Page 17 of Omen of ice
“We’re approaching Hiffen, the home of the Grove Wardens,” I answer as we continue to cross through the brush and over the frozen stream that marks the border.
“Grove Wardens?” she asks.
“Creatures said to have inhabited Derriga even before the Fae. When the Great Drain came and the other courts crumbled in the war, they migrated here. They’re a sentient race deeply attuned to the land. I’m surprised the druids don’t know of them.”
She shrugs. “Some might.”
“This is my favorite part of the Winter Lands.” This part of our territory holds an odd kind of peace, and most days I need that. A voice in my head says this is a mistake. That sharing even the smallest bit of myself with her will draw her in, not push her away. But the words come anyway. “Sometimes, as a child, I’d come here and stand in the snow, watching the flakes fall and listening to the total absence of sound for hours.”
With her head tilted toward the snow-capped trees, the Aphelian sighs. “There was a place like that for me, in Lunal. Not that it snowed, but the quiet, the peace. I get it.” When our gazes meet again, she’s smiling.
It’s infectious, and I can’t keep myself from smiling back. Maybe it’s something about Aphelians in general. Maybe they have a way of drawing you in, making you want to be near them. I was a small child when I met Mika, but I remember instantly wanting to be near her, craving her attention…
“What do you normally do after training with Buri? I assume it’s more than stomp around in the snow all day?”
It’s the sound of her laugh that snaps me back to reality. The pleasant timbre threatens to warm my frozen heart—and that can’t happen.
“Usually, I go for a run.”
I’m edgy when I’m cooped up too long. Everyone at the estate knows this. They write it off as me being spoiled, always wanting my own way, but the truth is so much more than that. I have another secret. One I’ve managed to keep hidden from all of them, my aunt and uncle included. If the Aphelian is going to be here—even if it’s just for a short time—then she has to know this truth.
For both our sakes.
Her brows lift. “You run in the snow?”
What I’m about to do is risky, and it will undoubtedly piss her off. “As my Aphelian, your loyalty is to me, correct?”
“Haven’t we covered this already?” She frowns and leans forward. “You’re stuck with me, Valen.”
“There’s a stream a quarter mile east. Follow it, and it will take you back to the estate. It’s not far.”
Her eyes widen. “Take me back to the— And where the hell will you be?”
“You need to truly understand what I am.” With a bow, I say, “Tell no one about this, druid. I do not command but request your silence.” I bring both arms up. A second later, I use my power to make the snow swirl until we can no longer see each other. I drop to my knees and draw in the cold, welcome it until it fills me. My back arches, and my bones snap, changing, rearranging. My vision enhances, sharpening, as the sounds of the forest, ones muted to even Fae ears, come alive to animal ones.
My mother, Orbik’s sister, was stolen away. To this day, we know nothing of her kidnappers, of who my father is. She was found stumbling in the woods nearly two years later, half dead, with me cradled in her arms. She didn’t survive the night.
Highborn Fae don’t have animal forms. There’s no way my father is royalty.
When the snow clears, the Aphelian stands in the center of a small indentation left by the vortex, staring at what I would guess is the largest wolf she’s ever seen. Not with fear or even awe, but utter surprise. “Valen?”
My reply is a roar that sends her stumbling back several feet.
I lower my nose to the snow, huff out once, twice, and then turn and lope into the woods without looking back. Maybe seeing my wolf will send her running.
It’s midday by the time I return to the estate. Under normal circumstances, I would stay out until dusk, prowling through the forest, stretching my legs. But Gods help me, the guilt for leaving the Aphelian behind gnaws at my conscience the entire time I’m away. She’s probably worried sick—unless she finally gave up and left. Curiosity has me picking up my pace.
My wing of the estate is dark and silent, and when I slip into my room, I’m a little surprised to find it empty. The human is dauntless. I was sure she’d be waiting here when I returned. The fact that she isn’t fans those embers of guilt. Maybe she really did leave. Or what if she never made it back from the woods? She could still be out there, stumbling around in the snow looking for me.Damnit. Now I have to go find her.
I whirl back to the door and yank on the knob.
Nothing happens.
I try again, with the same result.
“Something wrong?” a familiar voice calls from the hallway. The sound of it both relieves me and irritates me. She isn’t dead or lost; she’s still here.
“The door is stuck,” I say.
