“She does not have a second mate, Aoife,” Lore’s explaining gently.
“But your eyes—they not white, Mórrgaht.” Aoife’s charcoal-dusted face swims back into my field of vision.
“Shabbins can peer through Bronwen’s eyes,” my father says.
Slowly, the concern scrunching Aoife’s brow lifts in time with her thick lashes.
“You all failed to mention Bronwen was in Glace.” My voice is scratchy, as though I haven’t used it in days.
Aoife’s brow rumples anew. “Cian is mate.” She says this as though it’s a perfectly rational explanation as to my aunt’s whereabouts. I suppose that, in my friend’s mind, it is. Perhaps I would’ve found it reasonable had I not been so wary of her.
Lore twirls my body to face his. “What did you see?”
“I saw Bronwen and Alyona of Glace sharing a sleigh ride.”
“The look on your face tells me you saw more than that, Behach Éan.”
I close my eyes and repeat what Bronwen told Cian, and as I do, I picture Alyona’s body outlined in crimson snow.
I see her glazed eyes staring up at a night sky tufted with stars.
I see the hilt of a dagger embellished with a diamond snowflake protruding from her breastbone.
And I see myself—for that’s apparently who the Cauldron showed Bronwen—standing over Alyona’s corpse.
The reason Bronwen did not see the princess’s future is because I, apparently, cut it short.
“I cannot go, Lore.” My cheeks burn with shame. I may not have any love for Alyona, but murdering her . . .? Gods, that’ll start another war.
“You must have a good reason for murdering her, ínon.”
“I don’t care if I have a fucking great reason for murdering her.” I don’t mean to snap at my father, but I’m distraught.
How could I do such a thing? And why were her hands on her abdomen?
Could she have been . . . Could shebepregnant? I scrape my fingers through my hair, muttering quiet invective after quiet invective.
Fallon, look at me.
I cannot.
Lore catches my wrists and pulls my hands off the roots I tug at wildly. “My love, the snowflake is the Glacins’ royal crest.”
“So on top of murdering Alyona, I do so with her people’s weapon? That’s not going to help with your alliance, Lore.” My sarcasm chisels his jaw. “You cannot let me go to Glace.”
The glimmer of hope that blazed in my father’s eyes extinguishes. “Just because Bronwen saw you stand over that girl’s corpse doesn’t mean you planted that weapon inside her chest.”
“The only other person at the scene was Alyona’s brother, the crown prince.”
“Siblings kill each other all the time.” My father’s pragmatism makes me wrinkle my nose.
Lore’s eyebrows are slung so low they obscure his bright irises. “Bronwen saw stars?”
I frown. “I—She said it was night. Maybe I colored-in her vision with stars. Why?”
“Because night is bright in Glace in summer,” Aoife says.
I snag my lower lip with my teeth, attempting to recall her exact words. “Perhaps reach out to Cian to find out?” Though I’d prefer not murdering her at all, Iwouldprefer it not be tomorrow.
