Chapter 43
Chapter forty-three
Gisela stared up at the stone ceiling, chains biting into her wrists. The room was stuffy, but not unbearable. Still, she was a prisoner. She could slip free, leave this room, search the castle, find the Stones, vanish. She had the skill. The power. Yet something anchored her.
Her gut had guided her through everything, even when reason rebelled. Now it wavered. Was it caution? Fear? Or a stubborn hope that something more might unfold if she lingered a little longer.
Then there was Thorne. Her thoughts inevitably circled back to him.
He would never leave her here to rot. The reckless, stubborn side of him—one she both loved and feared—would surge straight into danger.
Consequences be damned. She could almost see him, storming the castle, fire in his veins, willing to burn the place to ash to reach her.
That terrified her more than anything. She couldn’t let him risk everything for her.
She inhaled slowly, the cold air fueling her lungs. Escape had to be on her terms. No more waiting.
Rising from the bed, she focused on her shackles. There was no hesitation as she poured her power into the metal. Frost spread rapidly, creeping along the chains and freezing them solid. With a hard jerk, the frozen metal shattered and flew across the stone floor.
She moved to the door and pressed her palms against it, feeling the lock’s mechanism through the wood. A burst of ice could shatter it, but that would draw attention. Instead, she let her power seep into the lock, freezing its inner workings. A faint crack, a gentle push, and the door swung open.
The corridor beyond was unnervingly quiet. She paused, listening for footsteps, shadows, any trace of movement. Slowly, she edged toward the main area of the castle. The door creaked under her touch, and she peered left and right—nothing.
Twisting through winding halls, she hugged the shadows. She rounded a corner and froze. Voices and the faint scrape of armor echoed ahead. A tug pulsed through her, familiar and insistent, pulling her gaze toward the staircase to her right. She drew back a step, but the voices were getting closer.
She pressed herself into the stone and peered around the corner.
A figure staggered into view.
One of the guards slowed, his grip tightening on the sword at his side.
The man’s steps were uneven, his head jerking as if pulled by invisible strings. His eyes were glassy and unfocused.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the guard said.
“I—I can’t control it.”
Blackened frost crawled along the man’s arm, veining his skin before dissolving into smoke.
“It won’t listen.”
Boots thundered from the stairwell behind them. Two guards appeared, movements brisk and practiced.
“Come, Sihtric. We need to get you back to your room.”
They approached hesitantly, but the man didn’t resist. He let them take his arms, hauling him away as the frost sputtered and died on his skin.
Gisela’s stomach turned. This was alive and well? Whatever this was—mercy, necessity—she had just seen the cost and didn’t know if it was worth it.
Gisela darted up the stairs, heart hammering. She turned another corner, following the pull until she ended up at a large door. Placing her hand on the handle, it thrummed under her skin. The Stones were inside—she could feel it.
Before she could consider how to get in, a voice slid over her like oil.
“Oh, dear, we have found ourselves in another predicament, haven’t we, Gisela Valor?” Cillian’s voice slithered through the corridor, cruel and malicious. “Seize her.”
Two guards closed in, spreading out as they advanced.
Gisela moved on instinct, muscles coiling as she slipped into the drills her father had taught her.
Cillian’s laughter bounced off the stone walls. “It’s no use, Gisela.”
The first guard struck without warning, steel flashing too close.
She twisted in time, but not cleanly enough. The blade grazed her shoulder, slicing a shallow line of fire through her skin.
Pain flared, sharp and blinding. It stole her breath for one heartbeat too many.
The second guard swung.
She barely managed to twist away, the force of it rattling through her ribs as the blade whistled past. Too close. One misstep and it would have shattered bone.
“Don’t kill her, you fool!” Cillian bellowed. “We need her alive!”
Gisela staggered back, eyes darting between them. She searched for weight shifts. Tension in the shoulders. A fraction of hesitation.
Keep your stance strong, focus on your opponent. Find their tell. Her father’s words rang clear, but her shoulder screamed when she raised her arm again, and the memory faltered.
The first guard lunged again.
She sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him into the wall.
His blade struck stone, sparks skittering as he stumbled.
The second guard hesitated.
Gisela feigned left, then pivoted right, driving for his sword-arm. She caught his wrist and wrenched downward, forcing the blade loose in his grip.
His free fist slammed into her wounded shoulder.
Pain shot up her arm. Her fingers spasmed.
The guard’s sword clattered across the floor, skidding just out of reach.
The first guard recovered fast, his blade leveled at her chest.
Blood ran down Gisela’s arm, dripping from her fingers. Her shoulder throbbed with every breath, pulse roaring in her ears.
The ring of steel faded, leaving only her ragged breathing. She met his gaze anyway—and smiled.
Cold surged from her feet, racing up through her veins. Frost crept along her boots, climbed her legs and spread toward her hands in a whisper of ice.
“Stop.” Zaro’s voice cracked through the corridor like a whip.
The two guards bolted, pale and trembling.
Cillian’s anger flared. “Idiots.”
Gisela let the tension drain from her shoulders. “Looks like your guards need better training.”
Cillian charged as his face twisted in rage.
Reflexively, Gisela thrust her hands forward and released a wave of frost that slammed him against the wall. He crumpled to the ground, limp and unconscious.
Zaro’s eyes bulged. “Are you mad?!”
“Maybe I am. That was payback for him knocking me out.” She brushed her hands on her pants. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the Stones to take back.”
“That door is not yours to open,” Zaro said.
Gisela tilted her head. “Aren’t we on the same side?”
Zaro’s jaw worked, hands flexing and unflexing at his sides. “We are. But let me handle what happens next.”
Gisela raised a brow. “That’s not going to work for me.”
“Whatever you think you’re here to do,” he said evenly, “it isn’t that.” He briefly looked at the door before returning his gaze to her.
Something in the sudden shift had her skin crawling. But the Stones were her priority.
He took a step closer. “I didn’t get this far by improvising, Gisela. You’ll get the Stones,” he said. “Just not like this.”
Gisela narrowed her gaze.
“We need to hide him.” Zaro hauled Cillian’s limp form into a small closet. “Freeze it closed.”
Gisela glared at him, insulted at his order.
“Do it,” Zaro said, forcing the words out. “Please.”
With a resigned sigh, she extended her hand and encased the lock in ice.
“Now, listen,” Zaro began. “We need to—”
“Zaro,” the King’s voice echoed through the hall. “What is she doing out of her room?”
Zaro pivoted smoothly. “I was escorting her to your throne room, as requested.”
Gisela searched for any hint of honesty, but he wouldn’t look at her.
The King’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “Is it that time? Ah, yes, good,” he responded, turning to walk away, then pausing. “Why is she unchained?”
“She convinced one of the guards to release her, my King,” Zaro said evenly.
The King’s gaze shifted to Zaro, scrutinizing him with a penetrating stare. He gave a curt nod. “Find the guard who allowed this. He will answer for it.”
“Of course.”
“Now bring her in.”