Chapter 3 #2
Her brows pinched. “I’m sure it allows him to mingle with all types of…colorful characters, seeming as the individuals who frequent that establishment are from the Warrens.”
Her insult wasn’t veiled. The Warrens referred to those in the poorest communities of our realm, particularly those who lived outside the city walls.
The insinuation coiled like a snake in my gut, but I held my tongue, though the comment still struck too close to home—especially given Aldric’s recent comments about the discontent spreading through the city.
If anyone had an ear to the rumors rumbling through Isenheim, it was him.
I prayed the queen was simply speculating, but the threat was clear if I didn’t cooperate.
Dissenters or anyone seen comingling with them could be subject to the crown’s prosecution.
“And what about that lovely sister of yours… Lyra, is it?” she said, drawing my attention back to the present. “I hear she’s almost of age. Beautiful, too. Soon she’ll be eligible for courtship. I’m sure your mother is eager to secure a suitable match for her… Hope all goes well.”
I nodded, my nails digging into my palms to keep from trembling. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Her ice-crusted smile slipped back into a frown as she turned away from me, her staff scurrying behind her like a conditioned rabble of rats.
Another threat. That’s what that comment about my sister had been. Everything she’d said had been to make me fully aware of her knowledge regarding my family. She knew where we lived, where my brother worked, and she knew my sister was still a maiden. Had she’d put spies on us this whole time?
I stood motionless for a few heartbeats, feeling like I’d been slammed by a tidal wave against the stony cliffs of the Isaldr Sea.
There was no other way to describe the debilitating, crushing feeling against my soul.
A part of me had wanted to run to Jack immediately and tell him everything his mother had said, warn him of her plans.
But a darker side of me—the part that scolded me for even considering concealing the truth—warned me of her veiled threats against my family.
I had no idea what I should do, but if there was anything my father had taught me, it was that one should never make an important decision unless clear of mind, and right now my brain was a jumbled mess of crumpled rocks.
Starting with the fact that I still didn’t know where Jack had been the last seven days, or why he looked like he’d seen Náldrún, God of the Underworld, in the flesh.
Regardless of what the queen thought of me, or why she promoted me to captain, my duties remained. I needed to protect Jack at all costs, and to do that, I needed the truth.
Which led me to the next thing my father taught me: how to clear my head.
Beyond the evergreen gardens, the Grove of Whispers stretched before me, an endless sea of snow-covered hedges glittering as though dusted with shattered stars.
The labyrinth had been Jack’s favorite hideout when we were children.
Now, it was his sanctuary. The secluded courtyard, still spelled to keep unwanted guests from finding it, offered him a space where he could lose himself in the art of magic and creation, allowing him to leave behind the weight of his crown, if only for a little while.
We’d spent countless hours exploring the maze as kids, its intricate paths as familiar to me as the lines on my hands.
Though I hardly ventured through its winding corridors anymore, my steps were guided by instinct.
There was no need for a wisp this time, every corner and twist had been etched into my memory.
The stillness of the labyrinth was almost reverent, broken only by the soft crunch of snow beneath my boots. I ran a gloved hand over the hedges as I wove through, memories of simpler times brushing against my heart like the soft breeze on a winter morning.
Despite knowing I’d find him here, when I finally reached the courtyard’s center, my heart faltered at the sight of his silver hair glinting like spun starlight among a vortex of flurries.
I stood at the edge, quietly watching him, holding my breath for fear of interrupting.
It was like being in the presence of a rare, wild creature who might scurry at the slightest movement or sound.
With his back to me, he arced his arms through the air, his magic commanding the snowflakes into a mesmerizing, choreographed dance, like a swarm of fairy folk spiraling upward in joyous flight. Before him, the snow coalesced, twisting and shifting until it transformed into a towering hrímdreki.
I gasped, unable to keep my breath still any longer.
The dreki’s massive wings unfurled as though it might leap into the night sky with a single, powerful stroke.
The scales on its crystalline body shimmered, and its eyes, gleaming like faceted diamonds, pierced through me when it turned its head in my direction, its breath misting in the frigid air like a ghostly exhale.
My heart thundered as if the dreki’s gaze alone could shatter me.
“I thought I’d find you here,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady as I met the beast’s imposing stare, refusing to cower under its mountainous height.
A low growl rumbled in its massive chest. Not a threat, simply an acknowledgement of my presence, though I still felt the weight of Jack’s magic pressing against me.
I knew this trick well: how he could see through the eyes of his creations, how he could make them an extension of himself.
It was a skill he’d honed as a child to spy on the palace staff.
I’d seen him sculpt ice into birds and other small animals—once into a horse—but never this…never a magical beast of such size and power.
The dreki took a step toward me, then another, the ground rumbling beneath my feet, its ginormous claws crunching against the snow as it lowered its long neck, his snout an arm’s length from my head.
It puffed out another cold breath that stung my face.
Despite the primal fear tightening my chest, I couldn’t help but marvel at the creature’s beauty.
Gods, it was breathtaking—a sheer reflection of the prince hidden behind its eyes.
I extended a hand to touch its ridged face, but before I could brush my fingers against its hide, with a flick of its crystalline tail, it dissolved into a cascade of snowflakes, leaving Jack and me alone in the courtyard under the pale light of the moon.
“I told you I wanted to be alone, Syl,” Jack said without turning, his voice low, tight.
His broad shoulders tensed beneath his cobalt tunic, the fabric edged with silver thread, the embroidery resembling a burst of stars.
He’d not bothered with a cloak, though the Son of Ice didn’t truly have a need for one.
“I know what you said, but we both know that’s not what you really meant,” I replied, stepping closer.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the silver strands falling in wild disarray. “Sylvi, please—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice trembling.
“You’ve been my best friend for fourteen years, Jack.
I know when something’s wrong. And this…
whatever it is you’re going through; you don’t have to face it alone.
Please…just tell me what’s troubling you so much that you’re out here in the dark, wielding.
For Skadi’s sake, I didn’t even know you could create dreki. ”
His back stiffened, and when he finally turned to face me, the air left my lungs.
His beauty was something I could never get accustomed to.
The sharp lines of his jaw, his piercing blue eyes, framed by thick silver lashes, and the perfectly imperfect way his hair fell over his brow.
But it wasn’t just his face. It was the way he carried himself, even now, as he was practically falling apart before me.
There was a rawness to him, a feral edge, like the snow leopards that prowled the queen’s menagerie. Restless, wild, hungry for freedom.
And Jack looked like he might bolt at any minute.
“What are you hiding?” I asked softly.
“I’m not hiding anything.” His lie was unconvincing, even to him.
Without breaking eye contact, I reached into the satchel slung over my shoulder and pulled out a sword.
I tossed it at his feet, the blade reflecting the moonlight.
My father had been an excellent swordsman.
He’d practically taught both me and Jack how to wield a blade since we were ten.
What I later learned was that sparring was not just a great way to practice the skill, but a way to clear my head, and for Jack, a way to expunge his pent-up energy—the aggression I knew he fought to keep frozen in his veins.
His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a hard line as he crossed his arms. “Sylvi, I’m not in the mood for this.”
I stepped closer, close enough to feel the coiled rage still radiating off him.
He towered over me, but that had never intimidated me.
Even though I had to incline my chin, I looked deep into his eyes, daring him to push me away again.
“You need to purge whatever the Hel has you acting like you’re ready to rip out of your skin, and practicing magic is clearly not cutting it. ”
“And sparring with you will?”
I cut him down with an unwavering stare. “Stop being a dick, Jack, and pick up the damn sword.”
The tension between us stretched taut, his silence loud enough to feel.
For a moment, I thought he might refuse.
But then something flickered in his eyes, a dangerous glint, dark and unspoken.
His lips curved into a crooked smile edged with something that sent a thrill down my spine.
It wasn’t a kind smile. It was a challenge.
“Fine,” he said, picking up the sword, twirling it once over his hand, testing its balance. “But don’t expect me to be gentle.”