With a guttural groan, I spill myself, my hips jerking erratically as I fill her with my seed. The green light flares brighter, pulsing in time with my release.
I can see it sliding down her legs, milky and white. She clings to me, body wet and slick. Her fingers stroke my skin.
“Dayton?” she whispers.
My vision is wavering. I blink. “When did we get out of the bath?”
Why is my voice so raspy?
She untangles herself from me, face full of concern. “Day?”
But I can barely hold on. Everything pulses black, then green, then black, and I fall to the ground.
19
Farron
The gallery stretches before me, its vaulted ceiling shimmering with veins of opal that are carved to appear like frost. Polished stone statues line the walls, their features sharp and stern.
I step closer to one—a warrior frozen mid-strike, his blade raised high, the hilt embedded with shards of icy blue gemstones. The air around it feels colder, if that is even possible.
I’ve been wandering the halls of Keep Wolfhelm for hours. After returning from Autumn, sleep evaded me. I couldn’t stop picturing the wild look in Thrand’s eyes. It was oddly similar to the expression on the goblins’ faces as I tore them apart with fang and claw. Primal, all-consuming fear. As if they were looking into the face of death itself.
I stare down at my hands. A scholar’s hands, not marred with calluses or scars like Dayton, Kel, or Ezryn. It took me losing my mother to learn this deep truth of the world: Life and death are so closely interwoven, one can easily be mistaken for the other. For the goblins, for the enemies of my family, I can bring the reckoning of death. But Thrand was confused. These hands bringlife.
Because of the Green Flame.
A woman’s yell echoes into the galley. Rosalina’s voice. “Everyone! Dining room. Right now!”
I tear myself away from the face of the statue. It’s the middle of the night. Something’s wrong.
Taking off a run, I sprint down the halls, my feet sliding over the slick floors. By the time I make it to the dining room, I’m panting, leaning on the doorway for support. “What’s going on?”
Rosalina paces the length of the table, her hair damp and curly. She’s wearing a dressing gown, clutching herself tight.
Dayton sits at the head, shirtless. “Should I make us tea? Milk? Honey anyone? Something soothing for Rosalina.”
“I do not need to be soothed,” she snarls at him, then notices me. “Farron. Thank goodness you’re here. Where is everyone else?” She storms over to the doorway. “I saidwake up! Meeting in the dining room right now!”
I wander over to Dayton. “What did you do to piss her off this time?”
He rubs his eyes. “She’s worked up over nothing?—”
“It isnotnothing,” she says, words filled with anger. “We are getting to the bottom of it right now.”
“What’s going on?” a gruff voice asks, and Ezryn pads into the dining hall in the shape of the Spring wolf. His black coat is covered in spoiled mushrooms, and tangles of moss and weeds sprout around his shoulders and paws. Animal bones embedded in his fur clatter together. Thankfully, the staff of Keep Wolfhelm have their own quarters. Otherwise, Ez or Kel might give someone an accidental heart attack.
“I need to talk to everyone,” Rosalina breathes. “Where is Kel?—”
“Right here,” a muffled voice says. Kel appears in the doorway, a massive entity of white fur and dagger-sharp ice crystals. Clenched between his teeth is…Caspian. The Prince ofThorns sighs. Dressed in pajamas given to him when he was admitted to the medical ward, he seems only mildly perturbed to be dangling by his shirt collar from the mouth of a giant white wolf.
A pang of emotion shudders through me at the sight of Caspian. I haven’t spoken to him—really spoken to him—since we destroyed the crystals at Sira’s pool. Since I chose to stop being afraid. Since I chose to fight fire with fire.
I was relieved when I heard of his rescue. In the few hours he’s been here, he looks so much better. His skin is still pale, dark circles under his eyes, but that bright spark in his gaze has returned. It makes me…glad.
Kel sets Caspian down, then nudges his back with his snout. “Sit there and don’t move.”
Caspian sighs again. “Yes, whatever you say, great master of Wolfhelm.”
