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"Enver Sol," he whispers. "You sense him like you did outside Magikos Grammata, right?"
I'd almost forgotten about that incident, but when I'm reminded, I nod in confirmation. "This bakery was important to him." I turn to the clerk behind the counter, flashing a bright smile at her customers. "She called me Sylvane."
"Who is Sylvane?"
I shrug. "Not sure. I wanted to ask her, but she scurried off before I had the chance." I glance up at Nyx. "That should be a good sign, right? Like I'm on the right track to finding out who I am?"
He bobs his head once. "Probably." He offers me his arm. "The others are waiting to go to Stelara."
"Stelara?"
He grins and tugs me outside the shop where the carriage is waiting. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he twists me until I am facing the direction he wants me to look, and my breath is snatched from my lungs. "Stelara."
The castle at the end of the main drag looks like it was carved from one large block of ice. The icicle spires pierce into the sky and the outside shimmers like the sun hitting a snowy expanse. It beckons me, and I have no choice but to answer her call. I hop into the buggy sent by the palace and hum in anticipation of seeing the Frost Elf castle for myself.
The moment our carriage comes to a halt outside the two-dozen white stone steps leading to the front door, I jump out and stare straight up. I've never felt so small before. Castle attendants fetch our luggage, which isn't much, and we follow our Elvish guide up the steps. When we reach the front door, I admire the magnificent star carved into the white wooden door with ancient script arched around the top.
"I wonder what it says," I mumble when Finn makes it to my side.
He glances up and says, "It means, 'We do not beg, we never surrender. We die as we live, free and feared.' It's the motto of House Basilius."
"You know Elvish?" I ask, impressed.
He shrugs as if it's not at all worth mentioning. "Not enough to be fluent, but I've been here a few times and House Basilius is nothing if not proud about their bloodline."
Once inside Stelara, I'm left in a stupor. Though icy and cold in outward appearance, the interior is cozy and inviting. The design is so exquisite, it's nearly impossible to decipher where the white marble floors and walls meet. The grand foyer boasts an enormous crystal chandelier that twinkles like stars in the night sky. A deep blue runner glides over the glossy floors coaxing us down a long hall and up the grand staircase. With streaks of light beaming inside, the interior has a mystical blue tint and with arched ceilings, the castle gives off more of a cathedral vibe than a palace. Intricately carved pedestals house elaborately hand-painted ceramic vases filled with beautifully arranged white roses, blue hydrangeas and fresh eucalyptus in inset alcoves, and I fight myself from stopping the procession to the throne room just to smell the bouquets.
Fireplaces are lit in every room we pass by, heating the magnificently crafted castle. I could spend hours exploring and not find one ugly feature. Every single door we pass is white except the two misplaced blue doors down the hall to my left. When I ask our guide where it leads, he simply tells me, "The library," and I know where I'll be going the second I have a spare minute.
As we continue deeper into the heart of the palace, Enver Sol's presence strengthens to the point it's almost overwhelming. Tears prick my eyes, threatening to stream down my cheeks from the realization that he spent most of his time here in Elowen. Why, I still don't know, but what I do know, without a shadow of doubt, is that for the first time since I discovered my magic and true Frost Elf form, I am confident that the truth of who I really am dwells here. Someone in this city possesses the answers I crave, and I won't leave until I'm satisfied.
"Are you alright?" Atlas' concerned whisper tears me from my thoughts.
"I can feel him," I say softly, hoping no one else is paying too much attention to us at the back of the pack. "His presence is stronger than ever before."
"Who are you talking about?" He arches a brow and it's then I realize I haven't told him about my connection to the Celestial.
"Enver Sol," I say sheepishly, hoping he doesn't think I'm insane.
"You can sense the Father of Light?" When I nod, he mulls over my admission carefully, glancing ahead to make sure no one is trying to eavesdrop. He slows his gait and I match his pace. "How long have you been able to feel him?"
"As soon as I used my magic for the first time, I could sense him. It's grown stronger over the weeks and it's almost as if…"
He bumps me with his elbow, non-verbally asking me to finish what I was saying.
"It's as if he's showing me where he's been before, places that mean something to him." I glance around the hallway and motion with a swift hand. "But here his presence is so unmistakable that part of me thinks he might be on the other side of one of those walls waiting to meet me."
Though we're staring straight ahead at the enormous double doors at the end of the corridor, Atlas slips his hand in mine and squeezes. I don't need him to say it, I can tell by how firmly he grips my hand that he's reminding me that whatever we face here, we will face together, and that's enough reassurance to still my racing heart.
Before I'm really ready for him to, he releases his hold on me, and we follow the attendant into the Frost King's throne room. The blue runner ends at the foot of the dais which is nestled at the farthest end of the long room.
Upon the elevated platform, the Frost King, Armas Basilius, fills the throne carved from a block of ice with a frigidness that's as cold as a winter's day. His long, white hair is intricately braided and gives the appearance of an ancient warrior about to run head-on into battle to slay his enemies. With just one glance of his piercing grey eyes, I can tell he's shrewd and not to be trusted, but as frigid as his aura is, something in this grand room ripples with warmth.
Enver Sol was indeed here.
My eyes dart to my left when I detect movement. Seated in the six high back, white wooden chairs that line the blue runner leading to the Frost King, are six exquisitely dressed Frost Elves. Closest to King Armas is a male Elf with his elbow rooted to his armchair and chin propped in his hand. It is evident he'd rather be anywhere else but here and I can't say I blame him. The atmosphere teeters the edge of dangerous and makes my skin crawl. The bored Frost Elf's unbraided white hair falls to his mid-chest, and he bears a delicately woven silver crown across his forehead. Clearly, leaving his locks as is, without any adornment or braids, is a sign of rebellion of the smallest caliber. As if he senses I'm analyzing him, our gazes collide. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are cunning, and if I were a betting woman, I'd gamble the entirety of Midori's fortune that his mind was just as sharp. He doesn't entertain my stare long, focusing on an injured Prince Ronan approaching the king instead.
"Prince Ronan." The Frost King's deep, ethereal voice echoes throughout the room. "How good of you to accept our invitation on your father's behalf."
