The earth-Fae adds a whimper that swings my eyes skyward. But then they slam low as I realize her leg may never grow back—something I might need to tell her. Eventually.
Izolda draws in a sigh that must be heavy with the cloying, bitter scent of death, for she plugs her nose as she heads toward her aunt, gaze firm on the floor.
Walk Mestyla to the train?Konstantin asks.I’ll be right behind you.
I nod. “Come, Mestyla.”
As we travel down the short corridor, she glowers at the varnished baseboards that aren’t drenched in ash and blood. Only in crisp air from the draft curling through the train’s gaping doors.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her as we descend the three steps onto solid earth.
She grimaces. “Not great. You?”
“Good has triumphed over evil,” I say, swirling blood onto my palms to light up the darkness.
“Evil is still alive,” she disputes.
I sigh and take her arm. At first, she stiffens, but then her whole body relaxes.
“Unfortunately, Mestyla, evil will always exist. It won’t always be as loud or pernicious as it was tonight, though.”
As we walk alongside the wrecked train, she says, “I still don’t understand why we have to let her live. Shekilledme.”
I bite my lip. “I know. She also killed Salom, who was like a father to Konstantin.”
She grimaces. “The big, blond Faerie in the Throne Room?”
“Yes.” My lids color with the gruesome sight of him, and I shudder.
And then I think again of all the soldiers bleeding in the hallways and Ivan’s corpse rotting in my closet. To think we’ll have to return to the castle and face the desolation…
“Any chance your family has another palace, Iz?” I call out.
“Is one not enough?” She draws Sofiya to a stop and turns.
I snort. “You know me and my delusions of grandeur.”
She offers me a sad smile. A smile, nonetheless.
“The reason I’m asking is because there are so many cadavers in the palace that…that it may be best for everyone to get a break from death for a few hours.”
“Konstantin always wanted to build a winter palace, but he hasn’t gotten around to it.”
I arch a brow. “Because the current one is asummerresidence?”
“She hasn’t traveled to the north yet, has she?” Sofiya asks.
“It’s that much colder in the north?” I ask as we reach them.
“I got frostbite on my nipples one winter,” Sofiya says. “Wasn’t pleasant.”
The corners of Izolda’s mouth drag a little higher. “Was it the time you went to that Yuletide-skating revel without a coat to prove to Matsi that Duke Whatshisface wasn’t chivalrous and that she should dump him?”
“Yes. Can’t believe you remember.”
“Of course I remember. It’s what brought my parents together. Atsa had a cloak fetched for you and then he gave my mother his furs, so convinced was he that her own weren’t adequate for the weather.”
Both Mestyla and I listen avidly to this anecdote that humanizes the man she probably grew up believing a tyrant. To think the former Glacin King was her grandfather.
