But cold, defensive anger trickles into my veins regardless.
Tossing a quick glance over my shoulder, I find Eve and Cyran in low conversation. They stand together upon the stairs leading to the main castle entry and while their eyes aren’t turned toward me, I know better than to assume they’re not paying attention.
“Can we get back to work?” the first feminine voice asks, her tone curt. “We need to figure out why these inflorescence are withering.”
Withering?
Turning back to the researchers, I venture forward, closer to the ward. A few of the stalks shift, granting me a windowed view beyond the ward. Four researchers stand huddled. But it’s not enough tosee.
The vines silently shift again, the window growing wider, giving full view of the researchers’ backs. Enamored by whatever lies before them—withering veilflowers according to them—I remain unnoticed where I stand.
“Have you touched them?” the fae male straightens himself, peering at the blond man on his left.
He shakes his head. “No, and they weren’t like this an hour ago,” he answers.
Curiosity curdles in my veins and my feet venture forward, closer to the courtyard. Vines curl back, and one at a time the researchers take notice. Through the shimmering silver blue runes of the ward, wide eyes turn and land on me as I freeze.
“Who are you and why are the veilflowers responding to you?” one of the fae females asks, her violet eyes locked on mine.
I shake my head. “They’re not.”
It’s a futile argument, we both know what we saw.
But there was no vibration in my chest, no resonance telling me this was my innate or my doing.
Her eyes narrow into a scowling glare. “You shouldn’t be this close to the ward anyway. King Alaryc set a decree.”
She’s not wrong.
Doesn’t mean I’ll listen.
“You mentioned the flowers withering,” I say, peering past her. Unfortunately, she and her associates block this supposed patch of dying flowers. “I’d like to see for myself.”
Eve appears beside me, her arms folded across her chest and several pairs of eyes dance between Eve and me. It takes seconds for them to make the connection.
Tight lipped, they part, stepping aside and revealing the cluster of flowers in question. Blackened and shriveled, the once blue flowers hang on a smaller vine at risk of turning to dust with the slightest wind.
A chilling cold settles into my chest.
“Have you seen this before, Ves?” Eve asks, her intense stare fixed ahead.
“No,” I answer, lifting a hand to curl over my heart. “I’ve not.”
With the slightest shift of the small vine, the withered veilflower falls and searingcoldraces through my veins. The vine streaks toward the heavens, glinting silver thorns spreading down its length.
“Get out!” I shout and the researchers whirl.
As I rush the ward, the blue light of the courtyard fades as the remaining veilflowers fall dark. Ice slams into my chest, seizing my heart and lungs. I falter, my knees jar against the moonstone tile as I wheeze.
“Cyran!” Eve shouts, pulling my arm over her shoulders. She forces me to my feet, dragging me away from the ward. “Ves, what’s happening?” She assesses my face, her hand flying to my neck, searching for injury.
“Gods, you’re fucking ice,” she breathes tearing her hand away.
The flowerless vine rips through others, tearing the flowers from stalks. As the flowers fall, they burst into dark blue smoke and the sheared vines shoot upward, silver thorns piercing through the green.
The researchers scramble, running toward the closest point in the ward—near me. But vines snap together, blocking their quick escape androbbing me of my view.
The ice building around my heart shivers and constricts. My ribs tighten and I stifle a small cry, my knees buckling.
