Page 24

Draven

“ S end for the Visionary,” I snarled, my voice cracking through the corridor like a frozen whip.

I didn’t wait to hear them scramble. I stalked off, each step dragging ice from the air, bleeding mana into the stone floor. The path to my quarters blazed with frost by the time I reached the door, the rage inside me turning rancid.

Of course there was no escaping my regrettable choice in bride when she was in the room across from mine, a glaring reminder of the lie Fate had shackled me to.

Impossible. It didn’t make sense that the Shard Mother would choose a Hollow as my bride. Unless this was a punishment to me, which I was sure as hells beginning to suspect.

The door slammed behind me with a groan, hinges nearly buckling from the force. I crossed to the liquor tray near the hearth, poured a full glass of Shivermark gin, and downed it in one pull.

It was too chilled—thanks to the frost still humming in my blood—but the bitter herbal bite was familiar. Steadying. And I needed steadiness right now.

I refilled my glass and drained the contents just as quickly as before.

The Heartstone ceremony had siphoned out more mana than it had during my first ceremony, like it was punishing me for daring to interfere, like I had done that intentionally.

I had been careful not to touch the stone directly.

It shouldn’t have been able to reach my mana at all through hers, let alone steal it.

At worst, I thought I might be caught in the crossfire when it flung her from the dais. It never once occurred to me that she was a Hollow. My Fate-chosen bride, just when my kingdom needed a queen. A queen with mana.

The Shard Mother had a wicked sense of humor.

Or was this justice? More penance—not only slowly watching my kingdom tear itself apart, but knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it?

I didn’t bother with the glass this time. I drank straight from the bottle, lifting it to my lips just as the door slammed open without warning.

Nevara stood in her ceremonial silks, Glacemark paint still streaking her face like silver tears. Her presence filled the room with quiet power, old as the curse that bound her line.

“Care to explain yourself?” I snapped as soon as she shut the door.

It was impossible to cage the fury any longer, not when it was clawing at my skin like a living, breathing thing.

She arched an iridescent brow. “The Visionary explains herself to no one. Not even you, my King.”

The mocking lilt in her voice scraped across the last of my patience.

“No, of course not,” I bit out. “You just move your pieces across the board while the rest of us fumble blindly in the dark.”

Her face hardened. The serene expression she wore for the people was gone, replaced by a look of warning.

“Perhaps your ancestors should have thought of that before they cursed mine. Mana always demands a sacrifice, after all.” Her voice was colder than I had ever heard it directed at me, her words carrying a double meaning I didn’t want to consider.

I didn’t respond. Not to her rebuke and not to her reminder of why we were here to begin with. A beat of silence passed before she spoke again.

“If you suspected her, why not just ask me instead of risking the prying eyes of the court?”

The question hung in the air like a noose waiting to wrap around my neck. I stared into the bottle of Shivermark Gin.

“I would have procured a vow of silence from them, had it been necessary,” I finally told her.

Of course she heard what I didn’t say. Or maybe she Saw it. Who the hells knew?

Her lips parted in disbelief, eyes pinching in a rare display of hurt. A twinge of guilt lanced through me, but I allowed the gin to chase it away. Well, the gin, and the reminder that she had happily led my entire kingdom to ruin.

“Are you truly so swept up in seeing shadows everywhere that you would take that risk rather than trust your oldest friend. Shards, your only friend.”

Most days I would agree with her, but she had left me no choice when she damned all of Winter with her games.

Her face twisted like she had heard the thought. Or foretold it.

She had a white knuckle grip on her staff, and less of a hold on her anger than she usually mustered. Good. That made two of us.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you didn’t know?

” I demanded, tipping the bottle back once more and relishing the crisp herbal bite of the gin.

“Expect me to believe that you didn’t See ?

Shards, Nevara, even I knew something was wrong with her from the first moment I laid eyes on her in the Throne Room.

And I am not the one blessed with True Sight. ”

“Right now, the only thing I See is that you’re not fit for company,” she snapped, turning to leave. “So allow me to return to my tower and count the many ways I have been blessed with a delightful array of visions and a long life of servitude to your illustrious Majesty.”

“Is that why you decided to end the royal line?” I called after her retreating form, ice crackling up the walls as the temperature dropped more with each passing second.

She spun back toward me. Her staff glowed a brilliant shade of pink, her hair fanning out around her as if swept up in an invisible windstorm.

“If you want someone to blame for this predicament, feel free to find a mirror or curse the Shard Mother herself, but don’t you dare come for me when all I’ve ever done is try to save you from yourself.”

I flinched at the reminder of the Frost Grave Battle—my predicament, indeed.

It was rare for her to throw that in my face so directly, and some distant part of me registered that perhaps I deserved it. As she said, mana always came to collect its due.

I was the one who had upset the balance of the Winter Court. I was the reason the mana demanded payment.

“Is that what this was, then?” I demanded more quietly, taking another sip of gin. “You saving me? Pray tell what salvation is to be had in a Hollow bride.”

“More than is to be found in that bottle,” she bit back.

I glared at her, and she glared right back.

I had never exercised my hold over her. That was how my ancestors had found themselves on the other side of resentful Visionaries who spoke in riddles and led them to an early grave.

Besides, she was right. She was my only friend, the only person who didn’t answer to me. Except when it came to revealing her visions. If I asked, she was bound to tell me. It was a line I had never crossed.

But I was tempted now.

Several heartbeats passed between us until finally, she shook her head.

“Too noble to demand, and too proud to ask. For all you worry that Everly is your punishment, Draven, I don’t think she could punish you quite as much as you punish yourself.”

Hearing Nevara call her Everly with a hint of fondness did nothing for my aggravation.

“It doesn’t bother you that she lied? That she hid an Unseelie dagger?”

“The dagger that saved my life? No, I can’t say that I’m overly offended by it. And we all have secrets, Draven. Perhaps if you’d give her even half a chance, you’d realize she isn’t the punishment you think.”

This time when she turned to leave, I didn’t stop her. But I didn’t drink any more gin, either.

I pulled out my wife’s dagger, turning it over slowly in my hand. Amethysts winked from the grip, the stones dark and polished like bruises. The crossguard curved outward in wicked, elegant arcs, its edges nearly as lethal as the blade itself.

I closed my eyes and saw her again, barely clinging to consciousness in the courtyard. The rage that had swept over me.

The soul-deep need to protect her. The rare urge to comfort when she had screamed in the infirmary. All things fueled entirely by the shards-damned bond, but inescapable nonetheless.

But then I had seen it. The edge of a sheath, just barely visible, tucked into the blood-stained fabric of her soiled gown and set neatly aside for her. It hadn’t taken me long to find the dagger after that, embedded in the dirt beneath a pome tree like a fallen piece of rotted fruit.

My wife had an Unseelie dagger. Not because she was a traitor, but because she was a Hollow. It was her only defense.

And she had used it for Nevara.

If you’d give her even half a chance.

Something uncomfortable shifted in my chest before it was smothered by another wave of rage at the many lies told by my bride and the vague, cryptic comments from the female who asked me to trust her.

More than is to be found in that bottle.

Nevara kept her secrets, but couldn’t outright lie. No true Visionary could.

You’d realize she isn’t the punishment you think.

I carefully parsed through everything else she had said. And more importantly what she hadn’t.

If my wife wasn’t the punishment I thought, then there was still something that could be done. Nevara had told me to give her a chance.

And she had never once confirmed that Everly was a Hollow.