The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(84)

“Oh,” Celine realizes with a start. “You’re an ethereal, like me. Forgive me for not making the connection sooner.”

He snorts. “Alas, I am not like you, princess. I am not the direct descendant of the Lady of the Vale, nor can I claim to possess a drop of fey royalty in my blood.”

She frowns, then takes hold of my wounded arm as Arjun prepares to shove the arrowhead through to the other side. “I haven’t really been injured before the events of several months ago.” Her frown deepens as she looks at me. “And I can’t remember feeling horribly ill as a child.”

Arjun grins. “I’d wager that makes you feel even guiltier,” he says to me.

“Were you always such a prick, or—” My insult is swallowed by a howl of pain as Arjun pushes the silver arrowhead through my biceps.

“Relax, beta,” he croons in an accent I’ve never heard him use before. “Or it will leave a scar.” A moment later, the entire arrowhead plinks to the ground, drops of bright blood trickling in its wake. Celine sets to work wrapping the wound in remnants of my shirtsleeve.

“Why doesn’t silver seem to bother us as it does Bastien?” Celine asks Arjun while she works.

“Silver is the Vale’s weapon against the creatures of the night,” Arjun explains. “Those of the Wyld use iron to fend off attacks from the Vale, though neither silver nor iron will cause an ethereal harm, on account of our mortal blood.”

Celine nods, her expression pensive. “And what would happen if fey royalty of the Vale were to . . . fall in love with fey royalty of the Wyld?”

Though Arjun is taken aback by her question, he takes pains not to show it. “It doesn’t happen,” he replies gently. “It would never be allowed. Ordinary gentry are exiled forever for such a crime. Branded blood traitors.”

With a curt nod, Celine finishes tying the last of the bandages. Not once has she looked at me during this exchange. It is a bitter comfort to know she understands the full weight of the situation. The daughter of Lady Silla of the Vale would never be permitted to form an attachment to the immortal heir of Nicodemus Saint Germain.

I brace myself before I take to my feet. Then I reach for Celine’s palm to help her stand.

“We should keep moving before the twig creatures return,” I say.

“Yes,” Celine agrees, her voice soft. Tinged with sadness.

Arjun rolls his eyes as he washes the blood off his fingers with a handful of snow. “I said that ten minutes ago.”

Celine quirks a brow at him. “No wonder Pippa dislikes you so. You really are an insufferable know-it-all, Arjun Desai.”

“Who will die happy with the knowledge that Philippa Montrose talks about me behind my back,” Arjun teases.

She laughs. “Bite your tongue and lead the way.”





ARJUN





They were close. Arjun knew it. He’d heard tell of this part of the Wyld. It was how he knew to direct them toward the silent, ice-capped mountain at the heart of the wintry land. The same mountain that, years ago, had provided those of the Wyld with such untold wealth.

Still Arjun was unprepared for the sight.

The Ice Palace rose from a large clearing deep in the forest of skeletal trees. Its blue turrets reflected the moonlight, causing the entire structure to glow. Ghostly fey roamed beneath its parapets in tattered rags, many of them hoping to beg for scraps from whatever warlord currently ruled the roost.

As the trio neared the edifice, details began to emerge. Many of the castle’s crenellated walls were chipped near the top from where birds with beaks of solid ice had pecked at them. No one stood guard outside the lowered drawbridge, positioned over a river of solid ice, its surface frozen into sharpened crags that would impale any creature unlucky enough to plunge toward it.

From a distance, the castle looked grand. Up close, it was anything but. The neglect was obvious. A stark contrast to the polished warmth of the Summer Court of the Sylvan Vale.

All three of them kept their hands on the weapons concealed in their cloaks as they crossed the drawbridge.

Celine stifled a scream when they strode into the courtyard. To the right was a pack of ice jackals feasting on the carcass of a black horse with wings like those of a giant bat. Her scream was not merely because of the sight of blood and carnage or the smell of salt and iron and shredded entrails.

It was clear the horse was still alive. Its red eyes blinked slowly, the breath wheezing from its throat.

For an instant, Arjun’s thoughts drifted to Jae, who’d been locked in a silver cage on Nicodemus’ orders two nights ago. True to form, Nicodemus had been quick to pronounce his sentence: the final death. Jae’s siblings had protested, Hortense most vehemently. As a result, Nicodemus had agreed to stay Jae’s execution for a few days to give them time.

Though Arjun did not delude himself to think that mercy was in the cards for the Court of the Lions’ erstwhile assassin.

Without a word, Celine glided forward and offered the dark horse much-needed mercy, using the short dirk in her hand. The ice jackals reared back and began yipping at her in fury. Their eyes glowed white, their maws covered in bright red blood.

Bastien pulled her close as Arjun brandished the silver blade in his hand. “Easy, now. No one wants to wind up a puddle in the castle courtyard.” He took a step back, directing Bastien and Celine to move in his shadow. His foot nudged something as he moved. Arjun reached for a discarded bone and threw it over the horse’s carcass. The jackals leapt for it and were soon distracted by the ensuing frenzy.