Yet lately it seemed that the gods were definitely not willing…
I watched Michelle pass the bottle to the first of three guards, praying that he would not clutch his throat and fall immediately. I imagined the guards springing away from Michelle, drawing their weapons, and blasting her with knives of ice. But instead the guard who drank from the bottle burst out laughing and then leaned closer to Michelle, clearly flirtatious. I was not made jealous by this. I was, however, jealous of how the gods seemed to favor this mortal woman in every situation she undertook. How was her luck so strong?
Another guard shoved the first and demanded that he relinquish the bottle, according to his body language. The first guard gave up the bottle, and the second and the third both drank deeply. The third offered the bottle of poison back to Michelle, but she raised her hands in the air and laughed. It was while she was laughing that the first guard collapsed.
The second and third guards drew their weapons. I moved forward, certain that this would end in bloodshed. Our cover had been blown.
But then, as quickly as they had taken the poison, the second and third guards also dropped to their knees and crumpled into the fetal position, leaving only Michelle still standing, one hand braced on her hip. Even when they had drawn their weapons, she had remained impervious.
I could see why the gods would favor her. I really could.
I left the ring of melted snow and dead grass to join Michelle at the front gate.
She turned to face me and smirked.
“Are they dead?” I asked as soon as I reached her.
“Who cares? Why don’t you give me a tour of our new castle, stud?” She furnished me with a wink and stepped over one of the guards to enter the sweeping foyer. I stared after her in disbelief. She hadn’t even considered what might become of us if the guards were to awaken in a matter of minutes with only a mild headache.
I stooped down and checked their pulses. All three were dead.
Grimacing, I stood and lunged after Michelle, who had strutted across the open marble floor of the foyer as if she really did own the place already. “We need to get out of sight,” I reminded her, wincing at the echo of my voice. “Come on.”
Off to either side of us were wide, carpeted stairwells, and I pulled her along the left one, which would lead to the royal family wing. If Nell was on the third floor, that would make the family wing a likely target to check first. If Lethe Eraeus had, for some reason, given her a bedroom, it was almost certain that bedroom would have been in the family wing. If it was in the chambers of the help, it would have been on the first floor.
“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and say it, this place is nice,” Michelle said as we rounded the second floor. Along the wall hung artifacts of victory the Aena dynasty had boasted over the years: the armor of soldiers, tapestries given to our family by other noble creatures, paintings of great leaders and advisors come and gone. And Michelle called it “nice.” But, coming from Michelle Ballinger of the Boston Ballingers, I had a sinking feeling that “nice” was about as full-hearted and genuine as her praise ever got.
We landed on the third floor, and I moved swiftly from door to door, stooping to gaze through every keyhole. Many of the rooms were empty. When I reached the master bedroom, however—the room my father and mother had shared my entire life—I heard the muffled back-and-forth of voices even before placing my ear to the door.
Inside were two ice dragons, and I recognized them both immediately. One of them was the son of beheaded Bram Eraeus—the insurgent leader of the ice people, Vulott Eraeus. I had never met the man before, but my father had spoken of him on occasion, comparing him to a starving white wolf. Vicious. Desperate. Cold. The other “man” in the room was his son Lethe… the would-be prince. Of course, I recognized him from my own magical mirror… the same mirror in which I had witnessed him passionately kiss my beloved.
Their conversation was heated.
“—give up on the past several decades of my life?” Vulott demanded. “We prepared for this, my son. We bled to bring our dreams to life. And now you wish to turn the throne of The Hearthlands into a mockery?”
“It is not a mockery!” Lethe insisted, his pitch childish in comparison with his father’s. How could Nell have kissed him? “If it’s a mockery to the throne to marry a human—no, not just any human, but Nell, Penelope, Penelope O’Hara, that is her name—then—then why was Theon going to do it? He must know something about her that you do not!”
My throat clutched. Marry her? Lethe wanted to marry Nell? He had barely known her for two days! The boil in my gullet intensified.