Page 6 of Of Rime and Ruin
“Best trick in the book, bah!” mutters the healer. “Unless the king requires moredrasticmeasures than porridge on a silver spoon.” He squats next to the fire, poking the embers. When he looks at me, his eyes reflect the flame. “It could be arranged.”
A chill crawls over my skin as the corner of his mouth lifts.
“No,” I say.
He shrugs, turning to the fire. “Whatever His Majesty requires.”
“Come now.” Deirdre moves to disrupt my line of view. “Off to bed with you, Sire.”
She walks with me, steadying my elbow. Panic twists in my throat. There were no casualties tonight. But what about the next time I lose control?
The air grows colder as we enter the West Wing. Icicles cling to the ceiling, growing larger and more frequent the closer we get to my chambers. At the end of the hallway, my guard stands watch before a massive iron door. Hoarfrost forms webs across the iron surface, coating the seams and screws with an eerie blue tinge. Ten locks and two deadbolts hold it fast—not a latch out of place.
The guard startles when he sees me, and he glances about, searching for the answer to the mystery.How the fuck did I get out?Wouldn’t we all like to know?
Deirdre pats the guard’s shoulder softly and fishes her keys out of her apron pouch. She turns each lock, filling the night with the rhythm of grinding gears.
“In you go, love,” she says. The ice groans as the door opens.
I pass into the darkened chamber, inhaling the iron scent of the room.
The walls are made of solid metal. There’s a door to my washroom, but no means of escape. No windows. It’s a cage of my making, and I step inside with a sigh of relief. My breath fogs in the chilly air.
“I’ll fetch you for breakfast,” Deirdre whispers.
“This will not happen again, Deirdre. Make sure of it.” It’s a fool’s request. We both know she’s as powerless to stop me as I am. We’re doing the best we can.
“As you wish, Sire.”
The door closes, and the locks turn. I lean against the door and release awhooshing breath.
Chapter three
Beast
Darkness.
Hunger.
Dread.
I rest.
Waiting.
Watching.
Sharpening my claws.
Chapter four
Nahla
First,it’ssweetnutcakeand a giddy string band. Then a lavish dinner with Brine nobility and a dance that drags past midnight. Flowers—flowers fucking everywhere. They hang from the ceilings, wrap around the banisters, and arch over every doorway. Enough pink, swollen blooms to clear the florist of her stock for the rest of the season. Their scent cloys like stale piss.
Everyone smiles. Everyone stares. And when the spotlight finds me, I twirl in my glittering gown, perfectly poised and drenched in applause. What a strange thing, to celebrate the departure of a talented way-maker. Don’t they know they need me?
This is my sister’s show, performative generosity to cloak years of emotional estrangement. The lights burn, her booze is bland, and my cheeks strain from smiling. If Winona wanted to please me, she’d leave me alone. Or at least give me a choice.
