“And the Red Sparrow flags?” Cullen asked her. They sat on the edge of the festivities, perched on someone’s cargo, offloaded as tithing to Adela or temporary holdover.
“They’re friendly enough. Upstarts, so far as I’m able to tell by what Ducot has said. But eager to please, so they’re worth keeping around.”
He hummed in thought. “I know you were quite skeptical of how my upbringing would keep me from joining this world but, so far as I can tell, my knowledge is likely to be essential.”
“And why is that?”
“Because in less than an hour I’ve captured the lay of the land of pirate politics.”
“It’s notpolitics.” She scoffed. He only looked more smug.
“Isn’t it though?”
Eira rolled her eyes and took a sip from her heavy flagon. Nothing happened in moderation on the Isle of Frost, especially not the debauchery. The tankard was nearly as big as her head.
“How is it?” Cullen asked.
“Warm and mediocre at best.”
“Firstly, I wasn’t asking about the ale. But, secondly, couldn’t you just make it cooler if you wanted?”
She laughed lightly and did just that, taking another sip before saying, “I knew what you were asking.”
Cullen waited patiently as she set down her drink, curling and uncurling her frozen fingers. Some days, she wore gloves and long sleeves. On other days, like today, it was a sleeveless tunic, the mark of her survival and her power on display like a badge of honor.
“It’s easier some days than others.” Eira shrugged. “The magic is fine, that’s no problem. Sometimes I find, though, that I like it there, and other times I find that I want to be me, as I am now. Without the magic.”
He nodded. He’d seen as much in the nights and mornings they’d spent together. Sometimes she had the arm of ice, and sometimes she didn’t. But he’d never questioned why or suggested one or the other. There was a lot Cullen had allowed her space for when it came to sharing…or not.
He’d not flinched at the sight of the scars that were the only remnants of where her arm once was. He’d kissed her allthe same. Touched her with even more zeal than he’d ever had before.
The only challenging part was navigating touching him, seeing that he didn’t have the same natural resistance to cold as she did. But there were times where a little bit of a chill touch wasn’t bad. It could be fun, even. And for all the other times, there were thick gloves.
Before he could say anything else, Crow approached.
“Her Frostiness desires a word.” Crow glanced between them, eyes settling on Eira. “Alone.”
Eira squeezed Cullen’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few.”
He nodded, unbothered. “Take your time.”
Crow took his words to heart, setting a leisurely pace through the Isle of Frost. Adela’s pirate stronghold was a stunning place—an island wrapped by a crescent of mountains on its outer edge, guarding the town in its valley and the bay the ships docked in. A river ran through the center of town, bridges of wood and stone crisscrossing it.
Adela’s personal manor was up toward the very back edge of town, away from the bay, nestled in the shade of the tallest ridge. But that wasn’t where Crow guided them. Instead, they turned right, into a section of town that Eira knew only in passing. While she couldn’t be sure where they were going, she was sure that asking would get her nowhere. So Eira settled for admiring the icicles that clung to the eaves, the frost that gathered at the corners of doorsteps, and soon the unblemished snow that covered the path into the mountains where she and Crow trekked.
“Can you do something about that?” Crow gestured to their footsteps in the snow.
Eira didn’t so much as move a finger. With a thought, the snow rose up to fill in where their boots had compressed it. Butthis did offer her the perfect opportunity to ask, “Where are we headed with such secrecy?”
“You’ll see.” Crow’s tone was stiff, even for the usually closed-off woman.
“Is all well?”
Crow glanced over her shoulder, hesitating only for a second. She looked much like her namesake in the moonlight, striking a dark outline against the vivid snow. Her eyes flashed like a warning. Eira lowered her chin in acknowledgement.
They continued on silently.
Through a cave and out to the back side of the ridge, a narrow walkway was carved into the steep cliffs that switched back to a pebbled beach at the water’s edge. There on the shore was a small skiff, tied up. A larger vessel—though nothing in comparison to theStormfrost—was anchored just offshore.
