Perhaps that was Torbin’s intent.
Heat. I imagine heat.
I inhale slowly, steadying my breath against the bitter air. I should be freezing.
But I’m not.
A strange warmth lingers beneath my skin, spreading through my veins, pulsing from somewhere deep inside me. I will my body to stay warm, and it does.
I don’t understand it, but I expect it’s the battle of mixed magic in my body. Instinctively, I check my nose and my ears, but there doesn’t seem to be any blood, and I don’t sense any pain other than the lingering ache from the bump on my head.
But I don’t have time to question it right now, as Staja leads me farther onto the balcony.
It stretches wide, its white marble railing etched with intricate carvings of winter birds. Beyond it, the kingdom of Dulcamar sprawls in shades of grey and light blue, mist curling between the distant spires, snowy mountains standing like jagged shadows against the evening sky.
At the center of it all, waiting for me, is the man who betrayed my trust.
Torbin stands beside an ornate dining table, draped in deep-red silk, the silverware gleaming under the soft glow of hanging lanterns. A feast has been prepared, featuring roasted meats, spiced wines, platters of fresh winter berries. It feels like an illusion of civility. The air is thick with the scent of charred fat and cinnamon, but beneath it all, something darker simmers—coppery, metallic.
Torbin is dressed like a prince, his navy doublet adorned with silver embroidery, a fur-lined cloak draped over his shoulders. But his eyes betray him.
There is something wrong in them. A gleam that doesn’t belong to the boy I once knew. But it is not his gaze that holds me captive. It is his scars. A burn mark mars one side of his face, just along the edge of his jaw—the exact place where my hand seared his skin when I pushed him off the balustrade at Ivystone. And at his temple, a thin, jagged scar disrupts his otherwise-flawless features, a reminder of the antler crown that pierced him when he fell. A reminder that I threw him to his death.
Yet here he stands. Whole. Alive. Smiling. The sight of it sends something sharp through me, like a splinter driven beneath my ribs—revulsion and guilt twisted into one.
Torbin’s lips curl at the edges as he takes a step forward, hands outstretched in mock welcome. His eyes move slowly over the length of my body. “You look ravishing, Celeste. As always.”
I instinctively rub at my arms, uncomfortable with his gaze, especially since this dress is so revealing.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” he muses. “That would have been… unfortunate.” His head tilts slightly. “For Nadya.”
I try to disclose my tight swallow. I turn my head to where Staja was, but she is gone. Osrem has also disappeared into the shadows, leaving us alone.
“You won’t hurt her.” I try to minimize the grinding of my teeth as I speak to him.
He cants his chin. “You’re awfully confident.”
“If you kill her, you’ll lose your leverage.”
“Is that something you’re willing to bet her life on?” He smirks, his eyes traveling the length of me. “Then again, maybe it was simply hunger that brought you here.”
“What I’m doing here is exactly what I’d like to find out. What do you want from me?”
Torbin gestures toward the elegantly set table, his smile smooth, practiced. “Please, sit.”
I don’t move. “I have no appetite.”
His expression flickers—a tightening of his jaw, a brief narrowing of his eyes—before he exhales through his nose, as if forcing patience. “You could join me for dinner,” he says, his voice light, conversational. Then, with a casual shrug, he adds, “Or I could give one of my carnoraxis access to Nadya’s room, where it may or may not jump at the chance to claw her insides out.”
Ice floods my veins, and my vision pulses at the edges. For a split second, I forget how to breathe.
“The choice is yours.” He waits, his brow lifted.
A sharp retort burns at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down, biting hard against the inside of my cheek. I won’t give him the satisfaction of my anger. Instead, I lower myself into the chair he gestures to, keeping my movements slow, controlled, as if this is my choice and not his command.
Torbin watches me as he takes his own seat across the table, the soft scrape of his chair against the stone unnervingly loud in the silence between us.
I do not look at him. Instead, I turn my head, letting my gaze drift over the landscape beyond the balcony, the endless, frozen sprawl of Dulcamar stretching before me.
