Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
LARA
H is partner tries to grab me, but with a loud buzz, Kila flits over her and dust floats down onto the woman’s hand. Almost immediately, angry red welts rise on the pure white skin.
“Touch her again and I will go get the duke,” Kila threatens. “I’m sure you didn’t ask his permission, did you?”
Part of me doesn't like the way that sounds—as if I belong to Ivrael. But right now, another part of me does like it. A lot.
I try to tell myself that second bit is just because of the wine. But I know better.
The two Icecaix snarl at Kila, but then they glance at each other nervously, as if the thought of Ivrael showing up makes them anxious. Just like it does me. And yet as they turn and walk away, I find myself longing for Ivrael.
I bite down on the thought, banishing it back to its dark corner of my mind and refusing to look at it too closely.
“Come on,” Kila hisses into my ear. “Let’s get out of here. ”
I stagger after her, moving through the dining hall and toward the short corridor that leads to the swinging door into the kitchen.
Kila glances back over her shoulder. “Feeling any better yet?”
“Much.” I nod, though the motion makes me a little dizzy. It’s not entirely a lie. I do feel better. Better enough to follow through on my original plan for tonight, at least. But first I have to convince Kila I’ll be okay.
“I’m going to go outside, get some fresh air,” I say when we’re almost to the kitchen.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kila’s wings whir anxiously.
“Yeah. It’ll help clear my head.”
Her forehead creases as she gives me a suspicious look, but she finally nods. “Fine.”
“We’ll go watch the dancing when I get back, if you want,” I offer.
This time, her nod is more enthusiastic. “I’d love to see a court dance—even if it is the Ice Court,” she adds with a shiver.
“Be back in a few.” I open the swinging door and wave her through, glad to see the raya headed back to the warmest part of the house. Then I wait, giving it a few seconds to be sure no one comes out of the kitchen searching for me.
Instead of heading toward an exit, though, I slip back through to the dining room, sliding into the room quietly and standing against the wall just inside the servants’ entrance.
Glancing around, I realize no one is watching me. The Ice Court Caix are gorging themselves on raw meat and alcohol—I can’t tell if the red running down from the corners of their mouths is blood or wine or both, but the Icecaix don’t seem to care. In fact, many of them are beginning to lick the concoction from each other’s faces.
My desire for Ivrael, the feeling I’ve been denying since the first time I saw him, rages up inside me like an inferno, and this time I can’t push it down.
Maybe the wine hasn’t worn off as much as I hoped it had.
I have to get out of here.
Blindly, I turn and stumble toward the exit nearest the foyer. By the time I reach the landing on the main staircase, the haze in my mind has started to clear again, at least a little. I continue up the stairs, then lean against the wall at the top. For once, the cold air brushing against my skin feels good.
Ducking down a side hallway, I make my way toward Ivrael’s home office.
Tonight, I tell myself, I’m going to get that map. And then I’m going to get the hell out of this nightmare.
But the murmur of masculine voices draws me to a halt outside of Ivrael’s office.
Dammit. Of course, tonight of all nights would be the one when his study is occupied.
I flatten myself against the wall, straining to hear what’s being said and who is saying it.
“I doubt your prince will show up this late.” The voice is a deep rumble, one I don’t recognize, but I’m not surprised when Ivrael answers.
“I can’t stay away too long. The Ice Court Caix will find it strange if I don’t provide some…entertainment.”
The stranger grunts, a note of disgust in the sound. “What atrocities do you have planned this time?”
“Nothing, if you two keep your end of tonight’s bargain.”
“Hm.” This time, the sound coming from the stranger is more thoughtful.
“And what about the servants?” This is a different voice, also masculine, but sounding somehow younger—though I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps the wine is still affecting my senses.
“Tonight?” Ivrael asks. “I’ve assigned only those I am certain are spying for Jonyk.”
I flash back to Ramira’s smug smile, and my stomach clenches. Something horrible is going to happen, I’m sure of it.
The second stranger confirms my suspicion. “And if any survive?”
“Someone has to tell Jonyk what has happened.”
“Wasn’t he supposed to be here?” The first stranger sounds irritated.
“He has not stayed here since we were children—not since my father punished him for cheating at cards just before he reached the age of majority.” Ivrael gives a harsh laugh. “The last time my father could have him whipped was the last time he sat foot on these grounds. It was too humiliating for him.”
I’m still contemplating that when the first voice asks, “What about the girls from the human realm?”
“I have one of them. I’m headed to the Trasqo Market to buy the sister as soon as everyone is gone tomorrow.”
Ivrael’s response roots my feet to the floor. His words bounce around inside my head like frantic ping pong balls rebounding off the walls of my skull, finally landing somewhere near understanding.
The girls from the human realm. The sister. Headed to buy her at the market.
He’s planning to buy Izzy from Roland.
And he’s leaving tomorrow?
Dread coils through my chest, settling into terror in my bowels. It’s too late for me to make my way to the firelords to beg for passage back home. I’ve waited too long, though I don’t know how. Had I miscalculated the time until Izzy turned eighteen?
And even if I hadn’t? Would I have been able to escape, anyway? Could I have made it through the monstrous cemeteries, the terrifying woods, the endless winter lands?
Part of me already knows the answer is no.
“And once you have the sister? What then?” the second stranger asks.
I can almost hear Ivrael shrug. “I follow the plan. We meet at Jonyk’s palace and take down the traitor prince.”
At this, the terror seeping through my limbs freezes into horror as hard as the icicles dripping from the eaves of Starfrost Manor.
Inside Ivrael’s study, the conversation hasn’t waited for my physical responses, and I hold my breath to hear Ivrael’s next words over the cold pounding of my own heart. “You’ll have the twins there as well?”
“Of course.” The older man is the one who answers.
“And what do your girls know of the plan? ”
“I decided it was better not to tell them beforehand.”
“Good call. I haven’t told the human girl anything, either.”
“Where is she, anyway?” the younger stranger asks.
“I put her to work in the kitchen.”
The men laugh, and the ice inside me shatters in a volcano of blazing anger. I consider bursting into the room, demanding to know what they’re talking about, what plans Ivrael has for me, for Izzy. But they’re still talking, and I think maybe I can learn more from eavesdropping.
“She is…” Ivrael pauses thoughtfully. “Rash. Prone to acting without thinking. She’s tried to run away several times already.”
“She ran? Where did she think she was going?” I’m beginning to think I dislike the older stranger.
Ivrael’s harsh laugh grates across my skin. “I have no idea. I assume she thought she could get back home.”
“Back to Earth? But it’s not?—”
“I know. But her sister is still there.” I silently curse Ivrael’s interruption. Earth is not what ?
“And you don’t think she might be more inclined to stay if she understood the stakes?” No, I decide. The younger man is the more irritating of the two.
Ivrael’s derisive snort echoes, and I clench my teeth to bite back the growl I want to let out. “She wouldn’t believe she has any reason to help me.”
I wouldn’t believe it because I could never have any reason to help Ivrael.
“Then give her a reason. Tell her the truth.”
Wait. Truth? What truth does the older stranger want the duke to tell me?
This time, Ivrael laughs aloud. “She wouldn’t believe me. She couldn’t—not until she sees it for herself.”
“If you don’t tell her beforehand, she’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, what you’re planning to do.”
Ivrael’s voice drops so low I can barely hear it. “I know. I’ll never forgive myself, either.”
I frown so hard my forehead aches with it, and I’m still trying to figure out what these two could possibly mean when I hear the scrape of a chair across the floor. “You’d better get back to your guests,” the older stranger says.
“And you have a grand entrance to make,” Ivrael replies.
The younger man laughs. “Not to worry. I haven’t forgotten.”
“If you do this, you won’t be able to show your face at the summit.” Ivrael’s voice carries a warning. “Someone might recognize you.”
“I have no issue with that,” the younger man says. “I don’t want to be there, anyway.”
I don’t begin to move until I hear their footsteps moving across the floor toward the door. And then I’m darting into the room across the hallway, the silver parlor, a room where Ivrael is supposed to entertain his personal friends. It’s a room I’ve never seen used.
I move around behind the open door, peering through the space above the hinges, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men Ivrael has been talking to. As they step out of the study, their voices now no more than a low murmur, I clasp my hands over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
Rather than using a candle to light the way, Ivrael carries a Caixlight spinning cold and blue above his open palm. But even the silvery white light cannot hide the golden gleam of the other man’s skin, the pattern of scales that trails up either side of his neck and onto his cheeks, disappearing into his hairline.
He’s a firelord. And so is the younger man who steps out of the room behind him. Ivrael is plotting with the firelords to overthrow the Icecaix Court.
And somehow, he needs my sister and me to help him.
Unsurprisingly, Ivrael leads the firelords down the stairs toward the back servants’ entrance—the last thing he’d want is to be discovered with these two.
I wait until the three men have disappeared and count to a hundred after that, listening to the murmur of conversation and the occasional bars of music floating up from the ballroom in the main wing of the house.
Then I slip out of the silver parlor and head back down to the kitchen, my mind whirling with the conversation I heard, the information I gleaned but don’t quite understand.
I keep returning to the comment that Ivrael needs Izzy and me to complete his plan to overthrow Prince Jonyk.
I can’t imagine how two human girls could possibly aid in that.
No, only one thing is certain.
If Ivrael plans to leave the next morning to buy my sister from Roland in The Trasqo Market, then I have to go with him.
K ila meets me at the kitchen entrance. “Where have you been? Fintan says you weren’t outside. Did you go somewhere else? Have you been to the ballroom?”
I haven’t prepared an answer. I intended to return to the kitchen with the map to the firelords’ lands and tell Kila the entire plan. But everything has changed, and I’m still reeling from everything I overheard.
“Yes,” I finally say. “I went to sneak a peek at the rest of the guests.”
Kila glances around to make sure no one else is listening. “That was not smart. What if those two found you again?” Then she darts back and forth in front of me, her wings giving off a disgruntled buzz that matches her tone as she allows her voice to get louder. “And why didn't you take me with you? You know I want to see the Ice Court dance.”
Despite the distractions, my preoccupation with the overheard conversation, the way my head still buzzes from whatever the couple did to me, I laugh. “I’ll take you now.”
“Really? You promise? Right now this minute?”
I pull open the collar of my shirt, inviting her to ride with me.
“Let me get my cloak,” she says, holding up a tiny imperious finger. She darts down to the hearth and snags the piece of fabric from behind the fireplace instruments, her wings now humming happily.
Not for the first time, I’m astounded by the fact that I can hear her mood in her motions, in the tone of the buzzing of her wings.
“You two be careful if you’re planning to watch the revels,” Adefina warns us as Kila flits over to me and settles on my shoulder to snuggle into the crook of my neck. “The Ice Court—” she glances around as if afraid of being overheard, drops into the broad, almost rural-sounding accent I’ve noticed she’s used when she’s anxious, and whispers, “—especially them what’s nearest Prince Jonyk…well, they can be cruel, to say the least, and they could do quite a bit of damage before His Grace could get their claws out of you.”
Given what I’ve experienced so far tonight, getting close to the ballroom may be foolish—but my bizarre desire for the duke has subsided, so it had to have been some kind of Caix aphrodisiac they roofied me with.
God. I almost kissed that nasty little goblin.
I shudder in disgust. But as long as I don’t eat or drink anything else an Icecaix has touched, I ought to be fine, I reason.
Besides, I can’t resist trying to learn more about what Ivrael and the firelords were discussing. I nod solemnly, promising Adefina we’ll be careful, and then Kila and I move out of the kitchen and up the same back stairs I had come down moments before.
We reach the servants’ upper entrance to the ballroom in moments. A ledge runs along the wall just below the arched ceiling—one I had stood on to clean the ceiling the day before, higher even than the balcony at the north end—with a solid barrier to prevent anyone falling to the floor below.
I slip out of the servants’ door but keep us within easy reach of the entrance to the passageway, ensuring we can make a quick getaway if necessary. Then I sink down to a seated position until all but my eyes and the top of my head are hidden behind the railing, which was, after all, also designed to keep lords and ladies from ever having to set eyes on servants unless they choose to.
Caix firelights reflect cold and blue off the shining silver swirls on the wall, and the flicker of the gleaming globes as they move make the stylized silver wings look almost as if they’re in flight. Musicians play stringed instruments I don’t recognize, producing music like nothing I’ve ever heard before, haunting and unearthly even when the songs are lively.
Below us, the Ice Court glitters. In the center of the ballroom, they spin and twirl as they dance, some in couples, some alone, some in groups.
The Icecaix women wear their hair loose, flowing down their backs in more modern styles, but on the whole, they wear formal, Regency-style dresses and suits in cold shades—the white of snow, the glitter and gleam of gold and silver, the pale blue of ice, all whirling around in eddies like gathering snowdrifts, fans fluttering before their faces and ribbons trailing behind their bodies as they move and dance, their diaphanous wings—for those who have them—flickering as they flit here and there.
The lighter colors are punctuated by the occasional winter-forest shade of an evergreen, or the dark brown of a tree with its branches stripped of leaves—but these dresses are embroidered with silver and white as if the tree has icicles dripping from it. A few of the men wear unrelieved black.
And here and there, like blood drops splashed across this winter canvas, deep red gowns highlight the pallor of the women who wear them.
For some reason, the sight of those dresses sends horror racing in chills down my arms in a premonition of something terrible. But I shake away the feeling, and Kila hovers up beside me as I peer over the edge.
“They’re beautiful,” her tiny voice says into my ear.
“Gorgeous,” I agree mildly.
The raya whips around, her whole body turning as she puts one hand on her hip and wags a forefinger at me with her other hand. “But deadly. Never forget that they’re deadly, Lara. Dangerous.”
“Believe me, that’s something I always remember,” I murmur.
Kila gives a single firm nod, as if my words have settled something important. Then she settles back down to watch the ball.
Above it all on a raised dais at the other end of the ballroom stands Duke Ivrael, resplendent in the blues and silvers of his own house, his golden blond hair just brushing the shoulders of the dark blue coat he wears, contrasting against the white of his formal cravat and black pants tucked into shining black boots.
Incongruously, he also holds a black riding crop in his right hand, tapping it against his boot as he surveys his party before holding up his hand to get everyone’s attention as the musicians finish their song and the last strains of the melody fade away.
I've never seen Duke Ivrael look more beautiful—or more dangerous. His smile, when it comes, reminds me of a predator choosing its prey. The Caixlights catch his eyes, and for a moment, they flash pure gold.
And something in his stance reminds me of that day in the cemetery, the way he'd drawn himself up to prepare for the fight, the determined set of his shoulders, the way he'd surveyed the masses of the undead.
Just before the killing began.