“Boreas. That’s the most overly dramatic story I’ve ever heard, and I’m almost two centuries old.”
I threw a cushion at him.
“Careful! The wine!” Marshen took a long sip, then sighed. He tilted his head up, resting his nape against the mattress. “I, too, am in love with someone whom I cannot be with.”
“I’m sor—”
“Not just in love. When I first met her, I cannot tell you if it was the sight of her or her perfect scent that made me fall face-first for her. Boreas, that face, that smile. Her laughter brought me a sort of inexplicable joy that I had never known existed.”
“And you cannot be with her?” I asked, my voice low.
“Nope,” he said, smacking his lips.
“Why not?”
“Because I am not worthy of the king’s cousin.”
“Shit.”
“You see now, we are just two peas hanging around in the same pod.”
“Blanca,” I whispered.
“What did you just say?”
“Her name is Blanca, isn’t it? You called for her in the caves.” He stared at me for long seconds, then nodded, pressing his lips. “Does this execution thing have anything to do with her?”
His silence was my answer. But why would the king hang an execution order over his head for being in love with his cousin? More than in love. Were we in a monster’s castle, or did something else happen? I didn’t pry. Mostly because of the guilt I felt, but also because I didn’t feel like kicking a dog that was already down. So instead, I told him, “You and me—wecrossed the Depths, and we went through the Unnar Caves. Not many people can say that. I’m sure we can survive this, too.” Marshen nodded, his eyes heavy with unspoken words. “Hey, tomorrow, we’ll speak with the king. I will vouch for you, you know? I want this to work just as much as you do. I want you to be free and I want them to be found, just like they desperately want to. We’ll convince him to remove your execution order, and we’ll convince him to help Alma and her people. I promise.”
“I don’t doubt you. Tomorrow,” he said. His laden words had me downing the bottle, and I drifted, half drunk, half asleep. Marshen walked with me—all right, he guided me back to my room.
When he lowered me into bed, I thought about the way he screamed her name. How he wanted to rip someone apart for her. Was that someone, King Ryvar? Was it he who haunted his nightmares?
I woke with a grunt. Each knock felt like a pounding ring that ripped through my skull. “Ugh.” The room spun on itself. I blinked my lead-heavy eyes. Whoever was behind the door was impatient. “Gods’ sakes. Wait a damned second.” I flung the door open. “What?”
“The king is back. He’s meeting us downstairs at noon. Get ready, I’ll be back in an hour,” Marshen said.
We are about to face the Ice King.
Throwing up helped. I wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the wine. My head steadied as I sipped warm peppermint tea, sitting in a freezing bath.
We are about to face the Ice King.
CHAPTER 66
Ithanked the servant who showed us the way to the seating area on the ground floor, where we were expected to wait for King Ryvar’s summons.
Astonishing, I thought, as I observed my grand surroundings from floor to roof. Within towering walls and endless ceilings—made of polished, pearl-white marble striated with bluish-grey veins—were a variety of vibrant flowers and trimmed bushes adorning each corner and every passageway. What I found striking was that the plants did not simply sit in pots, but rather sprang out of the floor, creating a contrast of botany and high-class royalty.
Walls alternated from marble to glass, allowing me the view of a different kind of desert than the one I was accustomed to. This one was white and cold. A few rocky paths wound along the snow dunes, and beyond was a horizon made of jagged white mountains.
Marshen preferred to wait outside. He said he needed to get some fresh air. I passed on his request to join him and instead took a warm seat on one of the plush couches. I was not planning on freezing myself to death.
As soon as I finally allowed my back to rest against the cushioned back, I heard footsteps. Small ones, with even smaller ones in tow; they clicked softly at a fast pace. The taps grew louder as they approached. “Uncle Aegir! Uncle Aegir?” It started as an excited shout and ended as a perplexed murmur.
A golden-skinned boy—shadowed by a white dog-wolf—stared at me in confusion. I knew those forest green eyes, the exact shade as his. I wasn’t sure if the look on the boy’s face was solely the result of genuine bafflement or if he might have been a little scared of the way I stared. I changed my expression and instead offered him a broad smile.
“I’m sorry, I am not Uncle Aegir,” I said.
