“Could Dante backtrack?”
“He could, but Mattia and Antoni have already startedquarrying.”
Perhaps instead of mining, Justus and Antoni should rally a bunch of water-Fae and fill the tunnels.
According to Rossi, that would serve little purpose since there are too many partitions and inclines.
Then we’ll wait. And while we do . . . “I’ve always dreamed of seeing Glace. I hear the ice formations are of great beauty.”
Lore shakes his head.The ice formations? Really?
My father must interpret Lore’s headshake as his answer to my circuitous demand to head to Glace because he says, “With the wards gone, Priya will be able to send her army. Dante won’t stand a chance.”
My mate’s shadows feather across my skin. “He already doesn’t stand a chance.”
If only I could be imbued with as much confidence. I mean, I haveeveryintention of ending Dante’s life, but intention and skill are two very different things.
“Please, brother.” My father’s voice is so brittle that it wrecks my heart.
Lore’s arm wraps a little more snugly around my waist. “Go get some sleep.”
My father’s mouth pops open, then shuts and tightens. His frustration is so potent that, if I weren’t standing in the way, he’d probably punch Lore.
I stroke my mate’s knuckles.Put him out of his misery already.
“We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, Cathal, not to mention a tedious supper to sit through while Fallon raids their museum.”
The corners of my father’s mouth begin to wobble, and his eyes, to sparkle as though picturing my mother molting out of her pink scales and walking across the beach toward him.
Aoife’s lips bend into a bright smile that I reciprocate until the weight of our imminent undertaking settles on the mantel of my shoulders. I mustn’t fail for the setback will not only deprive Lore of a fellow army, but it will also shatter my father’s tenuous hope.
As my companions begin to discuss logistics, I stare at the slow dance of the torch flame burning against the wall. The fire suddenly flares before snuffing out and plunging me into darkness. I blink until there’s light again, but this light is muted, nature-made. It trickles through conifer needles, icing the pale hair of a girl I haven’t seen since Xema’s revel in Tarespagia.
“I hear you’re a diviner.” Alyona gathers the collar of her white fur jacket more snugly around her neck.
When I realize where I am, my stomach hardens like the ice-covered land we sleigh over.So Bronwen is in Glace . . .I’m not entirely sure why this comes as a surprise. After all, not only is her mate there, but she also possesses a great passion for meddling.
“I’m a conduit,” she replies slowly, “not a diviner. I merely observe and carry out the visions the Cauldron decides to show me.”
“Has it shown you any visions of my future, Bronwen Báeinach?” Alyona’s face is so pale and delicate it looks whittled from ice.
“No.”
She turns her limpid stare toward the horizon. “Probably for the best. I’d prefer not to know whether my father succeeds at forcing my hand into the talon-tipped one of your sovereign.”
Even though she has no interest in my mate, I cannot help but gnash my teeth.
“I can tell you, without consulting the Cauldron, that Lorcan will never take you as his bride.”
“Yes. Because he’s madly in love with the girl who revived him. I’ve heard.” Though I’m not actually sitting across from Alyona, I can taste her loathing on the brisk wind. I think she adds, “I’d rather die than marry him,” but the words are muffled by both her fur collar and Bronwen’s sharp intake of air.
I try to look around, to understand what rattles my aunt so, but I cannot turn Bronwen’s head so I’m stuck staring at Alyona’s elegant eyebrows tilting toward her porcelain nose.
“Are you all right?”
Bronwen releases a shaken breath. “Yes.”
I hear my uncle’s voice patter across Bronwen’s skull, asking her the same question. To him, she gives a very different answer. One that tears me out of Bronwen’s mind and catapults me back into the Sky Kingdom where the hum of a distant conversation tickles my eardrums.
