Her eyebrows jerk up as though my vegetarian diet was perplexing.
The other twin—Izolda—nudges her way between her father and Ksenia. “Can you blood-cast?”
Vladimir tips his head. “No. Her magic is bound, daughter.”
“That’s why she’s able to remain on this side of the wards.” Konstantin tucks a long piece of white hair behind his broad ear that’s adorned with a whole line of faceted diamonds as clear as ice. “That’s also why she desires the runestone. Freeing Shabbe will also free her magic. Am I right, Lady Báeinach?”
“Absolutely.” I never thought I’d be so pleased about misinformation.
“My tutor said that Shabbins can behead a Faerie by circling their necks with blood.” Izolda’s comment not only leaches color from her sister’s face, but also makes her reach into her coat and wrap her hand around the hilt of a dagger that glitters with a diamond snowflake.
My breath catches. My heart, too.
Vladimir misinterprets my surprise. “Ksenia, the Crows are our friends. Right?”
The soldiers surrounding the king begin to stir, some palming weapons, others raising hands glittering with magic.
Lore’s shadows firm around my torso like armor.Answer him immediately. Tell him that we are his friends.
“Right,” I all but gasp. Though my reply defuses the tension surrounding me, it does nothing to ease the one roiling through me because the weapon Ksenia fingers is the weapon from Bronwen’s vision.
The one that ends Alyona of Glace’s life.
Justus ambles toward us, hands loose at his sides. “I thought we were to sup?”
I’m glad to see him unshackled.
“We will sup, but first”—Vlad dips his chin—“Lore’smatehas requested a tour of my museum.”
If Justus is startled by the news of my forwardness, he doesn’t let it show. He merely says, “Splendid. I so enjoyed our first visit.”
“I expect you’ll enjoy this one even more, Rossi.” Vladimir lays a hand on his daughter’s head and strokes her hair. “After all, you’ll get to see the infamous runestone you were so desperate to lay eyes on.”
Justus doesn’t even flinch at being called out. “What can I say? It’s the last of its kind. Not to mention the source of considerable contention.”
I so envy his unruffled composure and can only hope that someday I, too, will be able to appear calm and collected even when my insides are collapsing.
Bronwen and Cian stroll toward us, hand in hand. Though I stare at my aunt, she keeps her white eyes on the cloudless sky over our heads.
“Now that we’re all here, shall we?” Vladimir sweeps his hand toward his hidden palace.
Where Izolda whirls and skips ahead, Ksenia eyes me, then eyes our delegation. Her pupils tighten, and I think she’ll reach back into her coat for the dagger, but I’m wrong. “Where’s Alyona?”
My heart claps my neck as I spin around and squint, the sun’s harsh glare bleaching my vision.
“She went to her bedroom to fetch syrup for her stomach.” Milana walks to her husband’s side, their son’s hand tucked into her gloved one
Vlad’s high cheekbones fill with color. “How incompetent are our healers if what ails her still hasn’t passed?”
I don’t miss the quick look Milana shares with Konstantin, but Vladimir does.
“I’ll go check on her.” She pats her husband’s arm and heads inside with Ilya.
Vlad turns, his thick fur boots crunching over the crisp snow. “Come. The stone awaits.”
“It does not, Vizosh.” Bronwen’s eyes gleam like the land we stand on. “The stone does not await.”
Sixty-Nine
