Page 137 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I nod, and he takes my mitten-covered hand in his, leading me east, away from the unpacking. Jaro tucks me under his arm, arrowing us so that his body is between me and the worst of the waist-high snow. With his size, he finds it easy to traverse, but I’m not so lucky, stumbling and tripping through, until, with a wry grin, he lifts me up onto his shoulders.
“Jaro!” I squeal, completely unprepared to be so high, so fast.
“You okay?” The concern in his voice melts any annoyance I have. “I know you could fly, but I don’t want your wings to get cold.”
Neither do I, which is exactly why I’ve happily suffered them being buried under the heavy cloak for most of this trip.
“This is better,” I agree. “Though I still can’t see through the fog.”
It’s thicker than soup, and it doesn’t seem to be shifting any time soon.
Still, the farther we go, the more rooms seem mostly intact. We come across a half-toppled tower, then a kitchen with the roof caved in, and finally, a slightly less damaged section of the castle.
“Apparently, even Cedwyn wouldn’t risk the ire of the Goddess by destroying one of her shrines.” A cold voice echoes from our left, drawing my attention to a tall, daunting silhouette emerging from the same direction. “We wondered when you’d get here…”
My heart stops as a familiar figure with bronze skin and dark hair comes into view. Shock renders me mute, and my hands clench in Jaro’s hair, but I fight past it and the swift blooming hope in my chest to choke out a single word.
“Bram?”
The figure before me stiffens, then moves closer. As he does, I realise he’s not wringing his hands. Not looking carefully around for threats. Even his eyes seem lighter—unburdened.
Jaro, sensing that this is a conversation I don’t want to have from atop his shoulders, lets me down gently, putting me between him and the newcomer.
This male is almost identical to the brother I lost, but it’s not him, and the realisation slays me all over again. My heart crumples a little where it had just begun to heal, and my throat thickens until I can’t speak.
Those familiar dark brows crease with sadness and more than a little sympathy.
“Not Bram, my lady. You can call me Roark.”
Now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. The little differences in the confident way he holds himself and the breadth of his shoulders. Oh, and the giant great sword strapped to his back that must be as tall as I am. They must have shared a father, and I make a mental note to ask Florian to see a portrait of our mother and her mates when we return home.
If home is still standing.
“My mistake.” I try to smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I wish it were under better circumstances.” He steps forward, wading through the snow with ease. “I must speak with you. Things are happening at Calimnel, and the King…” He trails off, looking over his shoulder. “It would be best if we could discuss it alone.”
“Of cour?—”
Jaro puts himself between the two of us sharply. “No brother of the Nicnevin would ever ask her to put herself in danger without one of her Guard there.”
“It is for her ears only.” I don’t miss the way Roark’s hands come to rest on his belt. It’s too casual a move. Too deliberate.
Evidently Jaro thinks so too, because a golden shield flashes into being.
“Drop the glamour, assassin.”
Roark’s face twists into one of indignation. “Why would you even think such a?—”
A blade protrudes through his sternum before he can finish the sentence. Another lies against his neck.
Lore appears behind him, white hair and red eyes making him appear as some snow demon come to life.
“Oooh! Pet, you got me a present?”
Roark—or whoever is impersonating him—stills, eyes widening slightly.
“Can I peel off his mask with my knives?” Lore croons. “I bet he’d sing all his secrets.”
