“Stop!”
I turned toward him, examining his arm, but it was already healed.
His laugh was breathless as he guided my eyes to his, tilting my head with his fingers.
“Do you worry for me, my sweet?” he asked.
“What a ridiculous question,” I said.
This time his laugh was deeper, and he bent to kiss me gently before we returned to Shadow on the other side of the tree line. When we emerged, we found his black stallion quite a distance away, and when Adrian called to him, he snorted, pawing at the ground with his hoof.
“What is he doing?” I asked, glancing at Adrian.
His expression told me everything I needed to know—something was wrong. There was a part of me that did not want to know what Shadow had found. I wanted to live in the blissful moment we had created a little while longer, but we found ourselves moving toward the horse, who seemed even more unsettled the closer we came.
Then I noticed the acrid and unmistakable smell of death and my dread grew. Had we found what remained of Dracul’s men?
Adrian reached for the reins, attempting to calm Shadow, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw what lay at his feet. There was a ring where the grass was flattened beneath the mangled corpse of an owl.
Its feathers had once been white, but now they were flecked with blood, most of it dripping from its wide, round eyes.
I took a step back.
“What is that?” I asked.
I looked at Adrian. His eyes had gone dark, and his jaw popped as he clenched his teeth.
After a moment, he answered. “The correct question is who,” he said, and then met my gaze. “Her name was Ivka.”
Fifteen
Isolde
Adrian removed his cloak and gathered Ivka’s remains. We did not speak on our return to the Red Palace, and anxiety tumbled around in my chest. I felt guilty that I was so afraid of carrying an owl home even though she was one of our own, but it was like bringing death to our kingdom, and I agonized over the consequences.
I had not considered asking Adrian what kind of shifter he had sent to scout my homeland, but if I had known, I would have refused to send her, too afraid of what might become of her—or even my people—on the mission.
I hung my head, heavy with guilt. No matter what kind of animal, Ivka was still one of Adrian’s soldiers. She was one of our people, and I knew that not even my fear of owls explained why she had died.
Adrian was quiet when we arrived, and he waited for me to dismount before he spoke.
“I must take Ivka to her brother,” he said.
I swallowed hard, nodding. “Of course. When will you return?”
“Sundown, likely,” he said. “Before the festivities begin.”
We stared at one another for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “I do not blame you. It was my choice to send her.”
But it was my insistence that had pushed him.
Adrian mounted his horse again, and as he took up his reins, he said, “This is not a night to venture beyond the gates. Stay within the castle walls.”
Then he left, spurring Shadow down the hillside, disappearing from view, and I closed my eyes and spoke words into the air that I hoped were more of a spell than a prayer that he would be safe.
***
I found myself wandering into the kitchens, a place I had never been. Like many rooms in the castle, this one was cavernous. The doors, windows, and ceiling were all rounded, and a large iron chandelier hung over two long tables positioned before a great hearth that raged with fire. A man stood at one table, kneading loaves of bread. Violeta and Vesna sat at the other, along with Killian, who was the first to notice I had arrived.
He stood quickly.
“Isol—my queen,” he stammered.
My ladies-in-waiting also stood and bowed, and the cook, who was a large, older man, whirled, face glistening with sweat as he clumsily bowed.
“My queen!” he said and began wringing hands. “I hope you have been pleased with your meals. Is everything to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said and smiled. “What is your name?”
This time, he offered an exaggerated bow. “I am called Cyril.”
I smiled at him, and then my gaze shifted to the table where Killian, Violeta, and Vesna sat, noticing a variety of strange supplies spread out before them—sticks, paper, twine, and berries.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Lanterns,” said Violeta. “To scare away the demons!”
Her tone changed, and I could tell she was joking. I admired the fact that she did not seem to fear Winter’s Eve the way I had for so many years.
“May I join you?”
There was a part of me that did not wish to stay because I did not want to interrupt their fun. I recognized that my presence was not the most comforting, even to those who worked for me or knew me well. Still, I did not wish to be alone to worry over Adrian.
“Of course!” Violeta said.
After I was settled, Killian sat beside me and returned to his project.
“It appears your lantern has melted,” I said.
“That’s because he doesn’t listen to instructions,” said Violeta.
“Or you are really bad at giving them,” Killian countered, smirking. I found it amusing that he was making lanterns. I had expected to find him training or in Cel Ceredi busying himself with errands.
“That is rude, Commander Killian,” Violeta said, feigning offense.
“I quite agree,” I said.
“You are not allowed to take sides until you try to follow her instructions,” said Killian.
“Fine,” I said and took up a set of sticks. “Instruct, Violeta.”
She did, happily, using the sticks and twine to create a frame to which she glued a thin sheet of paper that she had dyed with colorful berries. When she was finished, she placed it over a lit candle on the table, demonstrating how it glowed.
“That seems easy enough,” I said, glancing at Killian.
He stuck out his chin. “Let’s see it then.”
I took that as a challenge and started work on my own lantern.
“Why are you making so many?” I asked.
“We’re taking them into Cel Ceredi to give them to the villagers to place in their windows tonight,” said Vesna.
“I do not understand why you cannot just use candles,” Killian said.
Violeta rolled her eyes. “Candles are hardly as decorative.”
“Winter’s Eve is not about celebration,” he said. “It is about surviving the night.”
She laughed. “Tonight is no different than any other. We have only given it a name.”
“You are wrong,” he said, his playfulness gone, and Violeta looked stricken by the sudden change.
“In Lara, this night is feared,” I explained quickly, glaring at Killian. “We do very similar things—hang the blackthorn and the thistle. We even burn garlic and candles all night, but it is for survival, not celebration.”
“What are you afraid of?” Vesna asked.
“Demons,” I said.
After that, the jovial and carefree conversation was replaced by a grim silence. It weighed on me and gave way to thoughts I’d hoped to keep at a distance, at least until Adrian returned safe, but now I thought of Ivka and Dracul and his men we had yet to find. I thought of the mortals, all men and boys, who had died with bleeding eyes. There was no pattern to the plague, just as there had been no pattern to the crimson mist, which made me think that Lothian and Zann were right, and perhaps it had morphed into this deadly disease.