“Because the only one I’ve come across in Mizar is a giant named Felix.”
Felix. The irrational part of the bond hyperfixated on themalename.
Olwen eyed Neve like he was a bomb about to explode.
“What was the traitor doing in the mountains with another giant?” Neve gritted out. His mind conjured all sorts of scandalous scenarios.
“I don’t know.” The battle horn pierced the air. “But we will have to ask your wife after we survive this day,” Olwen stated. “She has much to explain.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DAHLIA
The frostgiant king hadn’t come back.
The longer she sat in the tent, the more dread she experienced. Nothing had gone the way she’d planned. Dahlia paced the tent, ignoring the food that the silent Haunts had set on the table. Her stomach was too upset for food. Last night, she’d come to the camp with Loshika’s warning and shock stealing rational thought.
Today, her thoughts were much clearer.
She only had herself to rely on.
Neve was clearly not himself.
And there was something much bigger going on.
She rubbed her hands along her arms to ward off the goosebumps. The fire had gone out in the woodstove hours ago. Lia eyed the tent flap, listening for any approaching footsteps before she knelt by the sleeping pads. She pulled one of the yellow crystal pieces she had stolen from the mess on the floor and uncovered the tent pin she’d been working on all afternoon.Gritting her teeth, she used the crystal to scratch at the frozen ground, little by little freeing more of the iron pin.
During the madness of the prior night, she’d lost her dagger. Which left Dahlia without protection. Something she couldn’t stomach. The light moved across the ceiling of the tent, and sweat dotted her brow as she continued to work, getting deeper and deeper until the tent pin came free. She grinned at its wicked point. This was something she could work with.
Dahlia set it aside and lifted the edge of the tent to peek out. Tents surrounded them, and a few giants milled about, mostlynonnae, cooks, and helpers, it seemed. She tested how far up the canvas would lift and grimaced. It would be a tight fit if she tried to escape this way. Lia grumbled, setting the heavy tent back down and replacing the pin. She brushed the dirt back into place and dusted her hands off, squinting to double-check her work. Dahlia had a feeling the next time the Frost King made an appearance, it would go much differently than this morning.
Tangling tongues, clenching hands, and so much heat.
She blushed and slapped her hands against her warm cheeks, scowling at herself. She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted by rippling muscles and decadent touches. She needed to be logical, not emotional.
Kicking the rug back into place, she prayed it wouldn’t be too windy in the night and give her away. Slowly, she stood, bringing a blanket with her from the bed. She tossed it over her shoulders and sighed at the extra warmth. The tent darkened as night approached. Her nerves ratcheted up a notch when voices started to filter through the camp, softly at first, slowly getting louder.
The army was returning.
Lia walked the width of the circular tent to keep herself busy and warm. Her toes were cold, but the movement helped to act as a distraction. Her eyes adjusted as full night set, the only lightfrom the illumination the bonfire shed on the canvas walls of the tent.
The scent of savory roasted meat filled the air along with yeasty bread.
The flap lifted, and she stilled as the Frost King stepped inside.
He seemed to take up the whole space. Silver armor covered his chest, shoulders, and arms. Speckles of blood tarnished them. His lips were pressed thin, and his movements were stiff. Lia pulled the blanket closer as if it would offer her any sort of protection from him.
Neve inhaled once and his body shuddered. He took one step in her direction and then stopped, a look of disgust crossing his face. He spun on his heel with a hiss and left the tent.
Wide-eyed, Lia stared at the space he’d just occupied. What had that been about? It seemed her existence was enough to make him angry.
You did try to kill him.
She crushed her blanket in her hands when pain and guilt washed over her.
The Frost King stomped back inside, his left arm full of firewood. She watched wordlessly as he crouched before the stove and started a fire. Her jaw dropped when Neve pulled apart a few pieces of wood with his bare hands instead of chopping it.
Just how strong was he?
