23. Isla
23
ISLA
I sit at my vanity, which I’ve transformed into a desk, tracing over the dotted lines of the Glacin alphabet Shoshair penned for me and packed inside my trunks.
I almost wept when I discovered the booklet slotted between my winter clothing, and then I did weep when I read the note she wrote on the first page in neat, amply-spaced, block letters—a script which she developed solely for me.
MY LITTLE LOVE,
I’M SORRY TO HAVE TRICKED YOU INTO STAYING AT MY SIDE. I HATE THAT I DID AND HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME. YOUR PARENTS CAN BE VERY CONVINCING, BUT THE FAULT REMAINS MINE. SINCE I HEAR YOU WILL BE STAYING IN GLACE FOR A WHILE, I THOUGHT THIS BOOK COULD COME IN HANDY.
DON’T STAY AWAY TOO LONG, OR I WILL HAVE TO TRAVEL TO THE ICE LAND TO VISIT MY FAVORITE GRANDDAUGHTER. AND YES, YOU ARE MY ONLY GRANDDAUGHTER, BUT THAT DOESN’T MAKE YOU ANY LESS MY FAVORITE.
I LOVE YOU TO THE FARTHEST REACHES OF THE UNIVERSE AND BACK,
SHOSHAIR
“What do you think of Antoni?” Lachlano asks from where he lounges on my bed, tossing his lucky pebble and catching it again and again.
“In what way?”
“Do you think he has an angle?”
I dip my quill into the inkwell. “What sort of angle?”
“He’s a very ambitious male.”
I look up. “I can’t tell if you think his angle is seduction or murder.”
“Honestly”—Lachlano throws the pebble, catches it—“I think he’s angling for a ravel, but if there is no ravel, then perhaps he’ll resort to serpenticide, followed by a coup.”
I gape at him. “Do you really think so?”
“I don’t know.” His fingers close around the pebble and hold it there. “I just find it odd that the male, who keeps to himself and hates everyone—especially royals—is constantly hanging around Naeva. I mean, he insisted on staying in Glace to sightsee, yet spent the past month in or around the capital, and then, the instant Naeva hops aboard a ship to go home, he boards the same ship.”
“Antoni’s not going to kill Naeva or…or…”
He spins his head to look at me, his blue eyes knocking into my violet ones.
“Do you genuinely think he’d try to take her by force?” I rasp, my pulse pounding so fast I suddenly feel lightheaded.
“I think that if he tried, Naev would hack off his cock with a sigil before he could get it inside her.”
“Go,” I croak. “You’ll catch up to their ship in no time.”
Although disappointed that my cousin had to leave early this morning, our desire to stick together in the north wasn’t realistic. Naeva might not be queen, but she’s part of the Akwale, and therefore has many duties.
“They’re not traveling alone,” Lachlano points out.
“Yes, but none of her guards are winged. I’d feel better—now that you’ve freaked me out—if you traveled with her.”
“Isles…”
“Imogen and Vance are here.”
“Planning on sharing a bed with the two of them?”
I grimace. “I know my father wants me guarded at all times, but Taytah warded my walls before leaving. No one comes in without an invitation.”
“What if someone you’ve already invited wishes you harm?”
“I’ll be fine, Lach.”
A knock on my door has him rolling up to sitting.
I dunk my quill into the inkpot and close my booklet. As I stuff it inside my vanity drawer, I call out, “Who is it?”
“Your future husband.”
My eyeballs threaten to tilt skyward at the sheer arrogance of Konstantin Korol, but the shock of his visit holds them steady. After all, not once in the month I’ve lived at the castle has he knocked on my door.
“Does he really believe you’re getting married?” Lachlano whispers in Serpent, mindful of the Faerie King’s potential eavesdropping.
“I hope not.”
But who really knows the depths of Konstantin’s delusions? The male guards his thoughts better than smugglers guard their contraband.
“You may come in, Konstantin Korol!” I finally call out, allowing him to pass through the wards.
The door clicks, and then he’s there—overwhelming my doorway with his glacial presence.
His lids flinch when he spots Lachlano. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I smirk at how fast my friend lurches off the mattress, pocketing his lucky pebble.
“I was just leaving, actually.” He dips his chin. “Isles, promise that if you take sky strolls, you take them with Immy?”
“I promise. Now, go.”
And he does, in a wisp of shadows. Instead of heading through the door Konstantin has yet to close, Lachlano arrows straight through my skylight before shapeshifting into his mammoth black bird.
“Is your skylight cracked?” Konstantin gestures to my domed window. At my frown, he adds, “I thought Crows needed an opening to slip through in their shadow form?”
“ Ah. You thought correctly. Taytah made the glass porous,” I explain.
“How… advantageous .”
My smirk widens at how displeased he sounds about this fresh breach into his domain. “Only the window in this suite. The rest of your castle is airtight.”
He nods, slowly prizing his gaze away from the enchanted glass. “I heard your trunks arrived this morning,”
“They have. So did all my dresses. I told you that having the Voshnan modiste create thirty gowns was overkill.”
He steps into the suite he’s placed at my disposal and closes the door. “Are they to your liking?”
I frown. “I mean, sure. But thirty ?” I stand, then lean back against my vanity and cross my arms. “The instant Mestyla’s found, I’ll be on my way.”
“You still have to kill her.”
I grimace. “Or reason with her.”
He passes his tongue over his teeth, evidently unconvinced that an amicable resolution is possible. If I’m being honest, I’m not certain why I’m holding out hope for one. The Cauldron wouldn’t have prophesied the girl’s end if there was a way of avoiding it.
Brushing away the enigma for now, I say, “I asked the modiste for the bill. She didn’t give it to me. Just informed me that it had been settled. I’m hoping by my father, since I really dislike owing strangers.”
“I’m your fiancé. Hardly a stranger.”
I cant my head to the side. “Beg to differ. Mealtimes are all small talk, so I’ve learned nothing about you.”
“What would you like to know?” he asks, eyes roaming over the bedchamber that once belonged to his mother, but which—according to Izolda—has stood vacant since Konstantina’s death.
Is the décor the same? The furniture? The burgundy sheets? Was Konstantina the one who opted to have a bouquet of outsized roses painted on the wall behind the canopy bed?
The Ice King’s gaze comes to rest on the locked door that blunts the floral painting. Is he picturing his mother opening it to join her husband? Did he ever use that door to travel between his parents’ chambers?
When a small shudder disturbs the rigid line of his shoulders, I decide to draw him out of his tangible nostalgia. “It’s not so much things I want to know, but things I should know as your fiancée. For example, what’s your favorite food?”
“Borscht.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Beet soup?”
He slants me a look.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t judge. I just didn’t expect it to be your favorite .” I didn’t expect it to be anyone’s favorite for that matter. “Favorite drink?”
“Water.”
Again…not what I was expecting. “Anything else?”
“I enjoy an occasional shot of vodka or glass of Faerie wine, but they’re not, by any means, favorites. I do like black tea with a splash of milk.”
I recall him drinking only that the night of our dinner with Bohdan Zaslofsky and my father. “Favorite color?”
“Why must I favor one color over another?”
“Because everyone has a favorite color.”
“I don’t.”
Blowing a breath out of the corner of my mouth, I ask, “To wear?”
“I suppose blue or gray.”
“Have I ever met any of the women you’ve slept with?”
His lids squeeze. “I would never talk about the women I bedded—with you, or with anyone else.”
“No, but I’d probably be able to lift the information from your mind if we were”—even though we speak Crow, I drop my voice on the word—“ mates . In any case, I’d prefer being prepared if I bumped into someone who’s known you intimately.”
The bones in his face realign and sharpen. “You’ll never bump into anyone I’ve bedded.”
“Why? Did you have them deported? Murdered?”
“No.” His jaw spasms.
“In case I were to find myself at an event with one of them, warn me in advance, all right?” I take a long inhale, readying myself to ask a question I know he’ll loathe even more than the last. “What does your cock look like?”
He chokes on air, his expression teetering somewhere between absolute horror and extreme annoyance.
“It’s the sort of detail I’d know. If you prefer to show me rather than describe it…”
His complexion becomes such a fiery-red that even the whites of his eyes appear pink.
I realize it will probably incense him further, but I cannot help the grin that overtakes my lips. “Would you prefer I feel you above your trousers?”
I didn’t think more blood could converge into his face but I’m wrong.
“I can flash you my boobs to even out the playing field, but you already saw them in your steam bath. And just in case you thought they were Behati’s, they weren’t.”
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and counts to ten, then rubs a hand down his flaming face. “It’s proportional to my figure.”
“So, long and thin?”
He balks. “ Thin ?” He spits the adjective out as though it were the gravest insult to his person. “My cock is not thin .”
I smirk, which only serves to strengthen his scowl. “Since you’re Fae, I assume you’re not circumcised?”
Even the tips of his ears glow now. “No.”
I keep smiling. “Noted. Do you want to see my breasts again?”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“Don’t look so nauseated. You’re going to give me a complex.” My comment is met with another unintelligible mutter. “Just in case you missed it, I have a birthmark on my pubic?—”
“I didn’t.”
I wonder if he ever mistook my body for Behati’s. Since I’m sticking to essential questions only, I set that query aside and ask, “Any birthmarks I should be aware of?”
His color is still high, like his irritation. “None.”
“Any tattoos?”
“Didn’t get a good look at my body the first night we met?”
“I was a little busy handing you your ass. Besides, your towel—unlike mine—stayed put. So? Any ink decorations?”
“Are you truly asking if I have a snowflake tattooed on my buttocks.”
I grin. “Yes.”
Though he still scowls, though his neck is still corded, his timbre mollifies when he says, “I do not.”
“Any scars? Or…?”
“Who will you be discussing the intimate details of my anatomy with?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Someone could challenge the fact that we’re mates. Again . I just want to have the best arrow to fit onto my bow in order to shoot down any doubt.”
He studies me long and hard.
“Relax, Vizosh. I’m not planning on bringing up your girth during book club.”
A slow swallow bobs his throat.
“Speaking of book club, what’s your favorite pastime?” I ask.
“Sparring.”
“With weapons or words?”
“Depends on my adversary’s wit.”
“Any other pastime you enjoy?”
“Reading.”
“What sorts of books?”
His gaze skims the gilded title printed on the next book club pick which Naeva was a third of the way through narrating to me. The task now befalls poor Lachlano, because I tried reading it myself, but the letters are so small and heavily-bolded, that they look like stringed pearls.
“Mostly biographies,” he ends up saying. “Sometimes poetry.”
In other words, not the type of material that graces my nightstand. I usually prefer non-fiction to fiction myself, but I liked being included in Izolda’s tight circle too much to turn down her invitation.
“How’s your sister?” I ask.
“Which one?”
Still clutching my elbows, I rub my thumb against the ink staining my fingers. “Izolda. I don’t much care about the other’s emotional well-being.” Though, perhaps I should, since unhinged people can do unhinged things. “Did she make it out west safely?”
He links his hands behind his back, stepping deeper into my chamber, nearer to me. “Yes. I wish she weren’t so determined to help find Mestyla and Svyato.”
“I can’t believe those two are still missing,” I say.
Konstantin’s lids twitch. I wait for him to confess that Svyato is dead.
And wait.
“My land is vast,” he finally says. “The world, even vaster.”
Why don’t you trust me, Konstantin Korol?
He nods to my fingers. “Been penning perfidious edicts?”
I run my lip between my teeth. “Just a letter.”
“To?”
“A friend.”
“What sort of friend would ferry so much blood into your cheeks?”
“The sort that’s none of your business,” I say.
“You made me describe my cock.”
“I’m not writing a love letter to a secret admirer,” I snap, stabbing the painted wall at his back with my gaze. “Because I don’t currently have an admirer. What I do have is a bargain on my arm, which I intend to preserve.”
“Please don’t ink any sensitive secrets,” he murmurs quietly.
“I would never.”
“Have you heard any?”
That your train tracks aren’t defective. I should tell him, but I’m waiting for him to tell me about Svyato first. Petty, I know.
“Any recent acts of terror? Derailments?” I prod.
“No. It’s been calm.”
“Because of the influx of soldiers Salom has deployed to monitor the railroads?”
“Possibly. Or they’re biding their time, preparing for a greater revolt.”
“Has the tail you put on Ksenia led anywhere?”
He squeezes his lips. “Only to the Voshnan human district, where she’s spearheading the reconstruction of Oloho Samov .”
“For when Svyato and Mestyla return?” I deadpan.
He stays quiet.
“Allies shouldn’t have secrets between them.”
His eyes narrow. “Because you tell me everything you do?”
“I tell you everything that impacts your niece’s case.”
He regards me a long while, as though weighing the pros and cons of confessing. The cons must outweigh the pros, given that he remains unforthcoming.
I cross my arms. “If cooperation on the case isn’t the purpose of your visit, then what brings you to my door, Vizosh?”
Konstantin’s features harden. “I stopped by to inform you that we will be supping with my governors and their spouses this evening at the Lodge.”
“How fun.” I nod. “Will your siblings be joining us?”
“Ilya just got back from his trip to Nebba and mentioned he’d come. Izolda and Aodhan have decided to sit this one out.”
“And Ksenia?”
“She’s not interested.” After a beat, he says, “Wear light-blue to underline your position as my fiancée. That’s what my mother and Milana always wore to state events.” And then he’s journeying across the room. “I’ll knock on your door when it’s time to depart.” He grasps the handle but doesn’t pump it immediately. “What is your favorite food?”
“Birdseed.”
He hefts up an eyebrow. “Right. And your favorite libation is blood?”
“I see you’re keeping tabs on more than just Ksenia.”
“If it’s not too much to ask, I’d prefer if you don’t sip any tonight.”
Is he even aware that I only did it because the hostess set it in front of me? Apparently, she’d heard it was a Shabbin’s drink of choice.
“Why are we dining with your governors?”
“Because governors have influence. They can keep High Fae content and facilitate the introduction of shifters in the regions they oversee. Not to mention, I’m finalizing a land grant that will let humans buy property in any neighborhood. I need their support on this matter, or it will lead to further civil unrest.” His fingers drum against his trouser leg. “Please be on your best behavior.”
There’s very little I like less than being told to behave. “Think of all the headaches you could’ve spared yourself had we wiped Izolda’s memory.”
Before letting himself out, he pierces me with a chilling stare that lingers in my marrow long after he’s gone.