“We have no choice.”
Olwen cleared his throat and Flyka tossed her hands into the air.
“You better not have another secret,” she hissed.
“Nothing like that. I received a missive in the last hour from Eyri.” He huffed out a breath. “The Northerns tried to attack the city but Eyri had already fortified the gates and prepared for a siege. The cowards were driven back to their homes or captured. He doesn’t expect another attack.”
Neve felt sick. “How many dead?”
“I don’t know. Only that the city sustained minor damage, and that Beltisse sided with the crown. Everything seems to be under control.”
Olwen pulled the crumpled missive from his pocket and Neve took it, running a finger over his cousin’s perfect scrawl. At least, they wouldn’t be fighting his own flesh and blood.
“Send word to the eastern forces to bring the mountain down on the humans. We’ve allowed their games for long enough. We must end this sooner, rather than later. We cannot weather war on both sides.”
Come hell or high water, his little mate would bring an end to the war waged in her name.
And then he’d deal with the Northern traitors.
Chapter Thirty-One
DAHLIA
Dahlia driedher hair by the woodstove.
Stared at the bed.
Fretted over Loshika and Cosmos.
Stared at the bed.
Stoked the fire.
And eventually sat on the edge of the mattress.
It had been five days since she’d seen the Frost King.
Every day, food was delivered by silent Haunts who guarded the tent. She’d been chained to the massive post that held up the peak of the tent. Every time she moved, the slide of metal was a reminder that she was trapped. She’d gotten used to Loriian plumbing and using a rustic chamber pot to relieve herself was downright embarrassing. The only blessing was the bath each night.
She stared at the wine on the table and for the first time in a long time made a selfish decision. Lia stood from the furs and tip-toed towards the center table, fingertips flirting over the jugof wine. She glanced at the tent flaps as if someone would stop her.
No alarm was raised. They didn’t expect Lia to get up to mischief.
Dahlia ran her palms up and down her biceps. The room was so cold. The last of the firewood was long gone, casting the tent in shadows. The wine would warm her up from the inside out.
With careful motions, she pulled the jug of wine from the table and hugged it to her chest. She flicked a glance at the bed and scowled, before padding over to the center post and leaning her back against it, eyeing the entrance once more. She stared down into the swirling deep purple liquid.
Bottom’s up.
Lia hefted the silver jug to her lips and sipped the frost wine. Berries, heat, and bitterness burst across her tastebuds. Not the best thing she’d ever drank, but not the worst. She swallowed mouthfuls until her stomach was full and her body was warm.She set the jug on the floor and then waited.
It wasn’t too long until the effects hit her.
Loriian wine could knock a full-grown man on his bottom in no time flat. She’d seen it happen at Diaz’s tavern. Warmth suffused her arms and legs, chasing away the horrid cold that always seemed to be present. Maybe it was coming from her own soul.
She chuckled, tilting her head back against the smoot wooden beam. Dahlia sank into the bliss ad comfort she’d seen so many imbibe in over the years. Her eyes closed and patterns danced along her eyelids in bursts of color. They were so pretty it made he want to sing. To dance. When was the last time she’d sung anything?
Dahlia forced her eyes open and smiled, tears springing to her eyes as a lullaby her mum used to sing came to the front ofher mind. What if she couldn’t sing anymore? What if grief and pain had stolen her voice?
