Above my head, a few feet away, I spied a ledge. I hauled myself up with renewed resolve. Three more feet. Two. I aimed my daggers wide, wary of any impact that might damage the integrity of the icy ledge. Then I was there. Daggers still buried in the wall, I did not dare release them. But I eased my grip, let my exhausted arms have a few seconds.
My head fell forward, resting against the ice. I could not leave it there for long. My sweat may very well freeze to the sheet of ice. But just for a second…
CRACK.
No. No. I will not die here.
But the fissure raced up the ice, splintering the wall beneath me. I tightened my grip on the daggers, holding tight. But the crack was spreading, a second and they wouldn’t be safe. I pulled one away, swinging wide, trying to find a stable patch of ice that would hold. But I missed.
The ledge crumbled beneath me. Another loud crack. A sickening lurch.
And I was falling.
In some ways, it was just like that first time I’d plunged into the void. My entire body ached. I had no control. The world was rushing by me faster than I could process it.
Time seemed to slow.
It would have been so easy to just let it happen. Once, I would have.
But I was not that lost, sad princess anymore.
I will not die here.
The ember of power inside of me exploded. I threw myself into the void. A second later, I was on the other side, crashing into the wall of ice. I got my arm up, just in time, with just enough force. Embedded my dagger to the hilt.
I hung there, by one arm, as the world took shape around me once more. Every muscle in my body was trembling, but not from exertion. I forced my breathing to steady, my heartbeat to slow. I checked my body for wounds; found none. The golden thread of the mating bond was tight around my heart. My ember of magic glowing happily deep inside of me.
I lifted the other dagger and swung upward, lodging it deep into the ice. Only then did I look upward, ready to haul myself the rest of the distance. It took several pulls to dislodge the first dagger where I’d embedded it as I fell out of the void.
I swung upward again, but my dagger met air.
One final pull, and I was heaving myself over the edge, onto a floor of solid ice. I did not turn around to watch the sun setting over the mountains behind me. I did not allow myself the wave of relief or the glow of triumph. I pulled myself up to stand, knowing that what lay ahead would be infinitely worse than the treacherous climb.
The witch unfolded from her icy throne.
“Welcome, Veyka Pendragon. I have been waiting for you.”
87
ARRAN
Veyka wasn’t anywhere in the castle. The taut pull of the bond in my chest told me as much; but I still took the time to verify it with my own eyes before seeking out Osheen. The latent energy, the thoughts burning through me—they needed an outlet. Sparring would have to do. I hoped that pairing with Osheen would make some small step toward healing what I’d so thoughtlessly broken. But by the time I hit the training courtyard, Osheen still nowhere to be seen, I was starting to talk myself round to accepting Barkke as an opponent instead. Even if that meant enduring his endless yammering.
But the training courtyard was deserted.
And festooned in flowers.
And not empty.
The small, dark-haired child who had thrown herself so emphatically into Veyka’s arms stood at the end of the line of arched alcoves, gently twirling her finger. Even from a distance, I was struck by the beauty as she coaxed a tiny bud into a wide, yawning gardenia bloom. She was a daisy fae.
Maisri. Osheen’s niece.
It looked like she’d been at work on the training courtyard for hours. Of course, with that sort of power, it might have only been a matter of minutes.
It explained why there was no one around. No one would have dared to disturb this kind of masterpiece; not even the prideful shifters who scorned the flora-gifted.
I would find no sparring partner today. I’d have to satisfy myself with shifting into my wolf and running through the mountains to take off the burning edge of—
