Page 111 of Fated to the Frost King

“Nevara…”

She went rigid, her eyes swirling with shimmering light, faster than I had ever seen. Then she stumbled forward, and I tightened my grasp on her arm to keep her from sinking to her knees. Her hand fell away from mine, clenching into a slim fist as she shook her head back and forth. Whatever she was Seeing, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

But I was sure that Ineededto know.

Finally, the swirling stopped. She stood straighter, gently stepping out of my grasp. Her face was pure grief when she finally inhaled to speak.

“Thistlerun Keep has fallen. The monsters have taken it.”

Just like that, I felt it. The cracking of the ice. The raging river below, already dragging me under.

But I had been wrong. So, so wrong. Fate wasn’t coming for me.

It was coming for my sister.

Chapter 37

Everly

Iran.

Faster than I had ever run in my life, faster than when my mother unclasped manacles from my wrists and told me that speed meant my life. My muscles screamed in protest, pulsating beneath my skin.

Images flashed across my mind, so vivid they nearly blinded me from the path.

Wynnie’s gentle hands rubbing ointment into my scars.

Her pinkie curled around mine.

Her head thrown back in laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief.

My heartbeat pounded in step with each muffled footfall of my leather boots against the solid floors. A trail of blood marred the pristine white marble, spilling out from each point where my nails had pierced into my skin. I clenched my fist harder.

You can call me Wynnie.

But I was still so shards-damned far away from my suites. From Draven’s suites.

You’re the only sister I need.

Why had she waited for me to come to her?

Because she didn’t want to face me? Or because she was stalling me on purpose?

You want to save people you can’t.

No. Not Wynnie. She was not someone who couldn't be saved. She was the brightest light in this world, and I would not see it snuffed out.

I had to find my husband.

I followed the pulse of his mana to our wing of the palace, ignoring the stares of the courtiers I flew by. Guards shouted questions after me, but Lumen’s growl kept them at bay.

Just as I crashed through the doors to our entryway, Draven emerged from his rooms like he had sensed my arrival. His lips were parted, his shirt laces undone, his hair still damp from a bath.

I stopped just short of running into him, and he darted his arms out to steady me. One warm hand circled each of my biceps, grounding me enough to breathe.

“What is it, Morta Mea?” Draven’s gaze raked over me, searching my face, my arms, my body, looking for any sign of what might be wrong.

Ragged breaths escaped me, tears pricking behind my eyes.

---