25. Isla
25
ISLA
“ E verything all right, Isles?” Ilya frowns. “You look like a specter has just traversed your body.”
To set his mind at ease, I conjure a smile. “Should I be worried? Are there many dead beings walking around Glace?” I cloak my qualms about Ilya in feigned curiosity for urban legends.
Konstantin’s younger brother grins. “Many. The cemeteries are full of them. Right, Yuri?”
He turns toward the West Shevan governor, a man with whom he did his military service and which Ilya commended for the post of governor. Because he’s placing allies in high places?
“Oh my Gods, not that story again.” Yuri coasts his palms down his face. “I just got Tiana to accept my marriage proposal, Ilya.”
Although I remain on my guard, my suspicions begin to melt when Yuri recounts how Ilya and their army buddies spooked him so thoroughly in a cemetery during Samhain one fall that he passed out from fright and knocked out two teeth on a gravestone. His half-blooded fiancée and Ilya both laugh until tears pop on their lash line.
Please don’t be bad, Ilya, I think to myself. It would be so crushing.
With the barest pressure to my waist, Konstantin lures me out of my contemplations. “I know some of you traveled for days to celebrate my providential, Cauldron-ordained union. I thank you for making the trip south to celebrate Glace’s future queen.”
Konstantin speaks as though they had a choice, but I suspect they didn’t. The same way I suspect, from their brisk glances at my outfit or face, that they deem this dinner more punishment than celebration.
“Isla, these are the most loyal consultants of the Crown. Most have been ruling Glace alongside the Korols for centuries. Isn’t that right, Dimitri?”
Pride squares Patchenkov’s shoulders. “That’s right, Kostya. I was given the position before you were even born.”
My fiancé’s fingers inch toward my upper thigh. I frown until I catch the governor of some eastern province I can’t recall the name of—one that’s famed for its timber—staring very steadily at my leg.
Once Konstantin reaches the staggering apex in the black silk, he splays his fingers wide, concealing as much bared skin as he can. At least he’s playing the role of possessive mate well. So well that Sofiya purses her lips and bats her lashes. To rid her eyes of their desperate sheen?
After the introductions conclude, and I’ve learned everyone’s names, Konstantin finally unhands me. “A word before supper, Dimitri?”
As the two men step off to the side, Tiana—Yuri’s betrothed—approaches me so cautiously one would think she were walking on tiptoe.
“Hi.” She presses a springy black curl behind her rounded ear. “I’m dying to go to Luce. Yuri promised to take me when he has time. Hopefully this winter, although, it’s always so animated in West Sheva.” She twists her lips to the side. “And not the good sort of animation. Anyway, I won’t bore you with our regional troubles?—”
“Please do.”
She blinks.
“Tell me of your regional troubles. Maybe I can help? Or put in a word with someone who can.”
She sighs. “There’s a horrid family of sleigh makers—the Volkovs. They’re half-bloods like me but full-blooded lunatics. Anyway, they’re the reason the previous governor stepped down.”
The name sounds familiar. I try to recall where I heard it, and then it clicks: Bohdan Zaslofsky’s cousins! “I’ll have a word about them with my mate and see what we can do.”
“Mate…” Her skin, the color of the night sky in Luce, makes her glittery irises stand out like emeralds. “The concept is so romantic. We have this very famous Glacin author, Countess Zubrowa. I don’t know if you’ve ever read her novels, but?—”
“I’m reading a book from her now. She’s Izolda’s favorite,” I say with a smile.
“She’s my favorite, too! I was so disappointed when Ilya told me she wasn’t coming to the Jubilee. I’d filled a trunk with all my novels in the hopes of getting them signed. Anyway, she writes about mates all the time. Even though Yuri and I don’t share a mental bond, I love him so fiercely that it feels like he’s mine.” She stares at her husband-to-be with such adoration that I find myself thumbing the skin over my heart.
How unconvincing my sham relationship must appear to someone truly in love. I bet she doesn’t believe we’re mates, and that’s why she’s bringing up the magical bond. I keep expecting her to challenge it, but all she ends up saying on the matter is that Konstantin and I make a beautiful couple before launching a thousand and one questions about Luce my way.
Speaking of home unravels some of the irritation knotted around my breastbone. It also tears down my caution, because, if Yuri is anything like his wife-to-be, then he’s wonderful, which makes Ilya wonderful—and not ill-intentioned—by association.
By the time supper is announced, I’ve decided that Tiana is my newest favorite Glacin and that I’ll make a trip to West Sheva to visit her and the Volkovs the instant I return from Luce.
As we make our way toward the dining table, Yuri holds me back to impart that he wants to take her to Luce for her birthday this spring—a secret, which he asks me to keep.
I mimic zipping up my lips, before leaning over to murmur, “Once you’ve decided on dates, let me know, and I can take you around, show you all my favorite haunts.”
“That’s much too kind. Truly. Much too much,” Yuri bumbles as though he cannot believe the Princess of Luce would spare a moment on someone of his political status.
I jerk when fingers clasp the indent of my waist, sinking into the gathered black silk.
“My generous wife,” Konstantin says amiably.
“—to-be,” I add, with just as much false cordiality.
Yuri bows before heading toward Tiana, who has her head thrown back and is laughing at something Ilya has just said.
“Making friends, I see.”
I turn in his hold and reach up, smoothing his upturned collar even though it doesn’t require any smoothing. “Is that a problem?”
He frowns.
“Who would’ve thought my lack of maturity and manners didn’t disgust all ?”
Konstantin regards me with such intensity that I worry he’ll spot the open wound his censure inflicted on my ego and stamp it with his thumb to cow me.
“Shall we get to our seats?” I ask, before rolling onto my toes and brushing a murmur over his jeweled lobe. “The faster we dine, the faster you’re rid of me, Vizosh.”
When my heels click back into the floor, his lids are spasming again, and his fingers, pulsating against my waist. I smile; he doesn’t. I wait for his mouth to shape the words, “Get out.” Wait for the weight of his hand to vanish. But he neither commands me to depart nor releases me.
As we finally make our way toward the table, I clock eyes with Sofiya. The intrigue sparking there makes me realize our faux-pas. Glacins may not be familiar with mating bonds, but she is, and our whispering aside has surely given our charade away. I find myself wondering why I even care.
My bicep tingles then, as though to remind me of Konstantin’s bargain. The one that will fritter away if I divulge our scheme.
Though I’m forced to sit at his side, I get Ilya as my other neighbor, which is nice. What is less nice is that Sofiya and her father sit directly across from us. I grip my wine goblet and take a swig, hoping the alcohol will make the supper a little more tolerable.
One of the attendants beelines over, holding a platter upon which are aligned four glasses filled with crimson liquid. I square my shoulders as one waiter removes my presentation plate and cutlery so that the other can set the glasses in front of me.
“What the fuck is that?” Ilya asks, leaning in for a whiff. He must realize what it is because his nostrils flare wide. “Which one of you assholes thought serving my sister-in-law blood was funny?”
The one sitting on my right… I miraculously manage not to speak the words out loud, or to glance Konstantin’s way.
Instead, I smooth my tone until its texture is nauseatingly polite. “I only drink blood in Crow form I’m afraid. I don’t mind shifting, but I don’t want to frighten our guests.”
Although Vance stands across the room, the snort he releases is so loud, it travels all the way to my ears.
“Actually, please carry my drinks out to the terrace for me.” I start to get up, but Konstantin claps my thigh with his hand.
“My wife will have food tonight.”
I contemplate hurling the ring at his face, along with a reminder that I’m not and never will be his fucking wife. My bicep tingles—again. I grit my molars with such verve that I’ll be left with stumps by the end of this meal.
I sit back but don’t relax. The four cups of blood are swept away and my cutlery and golden presentation plate returned. And then the appetizers are served all at once, thanks to there being as many attendants as there are guests. I’ve been in Glace for a month, so the outrageous number of staff isn’t as shocking as it was at the beginning, but it’s still very different to what I’m accustomed. After all, in the Sky Kingdom, we don’t have servers; we have serviceable individuals. The same way we don’t have guards or maids. We’re taught young to be entirely self-reliant.
I pick up the little spoon beside the golden egg cup that cradles a shell filled with pink mousse topped with caviar no larger than seed pearls. I scalp the mound of roe and slip it into my mouth.
“Do Crows not wait for the king to commence eating before they do?” Though Sofiya’s tone is innocent, it crackles with reproach.
“No,” I reply, taking a larger spoonful this time and chewing with my mouth open.
“Do you eat more often in Crow form or in human one?” asks the wife of the governor who’d leered at my leg earlier.
Even though the truth is that I’ll eat in human form ninety-eight percent of the time, I go with, “Crow form. There’s nothing like the taste of fresh kills.”
Konstantin’s fingers clutch my thigh a little harder. Ilya coughs. The rest of the table gags.
Emboldened by everyone’s reaction, Sofiya pursues her smear campaign. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how often do you sacrifice virginal males to your Bird Goddess?”
Another snort comes from the direction of the floor-to-ceiling window Vance has claimed as a backrest.
Yuri folds his fingers around Tiana’s hand and reassures her that Crows don’t sacrifice people.
“Are you calling my daughter a liar, Yuri?” Dimitri bellows.
Yuri’s slim body jerks in his chair, his white cheeks coloring the same pink as the velour ribbon fastened around his wife’s neck. “No. I would never.”
Sofiya’s father tilts up his pointy chin and straightens, as though to appear taller. He’d need a pillow to achieve this feat. I’m tempted to offer him one.
“I’ve actually heard this, as well,” the reedy governor with skin so freckled he appears orange pitches in. “From a reliable source, I’ll add.”
Konstantin removes the hand from my thigh in order to drape his arm around the back of my chair for an unobstructed view of the man. “Do share your source, Sergei.”
Sergei’s amber eyes flicker around the room. “Your brother-in-law.”
A smile wings itself onto my face as I picture Aodhan regaling the Faeries with this tall tale. Knowing him, he must’ve had the grandest time. Konstantin opens his mouth, probably to chide the man about his gullibility.
Before he can get a word in, I blurt out, “It’s not a secret my father wants spread, but since Aodhan has divulged it, I can reassure you that sacrifices only take place during full moons, and we mostly pick from volunteers. Though, sometimes, a random Faerie will be given the honor.”
The silence that follows my answer is so thick one could spread it on toast.
Finally, Sergei’s spouse squawks, “ Honor ?”
“The families of the tributes receive many gold coins and eternal gratitude from my father,” I explain, coaxing a smile out of Vance, a true feat since the Serpent so rarely smiles. Unlike his sister Agrippina, whose raw comicality is notorious throughout the lands and oceans.
“I myself volunteered, but seeing as I’m not very virginal,” Ilya says, his lips spasming around a grin which he transforms into a long-suffering sigh, “I didn’t make it onto the sacrificial altar.”
I decide, then and there, to put to rest my earlier qualms about Ilya being a puppeteer intent on harming his brother. Evil would color his personality, and my neighbor is anything but hateful. He’s mischievous and wicked, sure, but in the best possible way.
Ilya continues, “If any of you have pure-blooded sons?—”
Sofiya cuts him off to ask, “Will you be imposing this heinous ritual in Glace, Kostya?”
For some reason, her use of his nickname grates on my nerves.
“No.” The word gusts across my temple with little volume but such resonance that it is heard by all.
I hinge my neck to check Konstantin’s expression—pitch-black with a side of pulsing. I sense he will have much to say about my miserable manners when he gets a moment alone with me.
“Thank Gods,” someone says, which has Sofiya snapping, “It’s our moral king who deserves our thanks, not our Gods.”
Could she sound any more territorial? It makes me want to bare my teeth—or rather, my talons—Mórrígan only knows why.
For decorum’s sake, I do neither, but I do wrap my bejeweled hand around my glass and lift it in a toast. “To my mate. May his principled morality survive my bestial influence.”
Konstantin’s lids tick as though he’s wrestling with his eyeballs to keep them from rolling toward the heavens and locking there for the duration of the evening.
After a beat, he scoops up his own glass. “To my beautiful wife.”
“— to be ,” I chime in. Again. “You don’t want your people thinking we tied the knot without inviting them, now, do you?”
“Forgive me. I can’t seem to curb my eagerness to marry you.” He flings me a smile sharp enough to leave papercuts. “Where was I? Ah, yes… To you, beloved . May you never stop infusing my monotonous existence with your unpredictable ebullience.”
Ilya snorts, while I quirk a brow, since Konstantin looks about ready to strangle me each time my unpredictable ebullience comes out to play.
“ Zah’jeen !” Ilya exclaims, before bumping his glass into mine, then reaching around me to cheers with his brother. While others unenthusiastically echo the traditional Glacin toast “ To Life ,” Ilya adds, “To Crows and Faeries and everything in between.”
He shoots back his wine as though it were vodka, then sets his empty glass beside his plate and digs into his crustacean mousse. I don’t know whether he shovels it down to make me feel better about having started eating before Konstantin, or if he does so to irritate his aunt. Whatever his reasons, I’m immensely grateful.
“This vintage is delicious.” Sofiya coos as she swirls her wine. “Why am I surprised though? You always spoil us with the very best, Kostya.”
Again with his fucking nickname. The glare I shoot her has Konstantin’s fingers trudging along my pinched shoulders and coming to wrap around my nape, probably to discourage me from tossing my wine into his whatever-in-law’s face.
“I’m glad it’s to your liking, Sofiya.” His fingers squeeze, relax, squeeze, as though he cannot make up his mind as to whether to strangle me or not. “I’ll be certain to have a few barrels delivered for your forthcoming nuptials.”
“My… what ?” she squawks.
“Oh, forgive me.” Even though it’s surely not his intent, Konstantin’s persistent squeeze-release routine feels rather nice. “I thought the marriage contract had been ratified.”
“No.” Dimitri’s cheeks puff with annoyance. “The Nebban doesn’t have enough to offer.”
“What Nebban, Atsa?” Sofiya asks, her complexion warping from white to deep-pink.
“Someone who doesn’t deserve a girl like you, sweetheart.”
“Half-bloods earn wages equal to pure-bloods in Nebba nowadays,” Konstantin continues.
“I am not marrying off my daughter to someone beneath us. Though I thank you for your input,” Dimitri grits out, sounding anything but appreciative.
As daughter and father lapse into a quiet conversation, the appetizers are replaced with bowls of purple stew.
“Yum…borscht,” I murmur before adding, under my breath, “I’m regretting those cups of blood.”
Konstantin’s jaw twitches as he finally releases my neck to pick up his spoon.
“Do you think they put my bowl of birdseed outside?” I whisper.
I don’t miss Konstantin’s exasperated headshake as I prod the purple soup with my spoon. I take two sips of the treacly sludge before giving up and gifting it to Konstantin, who’s already polished off his bowl.
Sofiya twitters, apparently fully recovered from her unpleasant betrothal discussion. “Do you slop around leftovers in the Sky Kingdom?”
“We don’t like to waste food,” I say.
Her twitter firms into a grating smile. “We give our leftovers to the less fortunate here in Glace, not to our king. Can we have a second round of this most delicious soup?”
For some reason, it’s only at that moment that I take note of the color of her frock—Glacin-blue. The dye must’ve seeped into her veins and gone to her head.
The clink of porcelain draws my attention away from her outfit and onto the soup bowl Konstantin has removed from in front of me and piled atop his. He dips his spoon inside and proceeds to consume my portion. By the time he’s offered seconds—or thirds in his case—he dismisses the attendant with a polite thank you and pats his lips on his napkin.
Oh, how Sofiya is affronted…
I’d rejoice if I weren’t so confused. I conclude he must’ve done it for appearance’s sake.
After the soup course is cleared, Konstantin leans back in his chair. “Though tonight’s first item on my agenda was introducing you to Isla, I do have a second item to discuss with all of you. One that concerns the new edicts.”
As he explains how he’d like them to ease the integration of shifters and humans into their provinces, I excuse myself. Tiana must have the same urge to visit the ladies’ room, because an attendant scoots back her chair at the very same time. I catch her flicker of hesitation. Even though I don’t regret the whole sacrificial chatter, I do regret the fear it’s cast over the halfling. I decide that if she dares trail me into the powder room, I’ll debunk Aodhan’s fabricated tale. She dares.
“Don’t tell the others, though,” I tell her as I wash my hands in the sink, “for I want to see how long it takes them to seek out the truth.”
Tiana smiles, then nods with a renewed sparkle to her countenance. “I won’t, but would you mind if I tell Yuri, so that he can field questions in West Sheva—in case queries are made?”
“By all means.”
She pulls open the door. Before letting herself out, she says, with a smile that eats at my insides, “For what it’s worth, Princess, I sense you will be a great queen. The queen Glacins need.”
“Isla.” Guilt drags my gaze to the stone sink. “Not Princess.”
“Isla,” she repeats.
After she leaves, I work the soap on my fingers into a thick, white lather that does nothing to cleanse me of guilt.
I’m drying my hands on a rolled towel when the bathroom door opens and Sofiya clip-clops inside, head held so high her neck resembles a wooden post. To think that the night of my engagement, I’d felt empathy for this woman and had even considered encouraging Konstantin to woo her once my job here was completed. Glace deserves better.
Sofiya plucks lipstick from a tiny handbag sewn from the same material as her dress and drifts toward the mirror. As she refreshes the still heavy-coating of color, I sidestep her to chuck my towel into the linen bin.
“You may have many fooled”—she smacks her lips to evenly distribute the rouge—“but not me.”
I shouldn’t encourage her but cannot help myself from asking, “Fooled? About?”
She pops the cap back in place. “You and Konstantin aren’t mates,” she says as she sweeps her fingers around her mouth to blot any overspill.
“I realize it would be more convenient for you if we weren’t?—”
“It has nothing to do with my preference and everything to do with my clear-sightedness. I had a front-row seat to Aodhan and Izolda’s passion. There are more sparks in a dying ember than between you and Kostya. Also, I’d be willing to wager the tips of my ears on the fact that you cannot mind-speak.”
“Jealousy’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
Her crimson lips smoosh, resembling a weeping gash. “Again, this has nothing to do with my feelings toward you and your kind. I’m actually fine about your kind, though I would suggest you all apply less goop to your faces in order to blend in.”
“Wonderful insight. However, our stripes are deeply rooted in our culture. Much like the tips of your ears.” I make a point of observing them.
She backs up, the vein at the base of her throat going absolutely wild.
“Relax. I’m not about to shorten them to help you blend in .” Because I can be a bitch when the situation calls for it, I add a menacing, “But keep coming onto my mate, and I just might.”
I lean toward the mirror and make a show of readjusting my botched stripes before returning to the door. I’m about to reach for the handle when a better idea slots into my mind, and I prick my finger on my earring.
I don’t miss the hitch in Sofiya’s breathing when I adorn the wood with the key sigil. I slip through the wood, then dally on the other side, waiting for Sofiya to burst out. When she does, her complexion is as milky as her enlarged eyes.
“Everything all right, Isla?” Konstantin is wandering away from Imogen, who must’ve just entered the Lodge, given that her cheeks are flushed from the chill, and her black braid tousled from her flight.
“Absolutely. Sofiya was just offering me pointers on how best to blend in. Apparently, I should go lighter on the kohl.”
He releases a soft snort that shivers the single lock that’s escaped his top knot. Because Sofiya’s watching us, I amble up to him and catch the renegade wisp. The Ice King’s chest goes still as I lift it. When my fingers graze the peaked shell, he sucks in a breath and cinches my wrist.
I don’t move a muscle, wondering if he’ll reprimand me in front of everyone or if he’ll preserve the mate-act. I keep my gaze firmly planted to his, daring him to step out of character, daring him to publicly repudiate me, for if he does, I get to both hang onto his bargain and leave his frigid empire.
His pupils retract into dots that bathe in infinite swirls of mercury, while his crisp scent spreads and invades my lungs.
I curl my index finger and stroke the tip once more. Come on, Vizosh. Punish me. Send me away.
He blinks hard and finally draws my wrist down. His cheeks spasm as though an admonishment were building on his tongue.
“Isla threatened to cleave off the tips of my ears!” Sofiya’s whine carves through the sticky-hot tension.
With a sigh, I twist around to find her pointing to a red smear near the tip of her ear.
Before I can point out that the stain matches her lipstick to startling perfection, Konstantin chuffs, “You cannot go around lobbing off ears, Miss Ríhbiadh.”
I forage for sarcasm in his expression, but his features are ice-smooth.
“ Now you tell me.” I snatch my hand out of his just as Sofiya’s father reaches us, huffing and puffing. “Silly me. I still forget that I’m not in Luce. Anyway, I’ve got some packing to do before my trip.” For his ears only, I add, “I won’t leave without saying goodbye, so make sure to pop by my room once you’re done here.”
I catch the brisk sweep of Konstantin’s lashes before I disintegrate into my shadows.
Though my wing bones itch to carry me south, I soar toward the underground palace. I may be incensed, but if I don’t give him a piece of my fucking mind in private now, chances are I won’t come back.
Prophecy be damned.