Page 12 of Omen of ice
Valen’s door is closed, and the hall beyond our rooms is dark and quiet. I push open the door to my new room, half expecting the space to remain untouched, but to my surprise, the clothing and boxes are gone. More than that, there’s a cot wedged in the corner with a pile of expensive-looking linens and sleep clothes upon it, and a small silver tray atop a newly added dresser, with an assortment of cheeses and some sausage.
The new furnishings, save for the cot, look ridiculous crammed into the small space. Like someone is trying to pretty up a hovel. I could move into one of the rooms, but they’re too far down the hall for my comfort. If someone managed to slip past my wards in the middle of the night, there’s too great a possibility the sounds of struggle could go unheard. I won’t risk anything happening to Valen. We owe the Fae. If not for them, the druids would have perished with the rest of humanity during the War.
I pop a piece of cheese into my mouth and sink onto the cot to remove my shoes, then remember I kicked them aside in the fight—no wonder my feet are sore. In the chaos, I forgot to go back for them.
The cheese is sweet with a slightly nutty flavor. Much better than what we had back home. I sample a small piece of the sausage—also delicious—and look down at myself. I’ll have to find clothing tomorrow. Something that will allow me to blend in better—despite the rounded tops of my ears. No doubt there’s an entire wardrobe of the finest silk and leather waiting for me. I just hope I can find something practical. Fae fashion is better known for its aesthetics than its functionality.
The morning after the ceremony, I changed into my training gear and left the Order with nothing more than my ink, my blade, and the clothes on my back. The simple green leathers I arrived here in were the standard garb for Aphelians. They were left behind when I changed for the party, and I hope they haven’t been discarded. They aren’t in the best shape, worn through to the stag-hair lining in some places, but they’re familiar, and I need that.
Not even a full day here, and nothing is as I expected it to be.
I shed the dress and slip on some thin linen pants and a halter—which, like most Fae fashion, leaves little to the imagination—then lay back. It’s quieter here than I’m used to. The trainees’ quarters in Lunal are nothing more than a canopy of vines hanging over a collection of hammocks in the middle of the forest. All my life, I’ve fallen asleep to the sounds of nocturnal animals going about their evening routines. Now the absence of those sounds is a vacuum, and I miss it more than I imagined possible. Though only our priestess, Levina, can connect to nature in the same way our ancestors did because of a special sigil, the rest of us druids still crave the outdoors. The small, closed-off space of my new living quarters is near suffocating, but I’ll adjust. It’s what we do.
Getting Valen to accept me? That might be another problem entirely.
This assignment is special because Valen is a member of the royal family. Levina put her trust—and so much extra time—into training me. I have no intention of letting her down.
“Do you know what this sigil represents?” Levina slapped the drawing down on the table. Sweeping lines and complicated swirls formed what looked like a bird on fire. I’d seen it in the old books, the ones containing the sigils we dared not use anymore.
“Rebirth.”
She nodded. “Study it. Memorize it. Draw the sigil over both your hearts. If anything should happen to stop your Fae’s heart, this will restart it again. It will give you one second chance. Just once.”
I traced the outline with my finger. “Aren’t we forbidden from using these?”
“We are, so tell no one I’ve given this to you. When you’ve memorized it, burn the parchment.”
“But why? If this isn’t allowed, why show it to me? Why let me use it?”
Levina’s notoriously stony expression softened for a moment. She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand. “Child, you are special to me. I simply want to do everything in my power to help you succeed.”
But she didn’t know Valen would want nothing to do with me. How am I going to get his permission to ink the sigil that might save his life? It certainly complicates things, but I’ll just have to do everything in my power to change his mind. If I can’t…well, then Valen is in for a world of misery.
…
I wake up the next morning with a stiff neck and a kink in my back. Having no real ventilation, the air in the closet is musty and too warm, and I’m happy to get out.
Across the hall, Valen’s door remains closed. I lean closer and listen, and when I hear nothing, I knock twice.
“The door is open,” he calls from the other side.
Of course it is.
I steel myself against what I assume will be the start of a long day and push inside. Valen is on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots, shirtless. He doesn’t look up as I enter, and I’m grateful because I know that I’m staring.
I heard rumors of Aphelians and their Fae becoming intimate—mostly from Alainya, whose mind was never far from the bedroom—but I swore it would be impossible for me. I could never see my charge that way. A distraction like that could endanger them as well as myself. But standing here, I can’t dismiss the perfection of the boy sitting across the room. Exquisitely sculpted muscles span a broad chest under deep-blue-ink-covered skin. Most of the tattoos are symbols I don’t recognize, but there’s one across his heart that’s eerily familiar. One that chills me to the bone.
Valen clears his throat, and I realize he’s caught me watching him.
“See something you like?” The right corner of his lips lift with a grin. “I can stand if that would make it easier to appreciate my God-like physique.”
“That’s a druid symbol.” A series of lines vaguely resembling a broken lover’s knot inked over his heart. But…it can’t be!
His grin slips into a frown. “You know it?”
“It’s called the Heartbreaker.” Every Aphelian candidate is inked with the Heartbreaker sigil the day we turn fifteen. “It blocks the heart, closing it off to any kind of romantic love.” We’re allowed to enjoy physical relationships—there’s no rule dictating a celibate life—but the Order decided more than that would be a liability.
The look on his face tells me he already knows this.
