Page 7 of Omen of ice
The expansive room is full of Fae. The revelers are dressed in flowing gowns and sharp tunics. Heads of intricately curled and knotted coifs bounce about as they move.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
I’ve never seen anything like it. The laughing party guests, the upbeat music—the tables and tables of food! “It’s…unbelievable.”
Everyone dances and drinks and laughs as a lively tune drifts from a trio of musicians in the corner. They are triplets, all dressed alike, their hair twisted into matching knots atop their heads.
I follow Kopic as the crowd parts to allow us passage to the dais at the front of the room. “Lord Orbik, Lady Liani,” he says, bowing low. “I’ve brought you the Aphelian.”
Orbik stands and steps around the table. He’s tall with broad shoulders and a lean frame draped in a satiny blue tunic. Fae age differently than humans, so it’s impossible to guess his age—as proven with Kopic—but I know he’s been ruling the Winter Lands for at least four hundred years.
Really, he doesn’t look a day over two hundred.
“Your name?” His deep voice booms, and when our eyes meet, it takes all my strength not to turn away. I don’t intimidate easily, but Orbik is a force of nature. The air around him is chilled, and there’s a storm brewing behind his eyes.
“Aphelian.” Short. Simple. I hadn’t expected to get so nervous in the presence of the Winter Lord. He’s imposing, yes, and has a commanding air of leadership and strength, but I’ve heard how kind he is. How thoughtful and welcoming he’s been to the Aphelians who ended up in his court in the past.
Lady Liani laughs. Like Roriel, it sounds like music. But there’s also the smallest hint of menace. Sitting before me, on an ornate chair lined with silver, is an ethereal creature. Delicate and blindingly beautiful, with long raven hair and eyes that match the clearest blue skies. But underneath all that beauty is a viper looking for an excuse to strike. The truth of it flickers in her eyes as they rake across me, assessing. Warning. Protective, I realize. I’m here to guard Valen. If I mess up—if I allow him to be harmed—she’ll come for me.
I like her.
“You must have been given a name at birth?” she asks.
“My name is Aphelian,” I repeat as evenly as I can.
“I suppose it is. Hergraciousblood runs through your veins, after all.” She laughs and bends to look me in the eye. “I hope your loyalty is as unflinching as hers was.”
“I promise you, my loyalty to Valen is my highest priority.” I stand a little straighter. “We will be—”
“You summoned me, Uncle?” a profoundly resonant voice asks from behind me. I turn to find a tall Fae with night-dark hair gathered into a low ponytail. He adjusts his silver tunic and squares his shoulders, giving me a dismissive once-over from the corner of his eye.
Orbik points a meaty finger in my direction. “Valen, this is—”
Valenholds up his hand and barely glances at me. He sighs. “A human. Yes, I can see that.”
Lady Liani frowns. “Dear one, thishumanis an—”
He turns to fully face me, and I gasp. He has high cheekbones, generous lips, and a chin that comes to an understated point. But his eyes—they’re what draw my attention. In my years at the Order, I’ve seen many Fae come and go. Hundreds of them, eye colors ranging from every shade of blue, gray, and gold—but never violet.
His gaze immediately goes to the mark on my forehead. “…Aphelian.” He offers a bow. Something akin to sadness flashes across his features, but it’s gone so fast that I’m not even sure I saw it in the first place. “I apologize. I wasn’t aware—”
“Enough,” Orbik snaps. Color flames in his cheeks as he glares at Valen. “This Aphelian is here to act as your guard. She is here to serve!”
Oddly, it’s more his tone than the actual words that has me cringing. It’s true—we come to the Fae to protect, to use what little magic we’ve retained to ensure their survival. In some way, I suppose that could be viewed as serving. But to hear it said like that, with anger instead of adoration, is jarring. “I—”
“You will address her with respect.” Valen’s deep voice spits the words out low and cool. “Aphelians are no more servants than you or I.”
His aunt rises and nods. “Excuse your uncle. It’s been a long day, and he’s tired.” To me, she says, “Please excuse the Winter Lord. He means no disrespect. Of course, you are welcome here as a part of the Winter Court.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Valen’s lips part, and he seems to hold his breath for a moment. “Regardless, we’ve talked about this, Uncle, and you know my feelings.” He turns and bows. “With respect, I don’t need—or want—a new guard. Mika—”
Orbik steps back around the table and settles into the chair beside his mate, then snaps his fingers high in the air. Seconds later, a petite Fae with deep-purple hair hurries over with a goblet of pink liquid. “This is not open for discussion, Valen. The sight of you may sicken me, but your life is far too important to risk. The Aphelian goes where you go. That is the end of it. Are we clear?”
The sight of Valen sickens the Winter Lord? What is that supposed to mean? What kind of a mess has Levina dropped me into?
Valen grits his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His fists clench tight, and it almost looks like he’ll make a scene. From the not-so-subtle hints Kopic dropped, it wouldn’t surprise me. Fury churns in his eyes, and every muscle tenses.
