Page 11 of Omen of ice
I glance at my bed. “Plenty of room in here.”
She stares at me.
Fantastic. She’s got as much of a sense of humor as Kopic.
“Pick any one of the rooms down the hall.” I stand and cross to the door, pulling it open. “They’re all empty.”
Her brows lift as she pokes her head around the corner and looks down the right side of the hall, then the left. “How many people live in this wing?”
“One. If you aren’t leaving, then two. The entire east wing of the estate belongs to me.”
Instead of going to one of the rooms, she points to the door across the hall, directly in line with mine. “What about this one?”
I look from her to the door. “That’s a…closet.”
She pushes past me and pulls open the door. It’s full of clothes and boxes and layers of dust. It’s used to store the excess things my aunt keeps sending along. Useless trinkets taking up room that could otherwise be used for books. “It’ll work.”
“It’ll work?The other rooms—”
She stares at the small space across the hall. “If it’s my choice, then I choose this space.”
I don’t argue with her. For all I know, she slept in a closet where she came from. “Whatever.” With a bow, I say, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call someone else.”
“I want to ward all the ways in and out of this wing before I turn in. Is it possible to get someone else to clear away the empty boxes?”
I shrug. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”
“Thank you.” She turns and hesitates. “And Valen?”
Gods.“What?”
“I know you don’t want me here, but I’m going to grow on you. Just wait.”
I close the door and groan, then head back to my bed and flop down like a dead weight. “Yeah. Like fungus, maybe.”
Footsteps echo, and a moment later, her face hovers above mine. “You know, there are actually quite a few beneficial fungi out there.” She’s grinning, and it’s impossible not to notice the way the right-hand corner of her lips tilts at an odd angle. It gives her face character. Makes it interesting…
I hate myself for noticing.
“Good night, Valen.”
“Good night, Fungus.”
As the bedroom door closes, the relief I feel at her absence quickly turns to worry. I fear someone else—someone like Fleeting—will make the Aphelian’s stay here unnaturally short. After all, it’s happened before…
5
Keltania
Using my finger, I trace the druid sigil for alarm—a circle with two long curved lines through the upper right-hand corner—onto the underside of my left forearm. The needling sensation has me biting down hard to keep from crying out. The pain will get worse with each sigil I use, and as it absorbs into my skin, I hold my breath and wait for it to pass. When it does, I’m left with a deep-red design. It shimmers and churns, rippling with the magic. The more “alive” one of our sigils is, the more power imbued in it.
I move to all the possible entry points in Valen’s wing of the estate and trace the same symbol with my finger without using the ink. The power is inside me, now residing within my left arm. It won’t last forever. Eventually—probably within a month—the energy from the symbol will fade. The connection between me and the things I’ve warded will dissipate, and I’ll have to retrace the design with more ink or the wards will be useless.
It’s not foolproof by any means, but it’s more than Valen had yesterday.
Doors, windows, hallways—it takes me three hours to secure everything. I’ll be alerted if anyone tries to enter, which is good news, as I’m exhausted by the time I make it back to the closet. It’s been a long day with a lot of change.
In less than a week, I’ve been anointed and moved from Lunal to the Winter Lands, had my mettle tested in true battle for the first time, and found out my Fae partner wants nothing to do with me.
