Frost (Frost and Nectar #1)(75)

But I needed to speak to only one person right now, and that man was the king of the Seelie.

I HURTLED DOWN THE STAIRS. AERON SAID I’D FIND TORIN IN THE THRONE ROOM, ALREADY PREPARING

for his grand announcement.

This could be a ploy by Moria—a long con. Maybe she’d planted those journals. Maybe she was trying to force me to drop out. But I needed some answers.

And the thing that clawed at the recesses of my mind was that he’d taken me to the Temple of Ostara for a reason. A shadow of guilt had seemed to hang over him there.

Behind me, I heard Aeron’s footfalls as he followed me, pledging to keep me safe before the great announcement. Until I could wear a crown on my head and restore the kingdom to its former glory.

When I reached the throne room, a few people had arrived early and were standing around the edges of the hall. Torin sat in his throne, his face covered in shadow.

A long red carpet ran down the center of the stone hall, and as I moved closer to the king, my eyes flicked around the room. I wanted to speak to him alone, but I was supposed to stay away from him.

Did he know his touch was death?

And yet, for some reason, despite all his secrecy, despite what I’d read in the diary, I trusted him.

Underneath it all, I was sure Torin was a good person.

My green gown trailed behind me as I walked, but I probably looked little better than Moria had, my hair still damp and my expression grim.

Torin rose from his throne as I approached, his eyes locked on me. I wouldn’t say that he looked excited to see me, exactly.

As I ascended the steps of the dais, he leaned in and whispered, “What are you doing, Ava?”

“I need to speak to you alone.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t the time. Unless you want to renege on our bargain?”

I took a deep breath. “Moria told me about her sister,” I whispered as quietly as possible.

“Milisandia. She says you murdered her. Does that ring a bell, Torin?”

One look at the ravaged expression on his face, and I knew immediately that it was all true. My stomach sank.

“Why does she say your touch is death?” My voice was hardly a whisper.

But Torin didn’t answer me. He looked at me, his expression pleading.

Was this worth the fifty million?

Was it worth not being alone?

I wasn’t so sure anymore. I’d be returning home, poor, disgraced, and utterly alone, but at least I’d be alive. At least I wouldn’t be constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified that death was coming for me.

“I care for you far more than I should,” Torin murmured.

“And yet, you haven’t answered my questions.” Frustration rose in me, and I turned from him. As I did, he touched my arm.

I looked back at him. His expression was horrified, his cheeks pale. Shadows slid through his eyes, and my skin grew cold where his fingers grazed my bare skin.

He seemed frozen in place, staring in horror at his hand on my arm—and I couldn’t move a muscle, either. The air grew glacially cold, and I could feel the ice spreading in me.

Panic climbed up my throat as webs of frost spread over my arm, turning it white and blue. The arm of a frozen corpse…

Fear had its icy grip on my heart. Moria had been telling the truth.

“Stop it, Torin!” I shouted.

But as ice climbed over him, I didn’t think he could move. Hoarfrost swirled in strange patterns over his cheeks and forehead, and it spread out beneath his feet. His eyes were a deep indigo, nearly black, and filled with terror.

Behind him, ice climbed over the king’s throne. With a great crack that echoed over the hall, the ice splintered his throne like a glacier moving through a canyon.

“Ava,” he whispered. “The queen’s throne.”

My body felt like ice, and I tried to tear myself away from him, to run. Frost was climbing up my gown, icing my feet and legs.

Pain shot through my limbs, and I pulled away with all my strength, scrambling backward.

For a few terrifying seconds, I felt as if I were falling into an abyss, until I stumbled onto the hard stone throne.





35

A VA

T he hall was a scene of utter chaos—the broken throne behind the king, the frost spreading over the flagstones, and fae screaming.

The chill in my body started to fade, and an emerald haze filled my vision. When I inhaled, it was as if I’d been plunged into the depths of a forest. The scent of wet earth filled my nose, and I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, heard the calls of insects, the chirping of birds. Vines hung from the ceiling; moss covered the dais.

The vernal scene faded once more as the cold overtook me.

The granite throne was icy through the fabric of my dress. The frost was nearly at my thighs, my skin freezing.

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes.

A warm rush of magic flowed through my chest and limbs and into the stone beneath me. My body began to thaw, healing on the throne.

My back arched involuntarily. A summer sun kissed my skin, and the smell of wet moss enveloped me, until the throne itself seemed to dissolve beneath me, and I plunged into warm, clear water.

Home. Take me home.

It lived in the darkest recesses of my mind, imprinted on my soul, the place where I’d been born.