“Then I will use your blood and theirs to imbue a spell.”
“What spell?” Izzy demands while Rhaela’s scales shimmer with barely contained tension.
“A spell that will work to eliminate Jonyk’s power over the Ice Court Caix. It will also keep the Caix from protecting him.”
“What do you plan to do once your spell is cast?” Izzy presses. Harai moves closer to her sister, their matching scales catching the light.
“I will take the throne and hold it until a better ruler appears.”
“You don’t want it for yourself?” I ask, surprised.
Ivrael gives a derisive snort that makes Uanna’s lips thin with displeasure. “No—I don’t believe Jonyk should be allowed to useit as a launching point for cruelty, but I don’t want any of its power for myself.”
Kila’s tiny voice whispers in my ear, “I don’t believe him.”
I don’t think Izzy does, either. She leans back, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. Her hand brushes against Rhaela’s, and neither pulls away.
But none of them saw him shift tonight.
None of them know what I know.
“Jonyk’s rule has brought nothing but corruption,” Vazor rumbles. “Perhaps it’s time for new blood.”
I wait for a moment, then make my own decision. “I’m in.”
Ivrael meets my eyes, golden sparks dancing in their icy depths as he nods. His gaze drops to linger on my mouth, and heat floods my cheeks.
“A wise choice,” Uanna murmurs, though something sharp glints in her pale eyes.
Izzy taps her slipper on the floor before nodding. “Thank you for explaining it. I’m in as well.”
Relief flashes across Rhaela’s fierce features before she schools her expression back to neutrality.
“Excellent,” Ivrael breathes, finally dragging his gaze from my lips.
“I do have one last question, though,” Izzy says.
“What’s that?”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
A predatory smile curves Ivrael’s mouth. “The firelords are supposed to begin arriving at the Ice Palace tomorrow morning.”
“Although tomorrow isn’t officially the first day of the summit,” Uanna adds, “it is nonetheless full of events designed to help the firelords and Icecaix become more comfortable with each other.”
Ivrael stands, adjusting his clothing with precise movements that speak of decades of aristocratic training.
“Are we leaving tomorrow then?” Izzy asks, unconsciously leaning toward Rhaela.
Frost crystallizes in the air as Ivrael’s court mask slides back into place. “Indeed. We will leave first thing tomorrow. You should all be prepared to depart by then. In the meantime, we’ll meet for more practice this afternoon and evening.”
“Yes, please,” Uanna says. “Their dinner manners remain atrocious.”
“Oh, yay,” Izzy mutters. “Another round of dinnertime quizzing over tableware placement. Should be great fun.”
“Ladies,” Ivrael says with a bow. Then he strides toward the door, leaving ice crystals dancing in his wake. Lord Vazor follows with his daughters, though Rhaela’s gaze lingers on Izzy. Uanna rises with fluid grace but pauses beside me.
“Do try not to die, dear,” she says sweetly. “It would be such a waste.”