A frown descends upon Konstantin’s brow.
“He’s in your War Room,” she says.
“I’m aware, the same way I’m aware of the reason he’s there. Unlike you, Miss Patchenkov, I question people.”
“Can I see a healer, now? I’ve told you everything.”
“You told me under the influence of salt.” Konstantin nods to his guards. “Bring her inside and keep her isolated until her wound has healed.”
She gasps. “Kost—” At his frigid stare, she swaps his name for his title. “Without special poultices, it won’t heal.”
He squeezes my hand. “Accompany me to the War Room?”
Sofiya crawls forward. “Please. Please let me see a healer. I swear I will never spy or do anything for my father ever again. Please.” She reaches for Konstantin’s boot, but he backs up, and her hand tumbles into the snow. “I’ll become your spy!”
“Could be convenient,” Imogen says in Crow.
He stares down at the pitiful, groveling Faerie. Is he considering it?
“You could ask her for a bargain to call upon at a later date,” I muse.
His silence endures for so long that I think he won’t take my advice. I wouldn’t even fault him for it. He might like me, but that doesn’t mean he trusts me or desires my input. Lo and behold, the King of Glace heeds my counsel.
Once her bargain slips beneath his skin, he whirls.
“A blood sigil could heal her,” I murmur, still in Crow.
“She doesn’t deserve to be healed,” he mutters.
“Except she’ll only use the scar to further discredit shifters. Considering her circle, and reach within it, it could help us in the long run.”
His lips squeeze. When he glances over my shoulder at Imogen, I think he’s about to ask her to weigh in, but I’m wrong. “Why are you smiling?”
I twist around to find that Imogen is, in fact, smiling, but it’s a murky curve of lips.
“Because I can’t wait to hear Isla suggest painting a blood sigil on the Faerie’s cheek.” My Crow guard shrugs. “I suppose that if Miss Patchenkovdoesaccept, there might be hope yet that she’ll stop regarding us as winged demons.”
Konstantin’s head bobs twice before he says, “Your call,Yegmenka.”
“Is Vance around?” I ask.
“He is…around.” The way Imogen says ‘around’ causes Konstantin to sling his gaze over the infinite whiteness that no black-eyed shifter is blunting. “He’s listening to the…conversations.”
Konstantin startles this time. “Salom’s requested?—”
Before he can finish his question, Imogen says, “No. Aodhan has.”
The news sharpens Konstantin’s jaw. Does Aodhan not trust Salom, or are they working as a tag team?
I offer healing to Sofiya. The absolute horror that reshapes her features has Imogen snickering. Unlike my sentry, it not only irks me that this vainglorious woman would choose disfigurement over the aid from her enemy, but it also dispirits me. For what does that say about Glacins warming up to our kind?
“Can I not see a true healer, Vizosh?”
“Blood-therapyistrue healing,” I say.
“And shifters are true people,” Sofiya says with an eyeroll that levels out brusquely. She smacks a palm in front of her mouth.
“I’m always amazed at the effect of salt,” Imogen says. “May I ask her a question, Vizosh?”
