Chapter Thirty-Two #2
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for whatever is to come and hope that my end is quick. Several seconds pass, and nothing happens. I swallow my fear and force my eyes open.
The Winter Dragon hangs, suspended high in the air, gazing back at me in much the same way that Imugi does. The beast’s eyes blink slowly.
Two icy antlers that curve back, sprout from the snowy mane that travels down the length of his—Joon’s body—long body. His scales glitter like freshly fallen snow in the moonlight. His mane and whiskers move gently as if suspended in water.
He is stunning.
We are held captives in this moment that stretches on as we gaze at each other, neither able to look away.
A bell gongs in the distance. Shouts break through the storm in the spaces between the ringing. Voices grow in volume. The spell over us shatters.
Joon turns toward the sound of guards running toward us and roars. He flies for them, sending a blast of blue flame overhead as he soars past and into the northern sky.
No, not flame… ice.
It shatters in the air and rains down over the palace soldiers, who shout out in alarm. Mingi and Iseul call my name as I pass the gate to the Central Court.
By the time I reach the Temple Tower, my legs are tired and I’m out of breath, but I keep going.
A lone man, dressed in ceremonial robes, moves slowly through the hall, stopping to light each sconce.
“Where is the royal crypt?” I shout.
He flinches at my volume and gapes as I run at him. I skid to a halt. Recognition lights his eyes, or perhaps he sees I’m about to ask again and wants to keep me from shouting again. Because he finally points down the hall at his back. “Th-that way, My Lady.”
I dip my chin in a barely acceptable bow of thanks and continue on my way. Turning the corner at the end of the hall, I hurry down the short passage leading to a set of stairs that lead up as well as down.
The darkness at the bottom is so oppressive, it forces me to slow lest I collide with something or fall down unseen stairs.
The landing emerges at one end of yet another corridor, with a single doorway halfway down. The only source of light is the sconce across the hall from the double doors.
I brace a palm against the damp stone wall until I’m close enough to see the faint outline of the brick paving.
The faint sounds of a commotion reverberate from the stairwell. Mingi and Iseul are not far behind.
Standing before the doors, gripping the handles, I hesitate. My entire body is shaking from nerves, and my stomach has tied itself into so many knots I think I might be sick.
I don’t think I want to do this.
But I have to—I need to know.
With a deep breath, I throw the doors wide before I can change my mind. The sight that greets me is like nothing I could have imagined.
Stone pedestals as high as my waist are laid out in orderly columns and rows. Resting upon nearly half of them are glass mausoleums with the bodies of kings and queens of the past.
A plaque is carved in the stone at the foot of each one, with the name of the monarch, their day of birth, the years they ruled, and the day they died.
I walk down the central aisle. When I near the first, I realize the caskets are not glass but enchanted ice.
Not daring to stop, I make my way toward the archway at the far end of the crypt.
What I’m looking for waits for me behind a split curtain that hangs over the threshold, blocking the view on the other side.
At first, it appears black, but as I slip through, I notice the shimmer of blue.
The silken material cascades down my back and reveals the shrine within.
A shudder rolls through my body that leaves me trembling from a cold that has nothing to do with the cold, damp air.
Seven stone pedestals are lined up along the length of the room with space for more. The first six hold a standing woman encased in ice, making them appear as if they are statues from a distance. The last is empty.
I make my way toward the end. Up close, the details of the women come into sharper focus.
Their eyes are closed, with almost peaceful expressions.
But their features are gaunt as if their life had been sucked out of them.
Every one of them has rounded human ears.
Each stone base features a plaque that displays the name, age, and hometown of each woman.
Kiara Price, 22. Cyrindor
Rhiannon Gravelight, 27. Direvale
My legs grow weaker as I read each one.
Leila Threnody, 19. Stone cliff
Florence Ashwood, 28. Elmcrest
Nisha Winslow, 24. Avalan
Cordelia Swann, 21. Holiston
I slow, then stop when I realize the seventh plaque is already engraved. A violent wave of nausea crashes into me, making the world tilt.
My legs give out. I crash to the ground, catching myself with my hands.
Violet Hawthorn, 23. Firnhallow.
He has already begun preparing for my death. Our bargain meant nothing. The evidence before me staring me in the face is a glaring truth I cannot deny, no matter how much I wish I could.
Did he ever intend to keep me alive long enough to break the curse, let alone even attempt to heal me after?
He intentionally deceived me from the beginning. It’s impossible to know how much of what he said was a lie or if his tongue is even capable of speaking the truth at all.
If I’d known any of this, I would never have allowed myself to get close to him—I would have guarded my heart.
Which is exactly why he hid the truth.
I don’t want to believe it. It’s at odds with the man I know—the man I thought I knew.
Joon lied about everything. Every word out of his mouth was meant to manipulate me into giving him whatever he wanted.
Pain twists my heart, signaling the start of an episode, but Joon’s not around to stop it this time.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. For years, I relied on my own techniques to stop my episodes. I can do it again.
Concentrating, I focus on breathing slowly, willing my heart to calm. As the onset of an impending episode ebbs, the echo of footsteps nears.
“Violet,” Mingi says gently.
I look over my shoulder to find him in the archway, holding the curtain aside, with Imugi hovering over his shoulder. Iseul remains just beyond the door in the room of past kings and queens. Her face is deathly pale even in the dim light as she glances around.
All three adopt an expressionless mask as they watch me, but their presence feels like an admonishment and judgment.
How do they expect me to feel? What do they expect me to think?
I stand through pure strength of will alone and storm over to Mingi. “Did you know he was lying and manipulating me this whole time?”
Mingi opens his mouth to deliver his predictable denial, but I cut him off. “He is as cruel as everyone says.” I thrust a finger toward the frozen women at my back. “Look at them! They are nothing more than trophies—he’s even prepared a place for me.”
Mingi sighs—actually sighs—as if I’m overreacting to something trivial.
“They are not—” he begins.
But I’m not listening. I shove past Mingi, bumping him with my shoulder. Imugi glides effortlessly out of the way to avoid me.
I can’t stand to hear more lies. Not from another person I’ve foolishly come to trust.
Why wouldn’t they defend him? They are his loyal subjects. They’ve told me as much and proved as much with their actions and their words as they went along with Joon’s deception.
As I pass Iseul, I let her see the hurt on my face. An expression that says, I trusted you. I thought we were friends.