Chapter 30 #2
She was easily one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, and I had four centuries of life to compare against. Granted, most of the last three had been spent in the coven lands.
But this sort of beauty transcended race.
Her golden hair was lustrous and thick, fashioned into an ornate braid that fell to her tiny waist. The pale rose gown she wore clung to her body, making it clear that the fulsome hips and generous breasts that contrasted with the nip of her waist were not the work of a corset, but all her own assets.
I’d been around beautiful women plenty. The witches of my own coven were lovely, touched by the Dark God’s otherworldly power. I’d had plenty of time to get over the jealousy that physical comparison might inspire. I was jealous of my sister witches’ control over their power, not of their looks.
But I had never had something worth coveting.
“Your Grace,” the woman said as she swept into a graceful curtsey that would have had me tripping over my feet, even without Isanara weaving in between my legs. “What a treat. You so rarely participate in court life.”
Garrick’s face went blank. The smirk I’d admired a few minutes before was replaced by a series of long, blank blinks.
“Lady…”
He didn’t remember her name. I’d never been good at hiding my emotions. That must have been why I smiled. It was humorous.
The woman was not alone. She clung to the arm of her own male, though this one appeared to be a brother or close relative, based on the resemblance.
She used his arm as an anchor as she shifted closer to Garrick.
She could not have been more obvious; just like Garrick could not have been more clearly disinterested.
While she brushed her gown over the toe of his boot, Garrick’s fingertips pressed a rhythmic, comforting pattern into the back of my hand.
“I appreciate your discretion,” she cooed.
That caught my attention.
She leaned in toward Garrick, as if sharing a secret, as she mock-whispered, “In not sharing my name. You have always been a protective soul.”
She was one of those. Garrick shifted toward me, and he did not try to hide it. He pressed the full length of his hip and thigh against mine.
The woman’s pretty mouth flattened.
“My sister believes, like many in Balar Shan, that to tell a witch your name gives her power over you,” the male at her side said.
It had been three hundred and seventy-seven years since my resurrection. There were many parts of my identity that I questioned, as well as my right to belong. But I was far too old to be intimidated by a weak, insipid fae lady.
At least when it came to a man.
My power stirred. “I don’t—”
“You’ve been misled,” Garrick interjected. “Koryn does not need your name to have power over you. She is your superior simply by existing.”
A crack reverberated through me. The block of ice I’d built to protect myself.
The golden blonde raised her chin in defiance. “That is what the witches want us to believe.”
“Believe whatever you like,” Garrick said. He was not looking at her. His attention had shifted fully to me. He did not let his concern show on his face, but I felt it in the pressure of his hand on my arm. He started to steer me away--
Movement flashed in my periphery. I threw my hands up to block my face just in time, but it wasn’t enough. The salt she’d flung slipped between my fingers, down my sleeves, cascaded across the exposed skin above my bodice.
It burned my skin. Angry red welts rose up, marking where every granule made contact.
Garrick’s hand went to his sword, but I was faster. She thought the salt would protect her. It hurt. But I’d lived with one kind of pain or another for my entire immortal existence.
It wasn’t ice that flowed from my fingertips, but a torrent of frost. It shoved her brother to the floor as it encased her in a funnel of swirling cold. Not it—me. I was the one doing this, and I was enjoying it.
Her doe-like eyes were wide with fear. Her perfect coiffure was a riot of tangled strands, the gold color muted by the tornado of frost that entrapped her.
Half a thought, a flick of my hand, and it would go down her throat.
It would choke her. There were only a few sure ways to kill a fae. Suffocation seemed like a good bet.
A hand curled around my hip.
“Kill her if you want,” Garrick said so softly that I knew no one else could hear, no matter how sharp their hearing. “But do not let her be a stain upon your soul.”
No one else could have reached me in that moment. Not Isanara. Not the Dark God.
He was not here—the Dark God. I could not feel him at the edges of my mind. This darkness, this desire to punish, was all my own.
I dropped my hands. The funnel of frost fell instantly, forming a circle around the woman as she fell with it.
But she had no time to catch her breath. Her brother could not even reach her in time. Garrick dragged her up, his sword drawn and pressed against the trembling expanse of her throat.
It was not just the block of ice in my chest that was about to shatter. It was my entire body. I could not let it happen here.
“You just told me not to stain my soul,” I managed.
Garrick didn’t budge. “Mine is plenty stained already.”
His eyes were locked on mine. We were the only two people in the presence chamber, even with dozens of fae courtiers looking on, even with a woman’s life hanging in the balance between us. Unspoken words and dangerous feelings flew across the space, just from the force of our eyes meeting.
It was a habit that was too easy to fall back into; a closeness I was not ready for. Not yet. If I let him in again… he could hurt me again.
“I have had enough.”
Garrick dropped his sword and the woman. By the time her knees hit the ground, he was already back at my side. He caught my arm and sheathed his sword in one motion, turning me toward the exit. There was nothing left for us here.
“My mistake. I thought the Duke of Sein Talam’s taste would have improved with age,” the woman called from behind us, all the sweetness gone from her voice. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
Another person who hated me. It shouldn’t have mattered. I hated the fae. They hated the witches. We all hated each other.
Except I did not hate Garrick. Not anymore. Damn, damn, damn. How had I let that happen? How could I hate someone who saw the struggle within me, the darkness that tried to subsume the light, and instead of being repulsed by it, held me through it?
We made it out of the presence chamber, rounded the first turn of the spiral, and we were finally alone. I yanked my arm free, increasing my pace, hurrying ahead. Garrick caught up in two easy steps. I started to jog.
“Koryn,” Garrick tried to touch my arm, but I lunged away.
“Why are you angry with me?”
I wasn’t. I was angry at myself. And him. And this whole fucking world. I should have stayed dead the night in the forest. I should never have been resurrected.
“I just… I do not need you, Garrick. I need to think.” The feelings were too intense. Where was my power now, when I wanted it? There was no ice forming in my veins, no pointed daggers extending from my sharpened nails.
He tried for my arm again. This time, he caught me. He dragged me up against him, his eyes bearing down on mine. “Then let me stay at your side while you do.”
I wanted to throw myself into his arms.
Instead, I threw myself backward, wrenching out of his grip. I collided hard with the red brick wall behind me.
We had only a moment of warning. A long, yawing groan as the ancient mortar between the bricks tried to hold back the force of time and a centuries-old curse. But nothing lasted forever. The corridor crumbled around us.
Garrick covered my body with his own. But I got a hand out in time to blast back the bricks with a wall of ice. I was past praying. I was not even sure what I would pray for. But when the bricks stopped falling, we were both still standing.
We were trapped.