“Lady…”
He didn’t remember her name. I’d never been good at hiding my emotions. That must have been why I smiled. It was humorous.
The woman was not alone. She clung to the arm of her own male, though this one appeared to be a brother or close relative, based on the resemblance. She used his arm as an anchor as she shifted closer to Garrick. She could not have been more obvious; just like Garrick could not have been more clearly disinterested. While she brushed her gown over the toe of his boot, Garrick’s fingertips pressed a rhythmic, comforting pattern into the back of my hand.
“I appreciate your discretion,” she cooed.
That caught my attention.
She leaned in toward Garrick, as if sharing a secret, as she mock-whispered, “In not sharing my name. You have always been a protective soul.”
She was one ofthose. Garrick shifted toward me, and he did not try to hide it. He pressed the full length of his hip and thigh against mine.
The woman’s pretty mouth flattened.
“My sister believes, like many in Balar Shan, that to tell a witch your name gives her power over you,” the male at her side said.
It had been three hundred and seventy-seven years since my resurrection. There were many parts of my identity that Iquestioned, as well as my right to belong. But I was far too old to be intimidated by a weak, insipid fae lady.
At least when it came to a man.
My power stirred. “I don’t?—”
“You’ve been misled,” Garrick interjected. “Koryn does not need your name to have power over you. She is your superior simply by existing.”
A crack reverberated through me. The block of ice I’d built to protect myself.
The golden blonde raised her chin in defiance. “That is what the witches want us to believe.”
“Believe whatever you like,” Garrick said. He was not looking at her. His attention had shifted fully to me. He did not let his concern show on his face, but I felt it in the pressure of his hand on my arm. He started to steer me away--
Movement flashed in my periphery. I threw my hands up to block my face just in time, but it wasn’t enough. The salt she’d flung slipped between my fingers, down my sleeves, cascaded across the exposed skin above my bodice.
It burned my skin. Angry red welts rose up, marking where every granule made contact.
Garrick’s hand went to his sword, but I was faster. She thought the salt would protect her. It hurt. But I’d lived with one kind of pain or another for my entire immortal existence.
It wasn’t ice that flowed from my fingertips, but a torrent of frost. It shoved her brother to the floor as it encased her in a funnel of swirling cold. Not it—me. I was the one doing this, and I was enjoying it.
Her doe-like eyes were wide with fear. Her perfect coiffure was a riot of tangled strands, the gold color muted by the tornado of frost that entrapped her. Half a thought, a flick of my hand, and it would go down her throat. It would choke her.There were only a few sure ways to kill a fae. Suffocation seemed like a good bet.
A hand curled around my hip.
“Kill her if you want,” Garrick said so softly that I knew no one else could hear, no matter how sharp their hearing. “But do not let her be a stain upon your soul.”
No one else could have reached me in that moment. Not Isanara. Not the Dark God.
He was not here—the Dark God. I could not feel him at the edges of my mind. This darkness, this desire to punish, was all my own.
I dropped my hands. The funnel of frost fell instantly, forming a circle around the woman as she fell with it.
But she had no time to catch her breath. Her brother could not even reach her in time. Garrick dragged her up, his sword drawn and pressed against the trembling expanse of her throat.
It was not just the block of ice in my chest that was about to shatter. It was my entire body. I could not let it happen here.
“You just told me not to stain my soul,” I managed.
Garrick didn’t budge. “Mine is plenty stained already.”
