6. Winter
Acentury in his grandmother’s service and Valen still refused to show Winter proper respect.
Well, he had once, when he’d first arrived at the citadel, but only once, and not since then.
In better days, the emotion ravaging Winter’s system would have brought icicles to his fingertips. Now his skin was merely whiter than usual, an almost undetectable mist lingering around his body.
And yet he sensed something swirling in his core. Something that he had brought back with him from his magic-encased cocoon. Something he’d soon be investigating, exploring.
Soon, but later.
He had planned to spend the day with Raven. Standing vigil at her side while she reconnected with the old man, Mr. Aldine. The three of them, together, could have then crafted a plan to locate the other member of her team—that hothead irritant, Chace.
Ace.
Winter had once heard Aoes call Raven’s associate Ace. The hothead didn’t appear to favor the name, a simple fact that brought a hint of a smile to Winter’s lips. He wasn’t sure why Chace’s discomfort gave him a tiny thrill, but it did.
His plans with Raven were now tossed to the wayside, all thanks to Valen and his grandmother, the queen. Their agenda remained unclear to him, but he would get to the bottom of it, whatever it was. A scheduled teatime and solid discussion with his grandmother should provide the desired results.
Only, before he pursued the family matriarch, he needed to check in with Camilla. Unaware of his sudden change of plans, she would, no doubt, be on time to the pub, intending to meet with him and Raven.
Camilla might no longer be the royal seamstress, but she was his first choice when it came to working with Raven and designing her a meager, palace-appropriate wardrobe from which to choose.
He pivoted toward the stairs, heading for the exit and the palace grounds beyond, only to pause before descending a single step.
Valen’s words repeated on a loop in his thoughts, over and over again, slowing his pace. A necessary element in breaking the curse upon this city…cure our afflicted.
Those were the words Valen had used regarding Raven and her role.
Could Raven truly provide his citadel, his people, with such a gift, a monumental hope?
Cure our afflicted.
The last word had him adjusting his direction, and in a matter of minutes, with open rooms crossed and long hallways traversed, he found himself at the one room of the palace he too often avoided―his mother’s suite.
Willa Breathborne Arcane, daughter of Queen Diandre Spiritstar Arcane, occupied the second largest suite in the palace, set upon the second to highest floor. Lower and smaller than none other than the queen’s. And, unlike most, his mother spent more time in her rooms than elsewhere.
The guards posted outside the door gave him a cordial nod, and after a soft knock, he let himself into the room. At his entrance, his father spun to face him.
“This is an unexpected surprise,” his father said.
Winter’s eyebrows rose. “I could say the same.”
His father, Alaster, could rarely be found attending to Winter’s mother, the true, rightful heir to the throne…should his grandmother ever choose to step down. But, of course, these days, the Arcane line of succession was a jumbled mess.
His father was not an Arcane by blood (although he held the family surname ever since he married a royal Arcane) and was therefore not in line to inherit the throne…unless extraordinary circumstances arose.
Across the room, two attendants led Winter’s mother, Willa Breathborne, to the bath, their arms linked. They moved at a pace worthy of a ten-thousand-year-old ancestor.
Clearly not one of her better days.
Willa Breathborne. They rarely spoke the family’s middle names. He wasn’t even certain it was public knowledge that his brother was August Emberstorm or that he was Winter Frostfyre.
His father collected his mother's robe from where it lay across the bed and handed it to one of the attendants. Willa showed no reaction to the exchange, nor Winter’s or Alaster’s presence. What a broken family they were, with an uncertain line of succession.
In an ideal world, the line went from his grandmother, to his mother, to his elder brother, to his eldest brother’s eldest offspring. But his brother was missing, all of August’s children were illegitimate, and his mother…well…
“Hmm.” His father rubbed the back of his neck.
“It is true. My timing isn’t ideal. Nor is yours, it would seem.
” He turned and lifted his chin, indicating Willa’s retreating form.
“Her royal attendants were summoned to see to her needs. It would seem she spilled her breakfast all over the front of herself this morning.”
Winter’s sorrowful gaze shifted between his parents. His feet lurched a step after her, almost involuntarily. As if his body acted of its own accord.
“Mother”―his hand reached toward her, seeking contact―“are you all right?”
Not that he expected her to be physically injured by a spilled breakfast incident. She never received food or drink hot enough that she might accidentally burn herself. And she never handled a fork or a knife.
The emotional bruise, though, the one that suggested his mother could no longer handle the simpler tasks, was the stab with which concerned Winter.
His mother stopped moving toward the bath chamber. And when she paused, so did her attendants still their forward tug. Willa turned her glazed-over gaze upon him. Her gray skin, limp hair, flat expression… None of those features spoke to the mother he remembered.
Cure our afflicted, sang again through his thoughts.
If Raven could somehow manage to return his mother to him, he would stop short of nothing to give the world, and then some, to the intriguing newcomer in return.
He strode across the room, stepped close to his mother, and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Are you well?”
She didn’t speak, yet he plowed forward as if it were a perfect conversation on a perfect morning and kissed her forehead.
“I love you and believe in you.”
Her fingers grazed his cheek, and a millisecond later, her palm pressed flat to the edge of his jaw.
Her magic made all the necessary communication.
A whispered wind showed all Her Highness chose to share.
Instilling Winter with a sharp image of her planting a kiss upon his brow, then tugging him into a snug embrace, before sending him on his way with warm words of affirmation.
When the vision stilled, faded into nothing, she pulled away and patted her fingers to his chest, right over his hammering heart. The pat, pat, pat of her fingers instilled the words, I love you.
Cloaked against the dreary weather, Winter made straight for the pub’s front entrance, his brother’s birthday celebration announcement clutched in his right hand.
For the first few years after his older brother’s disappearance, the palace had thrown extravagant parties on the special day, in hopes August would choose to appear. As time stretched forever onward, such hopes dwindled, and yet the celebrations of his birthday only grew in excess.
Veritas’s citizens looked forward to the date. A day and night to forget the plight that otherwise plagued their everyday lives. The chance to hide behind a mask, release your inhibitions, and pretend to be something other than yourself, should you so desire.
The event was quickly approaching, and this year, Winter would see the lovely Raven on his arm, fashioned in one of Camilla’s brilliant creations. Assuming Raven accepted his invitation. Although, with her now staying at the castle, he could see no reason why she wouldn’t.
Early for his meeting with Camilla, and earlier yet for any lunchtime patrons to have converged on the establishment, Winter shoved the heavy door open, expecting to find the place empty, aside from Aoes and Earl. Instead, his gaze immediately drew to Camilla, her girls, Aoes, and…Chace?
Chace was here? Alive and well?
Considering him “well” might have slanted too far towards kind. Not only was Raven’s coworker days past overdue for a shave, but dark shadows also clung beneath his eyes.
Regardless of his condition, he’d joined the other four around one of the tables, a collection of Myla’s drawings scattered across the surface between them.
All heads turned toward Winter’s arrival.
“Where’s Raven?” Camilla asked at the same time Chace bolted to his feet.
Winter swept a scrutinizing gaze over Raven’s coworker. For one who had been missing for days and allegedly held in a cage of sorts, Chace appeared mobile enough. And irritated as ever, with his scowl tight, his lips thin.
Something dark flickered in Chace’s glare. “Tell me that the last time I saw you, it wasn’t her blood you were covered in?”
Winter blinked, recalling the confrontation in the upper hallway.
The day Raven was injured, shot really, and he had come to the pub in search of information she possessed regarding Valen.
He had failed to gather anything useful, but he’d run into Aoes and Chace…
and had told them both nothing regarding Raven’s condition.
Winter shouldn’t be surprised Chace chose to bring that day up. It was, after all, literally the last time the two males had seen each other.
“Remember?” Chace jabbed a finger toward the ceiling, indicating where their confrontation had taken place.
The guy’s glare burned a hole between Winter’s eyes.
His magic reacted, chilling his temperature and the surrounding air. His heart and blood thrummed.
Since the onset of the curse, and before Raven had pulled him from his frosty coma the day prior, Winter had only a small fraction of magic available to him. Too small. He had forgotten how thrilling the mystical side of himself could be, even if he was nowhere near what he once was.
He couldn’t keep the smile from creeping across his lips.