I scramble back, colliding into Gabriele, who rode in on Colm’s back. “Easy there, Fal.”
Since he doesn’t look alarmed, I decide that I needn’t be. But still, my heartbeats do not quiet, not even when I realize that what moved isn’t the ground but some glassed-in vestibule in which stands a couple draped in white furs that match their hair.
Actuallyhishair. Hers is flaxen, not full-white. King Vladimir and his wife, Milana. Even if they’d gone without their snowflake crowns, I’d have known who they were from their regal postures and the amount of soldiers that hem them and their three daughters in.
Though I spent much of my flight steeped in my thoughts and watching the ocean roll beneath us, I did ask Lore to polish my barebone knowledge of the Glacin court. I learned all about the Faerie monarch, his two children from a first marriage—Konstantin and Alyona—his much younger wife, andtheircherished twin daughters and little son.
Konstantin, the oldest, is slated to take over Glace once his father either dies or retires. Then there’s Alyona, the one that . . . that I kill. The twins are named Ksenia and Izolda and will turn sixteen before the year is out, and their little brother, Ilya, is five.
Where the twins and little Ilya take after their mother, all three golden-haired and blue-eyed, the two eldest inherited their father’s silver gaze and white hair. The razor-thin shape of his face, too. Their beauty is as cold as the icicles that crown the vestibule’s flat roof.
The glass walls retract into slender metal pillars that shimmer just as brightly as everything else. The sun sits low on the horizon, spilling its dimmed glow over the frosted landscape.
I cannot imagine living in a place of endless days, and after a month spent underground, I know that I wouldn’t tolerate endless nights. I’m much too enamored of sunrises and sunsets.
“Did you enjoy living here?” I ask Gabriele as the king offers his queen his arm before stepping out of the vestibule and trudging across the hard-packed snow toward us.
“I did, actually. Glacins are rather friendly underneath all those furs and cool composures.”
As though to prove Gabriele’s point, Vladimir smiles, his teeth as blinding as the hair he wears twisted into an elaborate rope over his shoulder. Milana, though, doesn’t smile as she inspects me from head to toe.
Like most purelings, she probably finds me lacking. I’d venture it’s the shape of my ears that she finds off-putting; unless it’s the black stripes I painted across my eyes. Or I’m wrong, and it isn’t my appearance but my repute and heritage that pucker her pink-slicked mouth. After all, I’m a combination of two races Faeries fear immensely. The thought that I may actually frighten her does wonders for my self-esteem.
As the royals approach, the shifters in skin crowd me, while those in feathers circle the sky. Only Lore is missing. I call out to him through the mind link.
Just stay close to your father, Behach Éan.
I take it he’s flown off somewhere, probably to scope out the gallery in which I’ll commit my heist.
“General Báeinach, welcome to my humble home.” Vladimir tilts his head to see past my father’s hulking shoulder. “And this must be that fabled daughter of yours.”
I can’t decide if he uses the term fabled as a veiled insult or if he really does mean it kindly.
“A shame Ríhbiadh couldn’t make it,” he says, “but I understand. In times of war, a king cannot abandon his people.”
Does he understand, though? “I hear you’ve been fortunate in Glace.”
His pale brow furrows. “In what way, Lady Báeinach?”
“In the way that your kingdom has never been at war.”
“Ah. Not many people desire a land hardened by ice and forever steeped in snow.” He stares at his kingdom, and I can tell he loves his polar desert deeply.
I squint but a white hill obscures my view of the barren land. “Is all of it covered in snow?”
“No. We’ve forests and beaches of black sand.” It’s Konstantin who answers. Shoulder to shoulder with his father, the resemblance is uncanny. “Not tropical ones like you’re used to in Tarespagia, mind you,” he adds with a smile.
“Where do you grow crops?”
“In greenhouses. If you’d like a tour after supper, I’m certain Alyona would be honored to take you around.” Konstantin glances over his shoulder at his siblings who’ve all kept a few paces back. “I hear the two of you have met already.”
“Metis a bit of a stretch.” I tug at my seashell necklace, coaxing it out from underneath my turtleneck and settling it over the black wool. Though it doesn’t resemble a weapon, it is, and I find great comfort in its shape and slight weight. “We’ve laid eyes on each other.”
“It would be nice for her to have a friend amongst your people,” he says, redirecting his stare forward. On me.
I’m rather certain Alyona does not care to be friends with the woman who ruined her chances at becoming Dante’s bride.
“Yes. Very.” Milana’s gloved hands climb up her husband’s bicep, as though to make sure I notice the man belongs to her.
