Page 4 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
Marching toward this room with a vengeance.
I grasped the sides of the coffin–ignoring the growing dread in my stomach at seeing the gold ornaments adorning it–and pushed myself out of it. I wobbled my feet onto the cold stone floor, holding onto the coffin to keep from crumbling into a heap.
A wave of nausea crashed over me, darkening my vision.
My limbs were heavy and uncooperative.
I was in a cold, strange place I didn’t recognize.
I was weaponless and powerless.
And the footsteps were drawing near.
I tried to blink the haze away to find something, anything to defend myself with. There was no chance whoever was outside that door was an ally.
Friends didn’t stuff each other in coffins.
No weapons displayed on the walls.
No poker near the fireplace.
Someone had readied this room to make sure I stayed helpless.
But a Vegheara always found a way.
With my shoe barely clinging to my ankle by a strap, I staggered toward the left, losing my footing twice. I grabbed the wine bottle and smashed its end on the table. A jagged, makeshift weapon was better than none.
This is what my Protectorate Clan training had come to. Broken bottles, bare feet, and bravado.
As the door opened, I reared back, holding the bottle like it was some legendary greatsword. My grip on it faltered as my eyes fell on the intruder.
“You,” I breathed, the word tasting like ice and intrigue.
Then, finally, I rememberedeverything–and wished I hadn’t.
Chapter
Two
ALLIE
The Clan wedding of the decade–which nobody understoodorwanted–shouldn’t have started with a secret meeting.
Yet here I was, pacing through our sacred Protectorate garden, attempting to talk reason into three obstinate men.
Well, two-and-a-half obstinate men. Uncle Maksim, despite pushing the weathered side of sixty years-old, was the most reasonable.
“This is madness.” The words scraped against my clenched teeth as my sea-blue gown trailed over the pavement slabs engraved with the Protectorate sigil. Some of the elders still thought they were protective runes in disguise, but nobody had managed to crack their mystery.
The whole of Sanctua Sirena pulsed with my Clan’s might in every emblem and embossed sconce, ever since Adriana “Dria” Vegheara’s time, centuries past. They kept this island secret andsafe. But right now, these sigils caught my heels, unbalancing me and aggravating me further.
Only about half the guests had arrived and everyone already whispered that this wedding was one of the worst ideas in Malhaven’s history.
The only one who refused to acknowledge that unavoidable reality was the bride and my cousin, Evelina “Evie” Vegheara. After missing for sixteen long years, she’d returned from what we’d all feared was the grave, and shocked us all once more by revealing she intended to marry Fabrian Bazin, arguably the worst Clan heir in Malhaven.
At least The Dragon, who ruled the Blood Brotherhood with steel and might, was a terrifying warrior. Rumors said his Commander, a man cloaked in secrets and shadows, was even more fearsome.
The Dragon was also the reason this wedding had to remain a secret until that blasted marriage contract was signed.
