Page 8 of Clash of Storms
And you will never see me coming.
* * *
One last stop.Malin hurried through the shadowy hallways toward her chambers to fetch her warmest woolen cloak for the princess.
There was a parcel by her father's door.
It wasn't the first time she'd found an expensive book sitting on her doorstep. Every month there was a new one with her name written on the brown paper wrap, but there'd never been any hint of who'd gifted it to her. Malin looked around, but as usual, there was no sign of anyone. Sweeping inside her father's chambers, she rubbed her thumb over the swift scrawl of her name, then tore the plain paper wrapping off.
Inside was a book of Scandinavian myths, each page limned in gold, and the pictures elegantly painted with a fine hand. Vibrant red, green and blue pigments leapt off the page, the letters scrawled in an elegant hand. It looked like it ought to have been in the finest museum, or perhaps a king's library. Malin's breath caught. "Sweet Goddess."
It was beautiful.
Had Finn sent it to her? Malin frowned. No. He couldn't afford something like this. He was drekling. Ivan? It had been years since she'd told him to leave her alone, and Ivan's interest in her had only ever stemmed from her ties to the princess. She'd learned that almost too late.
But someone within the court left her presents.
Pressing her face to the book Malin tried to breathe in the scent of the person who'd touched it last, but all she could smell was book and leather, and the heavy dousing of a spritz of human cologne. He clearly knew how to cover his tracks.
She'd tried to catch her anonymous gift-giver many a time, but he seemed to move through shadows themselves.
"Malin, you have an admirer,"Tove had told her, when she showed her friend the book of fairy tales she'd received last month.
It was a ridiculous thought."If I had an admirer, then would he not have revealed himself? It's been years."
Why send them to her if he never intended to receive her thanks or show himself?
"I will find you one day," she murmured.
Whoever it was, they clearly knew her well enough to know what she liked most. Malin bit her lip as she reluctantly closed the book and crossed to the shelf that housed all the others.
As much as she wanted to examine each and every beautiful illustration, there was no time for this. She needed to return to the princess's chambers. "Later," she promised the book, before hurrying to fetch the cloak.
* * *
Perhaps it wasTove's words that made Malin tense as severaldrekiwarriors passed her along the way. Her skin crawled.
"Stop being melodramatic," Malin told herself, but that didn't halt the faint prickling sensation marching down her spine.
Nobody was looking at her.
Nobody knew she was smuggling leviathan blood in her corset.
Why then, did she feel like eyes watched her from every shadow?
A drift of scent curled around her as she almost reached Árdís's chambers. A familiar scent.
Oh no. Malin's breath caught as she realized what she'd been sensing, her ribs expanding against the tight wool of her gown as her steps quickened. Of course. No wonder she'd been on edge.
Something wicked this way comes....
Perhaps some part of her drekling nature caught his scent before the rest of him arrived, the primeval nature of a creature long trained to be prey bleating a warning, only to find it was too late to turn and run.
The Blackfrost himself.
No matter where she went at court, she caught sight of him at least once a day. A shadow glimpsed out of the corner of her eye; the sound of his voice in nearby hallways, soft and menacingly dangerous; the icy tang of frost mixed with a coppery scent.
Blood, no doubt. His hands ran red with it.
