Page 42 of Omen of ice
A problem to deal with another time.
“You.” I jab my finger at him, trying hard to focus despite the not-so-subtle tilt of the room. “What in the Goddess are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” He rolls his eyes and picks up the fuller of the two bottles, then waves it at me. “Seems like you might need this a bit more than I do.”
“If I count to ten and you’re still holding that bottle, I’m going to start swinging my sword.” I clumsily draw my weapon and aim the point in his direction. The fact that I don’t drop it is a miracle.
“Violence? Really, Tania—”
“Aphelian,” I grind out, desperately trying to keep from swinging my sword in his direction. Several locks of hair, an ear, possibly an entire limb… There’s plenty I can do without actuallykillinghim. My pain threshold is high. I can take it. “You are to call me Aphelian.”
“But that’s not your name. Your name is Keltania.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. “You told me so, remember? And I told you that Tania—”
“What were you thinking?” I demand.
He grins and takes a long pull from the bottle.
“Stop doing that!” I lunge forward and smack the bottle from his hands. It shatters against the edge of the table, bits and pieces plinking to the ground. “I’m about to fall over!”
He stares, his now empty hand hanging mid-air. “Fall over? Are you saying you’re—”
“I’m drunk!” I grip the edge of the bedpost to keep from falling down. “I was with your aunt! I stood in front of the Lady of the Winter Court while you guzzled Goddess knows how much wine and stumbled around like a fool.”
For the briefest moment, he’s stunned. Eyes wide and face—somewhat—apologetic. Then he smiles, beaming like the sun as it chases away the moon. Smug, satisfied, and utterly guilt-free. “Then you’re welcome, of course. It’s quite pleasant. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It’s not just your life you’re gambling with anymore. It’s mine now. If you do something foolish and get yourself killed, then I’m dead, too. I can’t protect you if I can’t see straight! No more wine.”
He has the nerve to shrug. “You’re overreacting. Liani sent this to me.” He hesitates for a moment, lips tugging downward. “To take my mind off troubling matters.”
“Such as random villagers trying to kill you?” I supply. “How about friends?” It’s a low blow. I know he’s still raw from what happened with Kitara, but I can’t think of any other way to snap him out of it.
He leans against the wall. “You seem to be worrying enough for both of us. Honestly, it frees up a lot of my time.”
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re going to need to work on your flattery, Fungus. Here, try this: Thank you, Valen. That was amazing. It was nice to relax for the first time in my sad, boring life.”
I want to scream but bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. “Get someone here to fix that door andkeep it locked.”
14
Valen
I sleep fitfully, nightmares that I imagine stem from guilt waking me every hour. It’s an impossible situation.
Telling her about the tear would be a betrayal of my own people. Plus, if Liani’s theory is right, it would put my own life in jeopardy—which would, in turn, put Tania’s life in danger. But deep down, I know that’s not the real reason I’m keeping it from her. Losing her just isn’t an option—and I hate myself for feeling that way.
After what happened to Mika, I swore never to let anyone get that close. Aside from Liani, who is…essential. She loves me despite my flaws and inadequacies. Tania doesn’t love me—our relationship is nothing like Mika’s and mine—but doing something that would likely cut her from my life feels like planning to lop off a limb. It’s an odd feeling, but it’s inescapable.
The problem is, I’m not sure this link between us won’t give me away…
Buri meets us in the dining room of the east wing. The long table and all its chairs are pushed to one side, allowing us space to work. She’s unhappy, preferring to do our lessons outside where she doesn’t feel so closed in. But Tania insisted. We’re better protected here, less vulnerable.
And it’s far warmer for her.
“No.” Buri tries to be supportive, but the deepening furrow of her brow and increasing twitch in her right eye are telltale signs that she’s coming to the end of her patience. “You’ve got to dig deeper.” Her goal today is to get me to create specific weapons using my ice. Swords, clubs, shields… It’s not going the way either of us hoped.
I slump back against the wall and flick several chunks of ice from my knuckles. A frosty projectile with a pointy tip? No problem. An intricately designed frozen sword with a curved handle? “It doesn’t work that way. Maybe if I had some wine…”
