Page 14 of A Bond of Ice and Glass (Crowned By Wings #2)

Noble looks away again, focusing on the flames. He keeps his eyes fixed there even when he speaks.

“I grew up in Erax’s home. My father sent me to live there as a gesture of loyalty. A political asset to bridge the gap between our families. He always wanted the dragonmeyers on our side. I was just a boy, and I hated it. Hated Erax.”

“But you stayed?”

“I had to. Our people would’ve suffered if I tried to leave. It was only recently, before my father died, I was able to come home. The irony is that my father got what he wanted, but our people suffered anyway.”

He gives a hollow laugh, but I can hear the pain in it. Feel the agony over his people’s suffering. He carries the pain so differently from his brother.

“Erax was never cruel the way you think. Not at first. He was distant. Disciplined. He hated weakness, in others and in himself. But he had honour, once. Somewhere along the way, he lost it.”

“What happened?” I ask, closing my eyes for a moment.

“I don’t know. But whatever it was… it broke something in him.”

When I open my eyes again, my head still pressed against the sofa, Noble is already looking at me.

“It was only recently I got to see some of those pieces fall back together,” he says, and the intensity in his gaze makes me sit up again.

Before I can ask him what he means, the door opens.

Lochlan steps into the room, his cloak covered in dungeon dust and what looks like blood. His dark eyes scan the room until they land on the sofas, and then they narrow to slits.

“Hope I’m not interrupting?”

“You are,” Noble replies before I can. “But we were just talking. Drink?”

Lochlan looks between us, his eyes lingering on me. Then he nods and shuts the door behind him. He moves slowly towards me, taking in my face, my posture, and the empty glass in my hand.

“You did well today,” he says at last. “More than well. I hope you’re as proud as I am.”

I don’t answer. How can I be proud of killing someone?

He steps closer, his boots echoing in the deafening silence. Even the wind outside has fallen quiet. Apart from the fresh cut on his cheek, he still looks like Lochlan. He just doesn’t feel like him anymore.

“You did what no one else could. Without your help, we would’ve never gotten answers.”

He kneels beside me on the sofa and places a hand gently on my knee. It takes everything in me not to pull away. He’s still my friend, even if he killed those prisoners. Even if I’m beginning to no longer recognise him.

“You didn’t need my help, Loch. You killed them just fine on your own.”

The words escape me before I can catch them. But it’s the truth. He did.

“Why did you do it?” I push away from him and stand up. He stays kneeling, his head tilted back at me. “Why did you take me there? Who even are you now?”

Slowly he straightens until he towers over me again.

“You’re not the only one who changed since the convent.

I nearly lost my mind when he took you, when I couldn’t…

stop him. I’ve done things to get you back that I never thought I would, but do you know what, Lena?

” His eyes cut through me, never moving or blinking.

“I’d do it all again to bring you home again. ”

“This isn’t my home. You know where I wanted to be when we escaped. This place… it feels wrong.”

I shake my head and start to pull away. Lochlan’s hand grips my arm.

“And we’ll go there once the war is over. Right now, you’re just tired. You spent so much energy using your power, you need to rest. We can talk about this tomorrow. Let’s just get you back in bed.”

I snatch my arm away from him. He’s treating me like a child!

But what angers me most is that he’s right. I do need to rest.

Because I’m always so bloody tired!

If this fatigue is the cost of my power, then I don’t want it. Nope. The gods can take it back. Let it break someone else. What use has it been, what good has it done for me anyway, other than tire me out all the time?

I turn to Noble, who’s still sitting on the sofa with his leg crossed, watching us with an amused grin on his face.

“Thanks for the drink. You were right. It did help.”

I march out of the room without looking back at either of them.

Let Lochlan squirm for a while. I need to be alone so I can process everything.

Outside, Nymala steps back from the door, clearly eavesdropping. I don’t even care. Neither does she. It’s obviously something she does often. I would too if I were a prisoner here. Funny, that’s just how I’m starting to feel.

“Take me back to my room, please?”

She nods and leads the way quietly. I’m thankful she doesn’t say anything.

It’s only once we’re back inside the room and she’s helping me undress, does she speak.

“You feel sick because something in you knows this isn’t right.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. She pauses for a moment before turning back to untying the clasps on the back of my dress. I still don’t know if I can trust her, but right now, I feel like I might be able to trust her more than I can trust Lochlan.

“What makes you say that?” I whisper.

The candle lit beside me flickers as she steps closer, hands brushing over my shoulders as she pulls the fabric free.

“This magic— your magic—was never meant to be used like this. It’s why your bones ache and you’re tired all the time. You’re being twisted, girl.”

My breath hitches. “You don’t know that.”

And yet twisted is exactly how it feels to me.

Like I’m being twisted into a ghost of myself.

Nymala arches a brow but keeps her eyes down. “I know exactly how it feels to have your magic twisted against you.”

She reaches for a comb and begins to brush out my hair with slow, gentle strokes. I stare at the chains on her wrists as she works.

“Sleep tonight, but please do us both a favour and remember what I’m about to say… Not everything Lochlan tells you is the truth, and not every monster wears a collar. Some of them smile at you as they twist the knife.”

I say nothing but don’t stop her hands. If she had said this a few days ago, I would’ve screamed at her that she’s the one who’s got it all twisted. That Lochlan isn’t a monster. He’s the opposite of one.

But now… now I’m not so sure.

When I later close my eyes, for the first time in weeks, I don’t dream of the mysterious man who calls me his mist. I dream of the man I killed, and the gut-wrenching silence that followed.