Page 16 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Atlas watched his oldest friend, taking note of the way Veros poked at the hash and eggs with his fork, not realizing the yolk was running over the edge of the dish. Dropping the fork, he propped his elbows on the arms of the plush chair and interlaced his fingers together. His dark brows were pulled down and his gaze was drawn toward the arching windows where frost etched the shimmering panes of glass.
Gossamer drapes of gold framed the windows, doing very little to keep out the chill, the lengths of thin fabric whispering against the slate floor. Veins of gold ran through each stone, splintering off in different directions like streaks of golden lightning. Onyx pillars, so glossy one could see their reflection perfectly, rose to the towering ceiling to support beams of smooth ebony. Situated above the expansive length of table were two massive chandeliers—the crystals dangling from them tinkling lightly like an enchanting melody.
The corner of Atlas’s mouth curved.
He reached for an apple from the overflowing fruit bowl set in front of him, ran his thumb along its ruby flesh, then returned his focus to Veros.
Usually, conversation was easy between them.
But the line of consternation had deepened across his brow, and there was only one faerie who was always the cause of Veros’s disquiet.
Everinne.
Atlas tossed the apple into the air, caught it, then took a bite. “I take it you went to see your sister this morning?”
Veros nodded once, though his gaze remained trained on the gardens beyond the windows, where winter roses of ivory and silver bloomed, where stark trees stood, the remnants of their ruby leaves clinging to them.
“Yes. After your enlightening revelation last night, I figured something had to be done.”
It made no difference if Everinne had asked him to keep quiet on the matter. Atlas refused to keep secrets from Veros, and when they pertained to the well-being of his younger sister, then all bets were off. If it had simply been her performance on the chandeliers at the Grand Cru, he might have kept his opinions to himself. But the moment he’d caught her in the arms of Jarek Zima, he knew there was no way he could remain silent. Veros had to be informed—better he hear it directly from Atlas than some snobbish noble with nothing better to do with their time than spread rumors.
He bit into his apple again, chewing slowly. “And what did you decide?”
Veros adjusted the sleeves of his sweater, slowly rolling the cuffs. “I did the only thing I knew would get through to her. I took away her financial privileges.”
Atlas almost choked.
He grabbed a glass of water, chugging the cool liquid down to help dislodge the chunk of apple. Pounding on his chest with one fist, he cleared his throat. “Youwhat?”
Finally, Veros glanced over at him. But there was no humor in his gaze. “She’s spiraling, Atlas. You know it just as well as I do. I can’t sit back and watch her destroy her life while I provide the means to do so.”
He ran his fingers along the bottom of his jaw, easing back in his chair as a sense of melancholy fell around his shoulders, dragging them down. “If she wants to party and drink herself into oblivion in an effort to escape her fate, then she’ll do so on her own. Without my help.”
Atlas dropped his apple onto the table. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then raked them through his messy hair. He hadn’t expected Veros to take Everinne’s discipline so far. Truth be told, he thought he’d hand her another slap on her wrist, and she’d continue with her reckless ways.
“Veros, as much as I commend you for taking a stand, this will be a huge change to everything she’s known. Everinne hasn’t worked a day in her life.”
“She’ll learn.” His voice was cold and lacking empathy.
Atlas rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at him from beneath a swath of his unkempt blond hair. “You don’t think that’s a little harsh?”
Veros turned to face him, rapping his knuckles against the hardwood of the table. “What would you do if you were watching your sister become a shell of herself? If every day and every night, she was getting worse, becoming damn near unrecognizable? All because she’s too afraid to accept the magic coursing through her blood?”
Damn.
He made a valid point.
But still…
Atlas scooped his apple back up, pointing it casually in Veros’s direction. “You know she does it to avoid her nightmares.”
Veros slammed both of his hands on the table so abruptly, and with so much force, that the plates of food rattled and more than one grape tumbled to the floor.
“Nightmares she wouldn’t be having if she controlled her magic instead of allowing it to control her!” His chest heaved and he slumped in his chair, roughing a hand over his face. “Forgive me, Your Highness. That was out of line.”
Atlas scoffed. “Don’t you give me that royal title bullshit, Veros. You’re afraid for her. I get it.”
Hells, he was afraid for her, too.
