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Chapter thirty-nine

T he winter breeze infiltrated the bedroom and curled a small drift of snow at Astrid’s feet. She lingered as the unforgiving season’s chill crawled up her legs. Astrid closed the glass when a muted knock drew her attention.

“One moment,” Astrid called before pulling on a heavy fur-lined robe and making her way to the door.

The timid knock came again, followed by a trembling voice. “Your breakfast, Your Highness.”

Astrid opened the door, and the maid paled. Her tarnished yellow gaze darted around the room before meeting her own.

“He’s not here,” Astrid assured her.

The female’s wings sagged with relief and slid her fingers across her neck before muttering, "Thank Vinceret."

She muttered what sounded like a prayer as she wheeled Astrid’s breakfast beside Dimitri’s desk.

Garlic, thyme, and the scent of grilled beef wafted from the covered dishes.

Astrid’s mouth watered. She silently wondered if this had been ordered by Dimitri in his absence or supplied by the priest she forced into servitude.

Astrid lifted the decanter of sweet wine and poured herself a glass.

“Am I too early?”

A voice she recognized. Astrid turned toward Keres as she entered with a footman close behind her. The last time she’d seen the winged female she’d been pierced at Dimitri’s command. An experience she wouldn’t be repeating.

“Why is he here?” Astrid asked, lifting her chin at the footman and the four leather bags he carried in each hand. Dimitri had told her Keres would bring her a gift, but the word held different connotations to Astrid.

Keres flicked her hand toward Dimitri’s bed and the male silently obeyed, laying the satchels in a neat row.

“Raw materials,” she said, strolling over to Astrid’s dining cart.

The maid shrank away with a curtsey. “We’ll bring your next meal at midday, Your Highness.”

Astrid nodded and the female retreated with the footman a step behind her.

Keres lifted the metal domes covering the platters one by one, revealing eggs, toast, and grilled meat. The white patches blotching her wings gleamed as she moved through the beams of sunlight that did nothing to warm her room.

“I should have asked the footman to rekindle the fire,” Astrid said absently.

The fireplace blazed to life, startling Astrid. Keres giggled. “How warm do you want the room?”

Astrid blinked at the female’s generosity and answered, “As warm as it is in Clorea.”

The flames burned brighter, and Astrid contemplated her sudden kindness.

Was her new demeanor a result of Dimitri’s threats or an interest in friendship?

She’d outlived Keres’s original prediction of one week with Dimitri by nearly two months.

It would be nice to have a friendly face at court, but she was hesitant to trust Dimitri’s metallurgist.

The room warmed quickly, and Keres turned her attention to the satchels. Chunks of platinum and gold, along with an array of precious gems, glittered against the dark sheets.

“The Ascension will be held next week. Dimitri said you wanted corsets and jewelry.”

Astrid glanced over the sapphires, diamonds, and rubies. “Do you have jade?” She asked, picking up the weighty platinum ingot. “Is the Ascension celebrated with a feast?”

“There are feasts. Hunts...” Keres gently took the metal from Astrid and met her gaze. “Be mindful with Lord Dimitri. His mood sours and it’s best to avoid his company.”

As if she could. “I won’t be able to avoid him.”

Keres opened a small leather pouch tied to her belt and removed a thin vile. She took Astrid’s hand and squeezed. The glass was cold in her palm, and she closed her fingers over it.

“He drinks heavily every year. Add a few drops to his glass and he’ll sleep through the night. You’ve lasted this long. It’d be a shame if we lost you now,” Keres said with a smile that didn’t reach her amber eyes.

“Why does he stay at court if he holds such animosity for Ambrose?”

A breath of a laugh devoid of emotion slipped past Keres’s full lips.

“You weren’t here during the old reign,” she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Many believe he was in love with Queen Vesta. He obeyed her without question, and the way he looked at her in court…” Keres blew out a breath and shook her head.

“There were rumors of an affair, which is why King Constantine hated him. It’s probably why King Ambrose hates him now. ”

A pang of betrayal stabbed Astrid’s chest and her mouth went dry. She held her expression as she shoved the biting emotions down, but they persisted, clawing at her.

“They must be rumors. He would have been executed,” Astrid insisted.

Keres quirked her lip. “You’ve met him. Personally. He’s a Death Spirit.”

Who among them could stop me? Dimitri’s voice replayed in Astrid’s mind and she grappled with her misplaced jealousy over a long dead queen.

The robe became oppressive as the room’s temperature rose. Astrid changed into a flowing, black silk robe embroidered with rubies. She returned to find Keres toying with liquid platinum floating between her hands.

“Are there many fire weavers at court?” Astrid asked.

“There are several. We’re offered positions at court and our stipends are better than most.”

Because a nation who worshiped conquest would need worthy steel at their beck and call , Astrid thought. “Are you betrothed to a fellow fire weaver?”

“No,” Keres answered flatly. “Take off the belt.”

Astrid analyzed Keres’s features. The minute downturn of her lips.

The tension in her eyes. Keres’s amber gaze lingered on the scar marring the top of her hand and Astrid’s heart sank.

She was far too familiar with the dwindling light in the metallurgist’s eyes.

Astrid wore the same look many times. The quiet hope for her cousins’ acceptance and respect.

And the slow realization it would never come.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t care for the match my father set for me either,” Astrid volunteered. After a beat, she asked, “Has another captured your attention?”

Fire weavers were born from earth weavers; their abilities manifested once every thousand souls.

And while not guaranteed, the chances of passing magic through the generations rose dramatically when both parents carried the same gift.

It wasn’t uncommon for the rarer weavers’ betrothals to be strategically arranged.

Keres didn’t meet Astrid’s eyes as she opened her hands on either side of Astrid’s waist. The metal hugged her hips and tapered higher as silence stretched between them.

When Keres finally spoke, her voice was as dull and lackluster as her eyes.

”My flames secured my place in court, but even they can’t overcome what I lack. ”

Keres’s dejection plucked a raw nerve within Astrid. Males had inherently insisted she was lacking, but unlike Keres, she never allowed their assumptions to poison her sense of self. Male prejudice would never define her.

“And what is it you think you lack?” Astrid asked, quieting the venom in her voice. Anger sparked in Keres’s eyes and pride bloomed through Astrid’s chest.

The female’s wings shifted, raising behind her. “My discoloration,” she answered, biting off the word.

Astrid studied the source of Keres’s insecurity. Her wings were daintier than Dimitri’s with the same pointed talons on the first joints. Fine serpentine scales covered the boned frame. The white, speckled scales caught the sunlight from the shadows and seemed to glow from within.

“I see nothing wrong with your wings, but if anyone breathes otherwise, bring them to me,” Astrid said sweetly.

Keres’s brows pinched, her lips parting as she met Astrid’s stare.

“I’ll bar their soul from their wings, and you can burn them away as quick or as slow as you like.”

A soft laugh escaped Keres’s lips as she returned her focus to the fluid platinum. The metal caging her middle reformed into thin branches. “I see the rumors of your viciousness are true,” she said, continuing her work. Leaves sprouted while plum blossoms budded and bloomed over her waist.

Astrid tilted her hip, admiring the intricate branches before sharing a smile with the winged female. “A well-placed example tends to silence wagging tongues.”

Keres’s smile finally reached her eyes and Astrid held still as she began placing diamonds into her design.

“I’ll start by melting their weapons,” Keres said.

Causing pain would be better revenge, but Astrid did not say so. Destroying a war-mongering Ledivite’s weapons would be a devastating loss. Astrid frowned as her thoughts wandered to her sword. “Does Dimitri ridicule you for your wings?”

Keres shook her head and stood taller. “His only concerns are quality and craftmanship.”

The same way he hadn’t dismissed her for being female. Astrid buried the soft feelings welling in her. She was meant to wield her sword, not desire it.

“He did barge into my room in the middle of the night after his latest war prize mangled his sword,” Keres continued.

“He deserved it,” Astrid retorted.

Keres leaned back, rubbing her thumb over her palm and studying her handiwork. She muttered, “I’m sure he did.”

“Do you think I could bother you and an earth weaver to make a garden in this green space to grow some fruits?” Astrid asked. Typically, she would only need an earth weaver but in the winter, a fire weaver would be necessary to keep the frost at bay.

“The earth weavers are occupied, but I can see what I can do in the next few days.”

“Surely they could spare an hour for their newest princess,” Astrid argued. It took minutes for seeds to grow into fruit bearing trees under an earth weaver’s coaxing.

Amusement lit the amber depths of the metallurgist’s eyes. “He didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” If Dimitri thought he could ban fruits from the palace and force his diet of sour bread and meat on her forever, she was going to set him on fire the next time he slept.

“He ordered the earth weavers to build a temple to the Three-Faced Mother as grand and tall as Vinceret’s.”

Every thought of vengeance blanked from Astrid’s mind. He was erecting a temple to please her. The male was ill-tempered and violently unpredictable… but did her bidding. The Three-Faced Mother couldn’t have fashioned her a better sword.

A leashed and obedient Death Spirit.