Page 72 of Fated to the Frost King

It isn’t the same. Breathe, Evy.

“You’re shaking,” Draven’s voice pulled me from my thoughts with a jolt.

I didn’t look at him. “It’s cold.”

A beat passed.

“You’re a liar,” he said quietly, and I bristled.

“Well, you’re a sadist,” I bit back. “And if we’re comparing sins, I think you’ll find that yours weigh more.”

I didn’t look at him after that, just followed closer to the torturer-in-training as he waxed poetic with all of the recent facts he’d learned about the arcane.

“Mana isn’t just tied to the land. It was born of it,” he said, pitching his voice to sound more dramatic. “To tap into the raw, undiluted mana, mages must work deep underground, to channel the power of the crystals formed within the world’s hidden veins.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

I had seen my fair share of arcane chambers, each one buried deep beneath stone and shadow. My stomach sank, and I swallowed down another blinding wave of panic. The air grew more frigid the further we descended, thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient mana that mocked me for having none.

For being a Hollow.

I took a shallow breath, trying to imagine a scenario in which I left this chamber alive. Once the torture started, would Draven step in before it went too far?

Or would he find a way to cut his losses, free to move on and torment some new, functioning bride?

I bit back the bitterness coating my tongue and squared my shoulders as I crossed the threshold into the vast chamber carved directly into the mountain’s heart.

Eventually, we were led to an archway marked by twin braziers that burned with pale blue flame. A robed figure stood waiting, draped in deeper blues and grays, his silver-threaded sash heavy with age and rank.

The Elder mage bowed low. “Your Majesty. Had we known you were coming?—”

“Our discretion was intentional, obviously.”

Charming as ever.

The mage’s brows rose slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Then I assume this is a matter of urgency.”

Draven tilted his head in my direction. “She needs to be examined.”

The mage’s eyes slid to me and stayed there.

I didn’t fidget. I didn’t flinch, butshards, I wanted to spit in his face. Or stab him with the dagger I no longer possessed.

Instead, I lifted my chin. “Yes, apparently I’m in a dire mana emergency. Lucky you.”

The mage didn’t smile back. Of course he didn’t. These types never did.

“Very well,” he said smoothly. “There are chambers prepared. I will have you both escorted.”

Escorted. Shards. What a fancy word for dragged down to the seventh layer of hell.

Draven gave a nod. Batty squirmed beneath my cloak. My fists clenched again.

We started down another hall.

And I couldn’t help but think—as we descended deeper into the mountain, deeper into what was probably going to be a very dramatic mana reckoning—that every time I thought we’d reached a new level of horrible…

We found one more stairwell.

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