in Nebba, the tables carved in Luce, and the glowing, white blooms sailed over from Shabbe. I felt that putting every empire to contribution would cement our alliance.”
“Brilliant.” I glance down at my clever sister. “And you claim to understand nothing about politics…”
“I don’t. Politics are Ksenia’s thing. Not mine.” She beams up at me, her two hands winding around my bicep now.
Though the feather she wears is in no way new, I stare at it as though it were. To think my sister shares a mind link with a Crow… Isla and I might be able to fool many people, but will we manage to fool Izolda?
Perhaps I could tell just her.
I try to decide how best to formulate the truth with so many sprites and Faeries around. Even though they all keep their gazes on whatever task they were given and music plays from a brass quartet perched on an ice podium, I worry the ones nearest us have their ears pricked.
Before I find the adequate words, Ksenia appears. “You really went all out, didn’t you? Should’ve hosted the revel in the White Fang and spent the coin you needed to recreate it on the impoverished. You are aware, Kostya, that out of the four lands, we have the highest rate of famine per human capita?”
Izolda’s fingers clench around my bicep.
I narrow my stare. “Provisions are sent weekly to every household in need of aid, so I’m uncertain where you get your information from, sister, but it’s erroneous.”
“She probably gets her information from her human besties.” Izolda peers around her twin’s body as though expecting Ksenia’s mortal friends to smudge my stairs.
“I get my information at the source. From the people themselves.”
I think of the soot-covered men in the tavern with the rotted teeth. Are those the people Ksenia speaks of?
“How about you convene your friends to sup at the castle tomorrow?” I suggest.
The black pinpricks of Ksenia’s pupils tighten against the blue. “Why?”
Interesting, how on the defensive she is… “Because I wish to meet them to discuss their grievances.”
Bangles roll around her pale wrists as she lifts one palm to smooth her curled hair. “Why does your invitation sound more like a threat?”
I square my shoulders, tautening the already narrow fit of my ashen uniform. “Perception is influenced by mindset.”
With a sudden hiss, Izolda snatches her twin’s bell sleeve and flips it over. “I can’t believe you, Ksen. Why do you insist on wearing these?”
I study the bangles, which I’d initially assumed fashioned from pale wood, but upon closer inspection, the gleam of bone is unmistakable. “Remove them.”
“Atsa gave them to me. They have sentimental value.”
“I’ve never seen you wear them before,” I point out.
“Perhaps because you hardly see me anymore.” She snatches her arm out of Izolda’s grasp. “The tusks come from animals not from shifters, so I don’t see the harm in wearing them.”
“You don’t see the harm ? We went over this the other night, Ksen. It’s cruel and undignified.” Izolda’s tone smacks of both anger and sorrow. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”
“Your dress is trimmed with fur, Iz.”
“It’s neither feathers nor scales. Not to mention, it’s synthetic.”
Ksenia flips her a smile that steals all the softness from her features. “Is that what the tailor made you believe?” She runs a finger across the white pelt. “I guarantee that this comes from a real animal, and not one that molted .”
When the blood leaches from Izolda’s cheeks, I snap, “Enough!”
Ksenia backs up into the reception area. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve had more than enough.” And then she’s pivoting and striding into the provisional ice cavern, snatching a glass off the platter tendered by one of the waiters.
“I hate the humans she’s befriended.” Izolda trembles with anger. “Ever since she’s made friends with them, I don’t recognize Ksenia.”
Our sister’s bitterness toward us has flared in recent years, but she’d started pulling away the day I killed Alyona. Ksenia had fled the castle and had stayed gone for weeks. I should’ve brought her back to us. Should’ve explained things better. Should’ve sought her out more often after she’d finally returned. I hadn’t. At the time, she’d had Izolda. When Aodhan became the axis of her twin’s world, the rift between us had become a chasm.
“When Ksenia left us after Alyona’s death, where did she go live?” I ask.
“Up north. In West Sheva. She apparently grew close with Volkovs’ youngest son. She never confirmed an involvement but she also never denied one. I tried to go meet with him once, but Aodhan stopped me. It was around the time our bond snapped into place. I’d been really ticked off by his intervention.” Her gaze acquires a faraway gleam, but her lips, a mischievous one. “Turns out anger can be quite the aphrodisiac. Just you wait for your first fight with Isla. Just you wait.”
Heat engulfs my chest anew since every spat we’ve had has elevated my pulse with more than mere irritation.
“I’m going to get a drink.” Izolda pulls away. “Want one?”
Before I can answer, Salom appears and pulls me aside for a quick word. He dismisses the servers and guards standing too close, save for Borat who lands on his shoulder, small chest lifting and falling with worrying haste.
“Did you find them?” I ask, once we’re somewhat isolated.
“We found him ,” my general says.
“But not her?” I ask.
Borat shakes his head, causing his long brown ponytail to sway.
“Take me to him.” I don’t get more than one stride in before Salom claps my shoulder.
“He’s dead, Kostya.”
A chill seizes my chest. “What? You…?” I can’t even finish my sentence.
“No. He was lying face down in a clearing when we found him. Bullet hole to the head.”
My lids spasm.
“I might’ve hated Svyato for threatening to come after you after Olena’s death”—Salom’s amber stare darts around the room, probably on the hunt for eavesdroppers—“but I didn’t kill him.”
Though I won’t debrief the soldiers who took part in the chase myself, they’ll be interrogated. “What of the boss ?”
“We asked around, but no one seems to know who it could be.”
“There must be something at the tavern that links them! Some deed or?—”
“There’s nothing left of the tavern.” Salom’s thick throat jostles with a swallow.
“Burned to the ground,” Borat murmurs.
The news sheds light on the noise that had leapt off the shot glass when my ship had berthed in the capital. I’d assumed the crackle and pop were the sound of Isla’s sigil fizzling. To think I hadn’t mentioned it to keep her from thinking her magic was deficient.
I jam my fingers into fists, then hiss through barely separated teeth, “Find the girl. Find the boss. Find both, tonight.”
Borat springs off Salom’s shoulder as both turn heel.
“And fucking bring them to me alive.”
Salom’s expression shutters as he absorbs my demand, or rather, my objurgation.
“Yes, Vizosh.” My title, which he so seldom uses, rings harshly off his tongue as he takes off, winding around the developing clusters of guests, commanding a mixture of fear and admiration from many.
Even though my mind should be wholly focused on the fact that a man is dead and a girl is missing, it wanders to last night’s boat ride home—to Isla’s reaction when she went from believing Salom was her mate to the realization that it was me. Well, that it could be me. Why does it rankle a day later?
“Drink this. It’ll help with whatever’s bugging you,” Ilya says, appearing out of nowhere. He pushes a tumbler filled with clear liquor into my hand.
Vodka is the last thing I want to ingest tonight, but I thank him and hold it at my hip until a waiter drifts by with an empty platter. I chuck it atop while my brother bombards me with all the current scandals happening at court.
When I fail to react to his salacious updates, he pivots fully toward me, blocking my view of the stairs. “Has there been another attack? Another railcar incident?”
“No.”
He frowns but then notices me peering around his plaited blond mane. “Looking for someone?”
“Simply contemplating our guests.”
“Our guests, or the stairs?” The tension in his brow smooths. “If you’re planning an escape, the royal trolley beats the stairs. Take it from someone who’s had to rely on speed to keep his most prized possession attached to his body.” His voice drops in a conspiratorial whisper. “Word of advice: avoid bedding a human’s wife. Unlike us, Round-ears actually value their vows and are very possessive of their spouses. Kind of like shifters, come to think of it. Speaking of shifters…Lorcan’s back.”
The news narrows my airway. “Is he?”
“Our paths crossed in the hallway when Izolda sent me to fetch your crown.” He nods to a soldier holding a velvet cushion upon which shines the symbol of my reign. “Isla’s daddy was heaving literal smoke and barely acknowledged me. I asked Aodhan if he’d caught any chatter on the pack link concerning Lorcan’s stormy return, but he’s heard nothing.” Ilya takes a sip of his drink, eyeing me over the lip of the glass. “Seeing as you’re looking rather tense, I’m thinking I asked the wrong brother.”
Shadows drape over the stairs then. One remains dark, while the other brightens into a woman gloved in a blush-colored gown. The ring box in my pocket seems to gain a full pound… ten .
I tap it nervously before winding my restless fingers behind my back and interlocking them. I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and thin my lips, trying hard to keep my stare leveled on Lorcan’s glower.
But like magnets, my eyes are drawn back to his daughter, to the plunging neckline of her gown that is pricked through—in the most strategic places—with floral appliqués. Even from where I stand, I don’t miss how the tiny fabric leaves jostle with each beat of her heart, how her slicked-back hair gleams blue with every rotation of her head, and how her dusky lips part with each draw of her lungs. At least feigning to be infatuated with Isla Ríhbiadh will be no hardship.
Her words from earlier—the ones about my colorless mien—smear themselves across my ego. I’ve never cared what others thought of my looks, yet somehow, I suddenly care what she thinks?
This is a ruse.
Only a ruse.
Thank fuck she doesn’t find me attractive. It’ll make the forthcoming months easier, for if my sister truly birthed a vengeful niece, then I need my wits about me and not inside Isla’s underthings.
Long earrings crafted from pearls and sequined cloth flowers similar to the ones on her dress swing as her face pivots toward me. My lungs cramp, then sear as I deplete them of oxygen. I part my lips and inhale but find myself still short of breath. If only my damn talisman could keep me fully immune to Isla Ríhbiadh and not just to her Crow magic.
“Well, that explains Lorcan’s mood. And yours.” Ilya’s delight, paired with the reminder of Lorcan’s irritation, works wonders on draining the blood from all the nonessential organs it had flooded. “So much for the shifter princesses being ‘loud tots,’ huh? Has my grand idea of marriage suddenly found its appeal?”
May I only be this transparent with my sibling.
I set my shoulders, bracing myself. “Isla is loud.”
A presence to be felt.
A force to be reckoned with.
“But not a tot, right?” he needles me.
Given that I’m about to play the part of Isla’s mate for the foreseeable future, I’m about to admit I was too brash in writing her off as a potential match. Unless…unless Lorcan has taken issue with our scheme and returned to inform me in person?
I sweep the crowd for Izolda. When I find her standing beside Zendaya, a hollow pressure builds in my chest. Could the Shabbin Queen have already wiped my sister’s mind?
“Whoa, are you all right?” Ilya asks. “You’re…purple.”
I am not all right. I feel like I’ve been bested on the battlefield of magic, forced to surrender something vital. What the bloody underworld is wrong with me? I barely know the shifter princess. Sure, I hate losing—who in their right mind enjoys it?—but Isla isn’t vital to me or my kingdom.
Except the Cauldron sent her here, so she is important.
To my kingdom…not to me.
I’m torn from my whirring thoughts by the sight of Lev Zaslofsky fording through the crowd toward the Crow royals. The boy I impersonated yesterday gives Lorcan a deferential bow before taking Isla’s hand and carrying it up to his mouth.
“Want me to intervene?” Ilya asks.
I force my knuckles to unbend. I want to bark out a yes . But instead, I speak a low, “No.”
“Was it immediate?” Ilya asks.
“Was what immediate?”
“The mind link.”
At last, Isla’s violet stare finds mine across the sea of faces. Though my blood stirs, it isn’t with desire this time, it’s with dread, because her expression brims with…with reticence and regret.
I try to sense the mark of my bargain, but my heart’s thunder eclipses every other sensation. So I hunt her sheer sleeve for the gold band, blinking when I spot its faint glimmer. She hasn’t reneged our betrothal bargain.
Yet .
She hasn’t reneged yet .
When Lorcan untangles his arm from his daughter’s and starts in my direction, I send Ilya to assist her, preferring she walk on my brother’s arm than on Lev’s.
The instant he reaches me, Lorcan says, “I like you, Korol, and I trust you, which is why I’ll allow this?—”
My lungs snag on my ribs. Allow this . He’s allowing this.
“—but understand that if you anger my daughter, or worse, bring even a single tear to her eye, I will obliterate more than your reign.”
Isla is staying.
“Am I understood?”
I clear my throat, then test that a breath can squeeze through before attempting to pump words out. “Fallon stated her terms yesterday before departing.”
It had been so long since anyone had claimed a bargain that, when the mark appeared over my heart and released its venomous magic to seal her demands, it had momentarily put my lungs in a vise.
“I realize what an error that was.” At my frown, Lorcan adds, “Had we not said anything, you wouldn’t have tricked our daughter.”
“Technically, she?—”
“I was speaking of your little outing in Voshna, not of the—” He mutters the word ruse in Crow, enhancing it with a few colorful descriptors.
“I’d already planned on having your daughter followed. Fallon only sparked my curiosity.”
His eyebrows jolt beneath his black locks. “Why would you have my daughter?—”
“Because of the company she planned on keeping.” I don’t utter the boy’s name, merely stare Lev’s way, carrying Lorcan’s gaze to where the heir to the second largest fortune in Glace stands, staring at my future bride with such envy that my molars grind.
I’m suddenly raring to slide my ring on Isla’s finger, if only to sideline Lev and any other prospective admirers, of which she has too many. Glacin Faeries may still be chary of Crows, but Isla’s nature doesn’t seem to impede males and females alike from gazing upon her with far too much interest.
“I realize you appreciate his family, Ríhbiadh?—”
“Some members,” Lorcan cuts in, under his breath. His attention flocks off me to set on another male—Bohdan Zaslofsky. I take it he does not appreciate Lev’s father.
The fire-Fae, who’s currently slouched against the ice bar, charming two giggling Faeries while idly assessing the ass of a serving girl, must sense Lorcan’s stare, because he looks up and salutes the Crow King. The man’s vile but according to Salom, far too lazy and superficial to be a threat like his son.
“As I was saying…” I continue. “Since I value your family, I will warn you against doing further business with them.”
“I expect a more in-depth explanation at a later date.”
“My door is always open to you.”
“Especially now, right?” He tucks his lips inward. “I tried to dissuade her.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a concerned father. I imagine Fallon is of the same mindset?” When he keeps silent on his wife’s mindset, I ask, “Did she return with you?”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. “No.”
When he doesn’t offer a reason, I return to the topic of his daughter. “I can assure you that I will guard Isla to the best of my capabilities. But if you don’t trust me to keep her safe, then perhaps ask Meriam to fashion another amulet.”
“Perhaps I will.” His irises seem liquid tonight, like nuggets of gold tossed into a crucible and fed to a kiln. “If only to keep Isla safe from herself.”
I snort as I peer past his bladed shoulder at the woman I’m about to make mine. Publicly . Defeat is a distant memory.
“One last thing. Do not take advantage of her. She may not be na?ve but she is impressionable still. Do I make myself clear?”
Had the warning come from anyone else, I would’ve delivered a stern rebuke. “Nothing untoward will happen.”
“I prefer oaths to promises.”
“Don’t we all?”
He waits for me to deliver one.
Unwilling to give another Ríhbiadh power over me, I say, “Your daughter isn’t interested in me in that way.”
A ripple of unease disrupts the set of his mouth and spreads, first to his pupils that seem to cave in on themselves from how fast they shrink, and then to his throat that contracts around a strained swallow.
Why does my affirmation cause Lorcan Ríhbiadh such distress? Is there a chance Isla doesn’t find me repulsive?