“If an assassin falls into our trap, we may need to fight him,” she replied crisply. “I am much quicker on my feet this way. And this is not a disguise. The courtly gowns, on the other hand, are.”
“Hmm.” He pulled back, frowning. “You have a point. In that case, we’ll need to prevent the rest of the nobility from getting a glimpse of you. No matter. We’ll sneak out through the tunnels.”
Reyna smiled. “We get to sneak out through tunnels again? But I didn’t think we were heading into the city this time.”
“There is a special route that heads to the sea and the woods nearby it. It is a highly-kept secret within the Air Court. Thane entrusted me with the knowledge. It’s only meant to be used in dire situations, such as if the city is under attack. However, it will be useful this night.”
“On one condition,” she said. “I need my dagger.”
Lorcan frowned. “The High Queen has insisted that princesses do not have need for weapons.”
“I know,” Reyna snapped. “She took it away from me the second I stepped foot inside this castle, and she’s never given it back.”
“It’s been safely kept in the armory. Which is a long walk from this tower, I might add. We wouldn’t have time to fetch it.”
“Then, hand me your sword. Some princesses are skilled in intrigue. I only know how to stab things.”
“I will be doing all the stabbing this night.”
“Absolutely not.”
His expression darkened. “You do not trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” she said honestly. “Other than my sister.”
“Very well.”
To her surprise, Lorcan reached beneath his thick, fur-lined cloak to withdraw a small packaged wrapped in black hoarfrost cloth. He handed it to her, a slight smile playing across his lips. Wingallock hooted from his perch on top of the bed. He recognized the cloth as readily as Reyna did.
“I thought you might ask for this,” he said. “So, I came prepared.”
She narrowed her eyes, torn between annoyance and glee. “You forced me to practicallybegfor my dagger when you had every intention of giving it to me the entire time!”
“It would have been far less enjoyable to simply hand it over.”
She wanted to be annoyed, but it was difficult to focus on her negative emotions when her trusty dagger was back in her hands. She peeled back the soft corners of the silky hoarfrost, and her dagger winked as the candlelight flickered across the icy surface of it. Lightly, she traced her fingers along the elaborate hilt. Ages ago, the creator of the dagger had carved dozens of wings onto the silver surface. The weapon had been passed down through her mother’s family for centuries, and now, it was back in her hands again.
“You seem oddly attached to something as simple as a dagger,” Lorcan mused.
Reyna narrowed her eyes and slipped her trusty weapon into the leather belt around her waist. “Don’t presume to know how attached I should or shouldn’t be to something that is mine. This dagger belonged to my mother.”
Lorcan’s expression softened. Not much, but enough that Reyna noticed it. “Ah. I see. The tales of her fate...are they true?”
“Far more true than I would like,” she said, half-wondering why she bothered to explain this to not only a stranger but an enemy. “She died in the Ruin. I saw it happen with my very own eyes.”
“That must have affected you a great deal,” he murmured.
Reyna frowned up at him, expecting to see a familiar pity in his eyes. The ice fae had always felt sorry for her, even now. She and her sisters had been forced to grow up without their mother. Most people she met looked at her with sadness in their eyes, particularly any time her loss was mentioned. Reyna had never cared for the pity. She wanted something more.
She was no longer sad. She was angry.
Lorcan, however, gazed at her with understanding. “I lost my mother, too. Not to the Ruin, of course, but to something just as terrible as that. Because of it, I was forced to become something else.” Suddenly, he stiffened and turned toward the door. “Come. We shouldn’t wait much longer. The woods await us.”
Curiosity bloomed in Reyna’s mind. It was clear that Lorcan had spoken far more than he’d intended. She pondered his words. He’d lost his mother in a similar way. But how? She wanted to ask, but she could tell by his stiff back and clenched jaw that he was done speaking of it this night.
Whatever had happened, it had made him become something else, the strong and brutal warrior before her now. That, at least, she could understand. Perhaps Reyna would have always become an unsworn Shieldmaiden, even if life had gone very differently for her, but she did not think so. Her mother’s death had made her want to fight.
The Ruin had not killed her, but it had still twisted her into something dark and dangerous.
