As the painful clutch of magic seeps from his chest, Salom expels a short breath and then he’s striding toward the door and jerking the handle.
“Unharmed and alive.” Konstantin’s demand brings his general to a halt.
A silent battle wages in their locked gazes.
But then Salom blinks and pivots toward the sprite. “Borat, tell the captain to steady the ship so we can disembark.”
The sprite’s diaphanous wings beat, but not to carry him out of the cabin. No, he hovers there, loath to leave.
“Go!” Salom growls, springing the winged soldier ahead of him. And then he’s ramming a hand through his shoulder-length locks and stalking out after him.
Aodhan props his ass on the edge of the table and crosses his arms, seemingly nonplussed by the stalemate that just went down. Either it’s a usual occurrence, or he was in on the bargain.
“Why are we chasing after Svyato and his kid?” he asks.
Konstantin peers out the cabin’s window at the white-capped bay, adrift like his galleon. “Because Miss Ríhbiadh believes my sister has resurrected and that Svyato is hiding her.”
“No, that’s not—” I roll my lips. “That’s not quite…”
“Alyona?” Aodhan exclaims. “You think someone resuscitated her?”
I whirl my head toward Konstantin. “Your medallion nulls the effect of iron. Could it have blocked the toxic effect of the blade?”
“Only if the sword was aimed at me,” he replies, meeting my stare.
“Could someone have switched your blade out?”
That wins me a scathing look from the Ice King. “How much of a dunce do you believe me to be, Miss Ríhbiadh?”
“This has nothing to do with intellect. Silver resembles iron. Someone could’ve swapped your sword for a replica.”
“I test my blades before every battle. All of them.”
“Onwho?” I ask.
Aodhan cuts short our absurd deliberation by asking, “Can you two stop bickering for a second and bloody explain to me why we’re contemplating Alyona being alive?”
“Because the Cauldron showed Taytah and Behati a prophecy in which I…” I bite my lip, still reticent to use the wordmurder, even though there’s no love lost between Alyona and her family. “In which I kill Alyona. Konstantin believes, like you, that she’s dead and that someone’s borrowing her face, which would mean a bloodcaster’s invol—Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re a bloodcaster, aren’t you?”
I fold my arms in front of my chest, imprinting the silver buttons of the borrowed coat into my skin. “Because murdering someone, whose appearanceIchange, makessomuch sense?”
“It makes more sense than the princess having been resurrected by an affable Shabbin who just so happened to be in the vicinity and decided to give up her life for Alyona’s.”
“How many bloodcasters reside in Glace?” Konstantin asks.
“You have bloodcasters here?” I ask, somewhat shocked. Actually, not just somewhat…extremely shocked. I’m uncertain why, seeing as the wards collapsed twenty-five years ago, so Shabbins are free to travel anywhere they’d like.
“Two, and around a dozen Crows. No Serpents yet, though. I’ll question the bloodcasters.”
Why did I think Glace was so insular and boasted so little diversity? Because the Ice Kingdom lies so far from the others? Because the land seems so barren and inhospitable?
“Perhaps your grandmother could consult the Cauldron for additional details about the prophecy?” Aodhan suggests.
“She has,” comes a deep rumble, one that steals up my spine and bunches up my shoulders.
Woe is well and truly me.
