Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
A tlas walked the gardens alone.
Everinne wanted to stay in his room and soak in his tub, and he figured she could use some time alone because if he stayed a minute longer, he would’ve had her bent over the bed, the sink, or any fucking surface he could find until he was so deep inside of her, she forgot how to breathe.
He pushed a hand through the messy curls of his hair and loosed a harsh breath, the frigid air misting before him.
Outside the palace, the world was covered in a fine layer of frost. It kissed the trees with their bare limbs, the petals of every winter-blooming flower, and even the lake was covered in crackling sheets of ice that spread like spider webs across its smooth surface.
Had it been any other evening, Atlas likely would’ve thrown on an overcoat to ward off the chill, but his skin was on fire, set aflame for a fae with eyes that reminded him of ethereal crystalline waters.
The winter wind bit through the soft fibers of his navy sweater, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his boots crunching lightly against the solid earth.
He wandered closer to the pond, one of his favorite places to sit and be when the world was too much, when the politics of court and the rumors surrounding his magic and reputation often got the best of him.
Here on some large, misshapen stones where waves lapped against a shallow shore, he could silence the doubts, the questions, the disparaging remarks that tainted his soul and blemished his character.
But tonight, nothing could quiet the murmurs of the wicked wood.
Atlas’s gaze drifted beyond the stone wall border of Starysa, to where heavy gray clouds blotted out slices of rising moonlight and the trees of the Deszvila Forest shuddered and moaned.
Their dense branches creaked, their evergreen points jutting up like daggers from beyond the border.
Within the walls of Starysa’s reach, the trees were barren, their jewel-hued leaves had fallen with the arrival of winter’s first breath.
They were dormant, lying in wait until the arrival of spring.
But the woods beyond, they never rested.
They breathed with the shifting of the wind, stealing over the landscape of Prava, beckoning the dark, archaic magic that thrived within the forest to life.
He dropped onto one of the oversized stones, resting his elbows upon his knees. Despite the onset of winter and the harrowing woods that seemed to watch with cunning restlessness, Atlas attempted to clear his mind.
Yet his thoughts would not settle.
He would have to go to the Marzena before any other immortals disappeared.
Unfortunately, he had no idea what the fuck he was looking for, other than maybe some back-alley rumor, or the possibility that one of the tainted souls who dwelled beneath the city knew something.
It would be impossible to go around and interrogate everyone who made the Marzena their home, but if the Mystic Obscura did in fact have an entrance to the Marzena below its menagerie, then that seemed like the best place to start.
It didn’t escape Atlas’s notice that Khiran, the missing vampire from Valaina’s clan, was last seen at the favored parlor, and with their increasing collection of blood samples it was all too coincidental for Reine to have direct access to the occult market of the Marzena.
And now, with Everinne ensnared in their clutches, he had to find a way to get her as far away from there as possible. If Reine or Jarek discovered Everinne’s magic, if they knew what she was capable of doing…
Reine was a witch, without a doubt she could find some nefarious use for Everinne. But Jarek…if a demon summoner got his hands on a fae who could inflict pain, suffering, and death—the possibilities were endless and grim.
Atlas pulled a pack of stigs from his pocket, slipping one between his lips, and flicked the lighter with his thumb.
Fire sparked to life from the slim glass container filled with swirling magic.
He inhaled, breathing in the floral, minty flavor.
Blowing out a puff of smoke, he rolled his head back and stared up at the swath of thick clouds that stretched across the sky like a gray velvet blanket.
A tiny scrap of white lace, a lone snowflake crafted from frost, cascaded down from the starless heavens, carrying with it the scent of worn leather, fresh earth, and ink-scrawled parchment.
“The first snowfall,” Veros mused, stepping from the path of patterned stone and closer to the pond’s edge. His hands were tucked in his pockets and his gaze was focused on the flakes that were slowly tumbling from the wintry sky. “They’ll light the bonfire tonight.”
Atlas nodded, shoving up from his sitting position to stand.
Zemni Boheme was thought to take place to celebrate the first snowfall of winter, a blessing of some forgotten goddess.
The bonfire burned silver until the Winter Solstice, to celebrate the passing of the longest night, a promise of spring’s eventual arrival.
But Atlas knew the real reason for the fire wasn’t to bide the darkening nights until the passing of the Winter Solstice, but to keep the forest at bay.
To keep it from creeping ever closer, to keep it from swallowing Starysa until there was nothing left but rubble and bones.
“I imagine the lighting will be a great time.” Atlas rocked back on his heels and drew in another pull from his stig.
He blew the smoke out so it curled around the dancing snowflakes.
“Kralv Oldrich has much to celebrate. He’ll throw an elaborate festival for the coming winter and host a stupidly lavish wedding while his citizens face an increasingly dangerous and unknown threat. ”
“I was only implying we might be able to garner some more information.” Veros angled his head, one dark brow arching. “Faerie wine loosens lips.”
Atlas considered his friend, it wasn’t a bad idea at all. “Loose lips spill secrets.”
“Exactly.” Veros inhaled sharply and tucked his hands behind his back, his shoulders stiffening. “Caedian informed me that Everinne is well.”
“Quite well.” All Veros had to know was that Atlas had helped bring his sister back from the brink of death.
He definitely didn’t need to know anything else that happened afterward, all of which was grounds for Veros to murder him.
Atlas rolled the stig to the corner of his mouth and roughed one hand along the back of his neck.
“Though I am sorry you had to see her like that.”
Veros’s jaw tightened, and he glanced down at where a thin layer of snow was beginning to gather, his dark hair falling in front of his face. “All that matters is she’s alive.”
His voice was quiet and there was an edge to his tone, one Atlas hadn’t heard in a number of years.
Veros spoke as though he’d walked through time, as though the hours he held in the palm of his hand were gradually ticking closer to some cataclysmic event, one that would change the destinies woven by fate.
With his head bowed, he glanced over at Atlas, and the turquoise of his eyes dimmed, the gold bleeding into them like tiny rivers of melted metal.
“I need to talk to you, Veros.” Atlas took one last drag of his stig, then let it fall to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. “About Everinne.”
Veros threw both of his hands up in the air and stepped back. “If it involves any kind of intimate dealings, I don’t want to hear it.”
“It’s not that.” He would die of mortification first. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he met his best friend’s intensifying gaze. “You were there, you heard what Valaina said about the Mystic Obscura. And as you’ve already pointed out, I’m not the best at striking deals.”
Atlas liked to think his reasoning for always getting roped into shitty bargains was because of his hot temper and lack of patience, though he knew it had more to do with the fact that his father locked him out of court dealings.
He lacked experience with negotiation, and if he didn’t end up wrangled into some duplicitous deal, then he usually got what he wanted for one reason only.
His looks and his magic, both of which, when snared into bargains, left an unsavory taste in his mouth.
“Do you want me to bargain for you?” Veros asked, his head snapping up. “Because I will. She’s my sister and the whole reason she’s stuck working at that damn parlor is my fault. I will gladly?—”
“No, I’ll do it. I’ll make the deal myself.
You’re the Master of the Hour, the Lord of Time, you have too much to offer.
” Atlas, on the other hand, could walk into the Mystic Obscura, strike an accord with Reine, and walk out practically unscathed.
He was a fae prince with nothing to lose.
He was an embarrassment to the crown, his father hated him, and if all he had to give up was his sex magic, then so be it.
To him, it would be an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders.
One less burden to bear. “All I need to know is what to expect. What I may have to offer or give up in exchange for Everinne’s life. ”
Veros’s teeth skated across his bottom lip as a line of concentration formed across his brow. “Reine is a witch, but she has no allegiance to the Coven of the Scarlet Moon. There is no way of telling what she might ask of you in return for Ever’s freedom.”
He swallowed, plucked his own stig from the front pocket of his coat, and lit it, his focus on the icy blue flame of the lighter before he snuffed it out completely. Veros inhaled deeply, blew out a stream of smoke, and said, “If she lets her go at all.”
Something cold sank into Atlas’s chest, like the frozen fingers of dread captured his heart and squeezed. The seizing ache spread through him, carving his lungs until they were hollow, scouring his gut until it rolled with acid and bile.