Chapter 35 Astrid
The cold hits her like ocean spray.
She shivers and welcomes the sensation of the chill on her skin, the crisp air filling her lungs and bringing a sense of peace. It feels like home.
“Let’s get a drink.” Astrid grips Fionn’s arm and pulls them over to a table with a glass sculpture of an ice kraken, a creature only found in the Horven Ocean at the north-east of Arturea.
They’re the reason ships aren’t safe out in that part of the world.
“Isn’t this incredible? We could be back in Isfjell.
” She picks up a mug of hot chocolate and takes a long drink.
“It’s quite something,” Fionn agrees, sipping mulled cider. Arboria bats her tail on the ground and sniffs the air.
Astrid wanders over to watch as Vatrans try their hand—well, feet—at ice-skating, a sport she is sure none of them have ever even heard of before, let alone tried. There are more bums on the ice than skates, and a lot of cursing.
Astrid grins at Fionn. “Shall we show them how it’s done?”
They lean casually against the railings, their blond hair falling over their unadorned white mask. “You go ahead. I’m more than happy to cheer you on from the sidelines.”
Astrid pats them on the back and heads for the kiosk where an elderly woman, eyes crinkled with delight, is handing out boots and mittens.
Astrid gives her shoe size and is handed a pair of gleaming skates in exchange for her own silver slippers.
She tugs them on, then glides onto the ice, a hoot ringing out from Fionn as she does so.
She bobs a curtsy before racing across the ice, reveling in the sensation of the biting wind on her face.
She holds her arms out and laughs, wondering how they’ve created this world of winter.
It’s more than Blooded magic, she knows, because she can hear the generators at the edge of the rink.
The amount of Vitalas they must be using to power this place, this whole ball, it’ll be astronomical.
Which doesn’t add up with what she read in the baroness’s note.
If there’s something wrong with the Heart, then how is it still yielding Vitalas?
Unless whatever’s wrong with it only impacts its ambient magic.
She slows as reality presses in once more.
Perhaps she’ll have another moonflower. Allow herself to forget for one night.
She seeks out Fionn, but instead her gaze clashes with the prince’s standing next to them; and she stumbles as one skate catches on the other.
The ice rushes up to meet her, but before she can hit the deck, a current skitters over her skin and a pair of arms wrap around her.
“You falling for me, Dimples?” Zryan looks down at her, that quirk playing around his full lips.
Astrid huffs and hopes he doesn’t notice the way her breath catches. “Stars above, your lines get worse.” She shuffles out of his grip and gets back to her feet. “At least you caught me this time before I knocked myself out.”
“I’ll take that as a thank-you,” he says. “And you’re welcome.”
She elbows him in the arm, then skates off, leaving him standing amid his flailing countrymen, exiting the rink and changing back into her slippers. She makes her way to Fionn, only to find Zryan there waiting for her.
“Why do you keep running from me this evening?”
Fionn raises their brows at the prince, then at Astrid.
“Why are you following me?” she retorts. She waves over one of the waiters and grabs a glass of water, gulps it down. “Apparently, you’re unable to take a hint.”
Zryan slaps a hand to his heart, drawing attention to his glorious chest. “You wound me, Astrid.”
A shiver runs through her. Her name is so beautiful on his tongue; she could listen to him say it all day.
“Fionn, is it?” Zryan turns to them, switching to Arturean. “Would you give us a moment?”
Fionn looks as if Zryan just spat on their familiar and turns to Astrid with a who the fuck does this guy think he is look on their face, but Astrid smiles at them. “It’s okay. I’m safe with him.”
“On my life, no harm will ever come to her when she’s in my care,” Zryan assures Fionn.
On the one hand, him describing Astrid as being “in his care” makes her want to peel the skin from his bones, but on the other, swearing on his own life to protect her makes her want to peel the clothes from his skin. Not that he’s wearing any.
“Honestly, I’ll be fine. I’ll come find you soon.”
Fionn levels a withering look at her. “There’ll be no need to find me: I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’ll wait right over there.” They point to another ice sculpture, this one of a silver-bellied bear.
“Sure you will.” Zryan flashes a grin at them, then snatches Astrid’s hand and Teleports. The last thing she sees is Fionn lunging for her as she folds into nothing.
They land in snow and Astrid gasps, fighting the usual dizziness that comes with Teleporting.
“Can you stop doing that! Ever thought of asking me first?”
“But I so love to hear you scream.” He steadies her. Astrid hates the blush she can feel blooming, and by the grin spreading across his face, she knows he’s noticed. “And it’s not as if you couldn’t stop me.”
She shoves him off, and she’s about to ask what the Hel he’s talking about when the smell hits her. Woodsmoke and nutmeg and cedar. And she understands, then, where they are.
The forest in Isfjell.
She can’t believe it. She turns to Zryan and for once his face is soft. “You did this?”
“With Jessa’s help.”
Astrid almost chokes. “Words I never thought I’d hear coming out of your mouth.”
“She was a little hostile at first”—a smile tugs at his lips—“but when I told her what I wanted, she agreed to give me some details to help. I asked the Illusionists and other Blooded working on this section if they could create Isfjell, with the help of some of your witches, of course, and to keep it secret so only those who know where to look can find it.”
“And who knows where to look?”
“Just me,” he says. “And now you.”
Astrid stares at him. She can’t believe what he’s done for her, can’t believe he’s created this secret little pocket world of her home—just for her.
“It’s perfect. I… don’t even know what to say.” She slowly rotates, taking in the golden pine cones, the bloodred of the berries on the holly. She spots a gap in the trees and walks through it.
The crunch of Zryan’s footsteps in the snow follows hers until they emerge on a rocky bank.
Before her is the Glass Lake of Isfjeller, named for its waters, which mirror the surroundings so clearly you can’t tell which is real and which is the reflection.
Beyond it lies mountains, so many mountains, tall and snowcapped.
It’s like they really are in Isfjell. The illusion is extraordinary.
She listens for the generators here, but nothing. No Vitalas. This is pure magic.
Astrid looks back at the prince. His dark hair is a shock against the white world around him, his eyes glowing silver in the muted winter light. She misses the place she called home more than anything, but in this moment all she sees is him. He’s all she wants to see.
She walks to him. He dips his head as she stops directly in front of him, so close she can see the black rings around his irises. “Why?”
“It’s the least I could do for the woman who saved my life.” She lowers her gaze, but he takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts her face to meet his. “The way you screamed my name has been playing on repeat in my head ever since.”
Her pulse jumps at his confession. At the firm grip of his fingertips on her chin. She clears her throat, nerves clogging it. “Well, I suppose it makes us even: you saved my life, I saved yours. Not that Skylar would have killed you.”
“I’m not so sure…” he mutters, then cocks a brow, letting go of her. “Having never seen snow, too, it would have been a tragedy.” He runs a finger across a branch and watches as the snow topples to the ground.
“And what do you think of my winter wonderland? Does it live up to your expectations?”
His gaze fixes on her, and the intensity of it snatches the air from her lungs.
“Trust me, Astrid, we are well beyond the bounds of expectation.” He breaks eye contact, surveying the forest, the mountains, instead.
Astrid takes a shaky breath. “Your home is incredible. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking freezing, but I can see why you love it. ”
“That’s what you get for showing off. You know how ridiculous that—well, I can’t even call it an outfit.” It’s also ridiculously hot, but she doesn’t say that. “Bastet literally wore the same costume.”
“I lost a bet to Simone.” He grins. “I assure you, it’s not something I already had in my wardrobe.”
“What was the bet?” She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and he tracks the movement.
“I couldn’t possibly tell you that, Dimples.”
Astrid’s fingers still, flirtation morphing into mild alarm. “Wait, are you and Simone…?”
Zryan laughs. “Arach no! My sister’s more her type.”
“Oh.” Astrid turns, hiding her relief, and gazes out over the lake. “But you and Simone are close?”
Zryan comes up behind her and pulls her against his torso, wrapping his arms around her bare waist and resting his chin on top of her head.
Her body seizes up at the unexpected contact, at how good it feels.
She finds herself relaxing into him, allowing him to envelop her, hyperaware of every place their skin meets.
“Do you mind? I need your body heat,” Zryan murmurs close to her ear while his thumb idly strokes her side.
Astrid doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nods awkwardly.
“I’m friends with a couple of the Dreki, Simone being one of them.
Jelani, too, who you might have seen at the welcome feast. Being the crown prince of Vatra didn’t exactly come with many opportunities for genuine friendship, though I’m sure if anyone understands, you do. ”