Page 189 of The Edge of Darkness

Neither Auren, nor I got much sleep last night. And thank the gods for my staggering inherited ability to glamour because this entire wing of the guest house would have heard every moment of what kept us up.

Beyond sated, and donning a lazy smile, Auren tugged on her leggings, opting for an outfit that was very reminiscent of the one I’d first seen her in when she crossed The Veil. This morning, she and I were headed to The Elderwood, though I hadn’t told her exactly what we would be doing there.

Roirdan, Silas, Nivelle, and Remic left for Calledan an hour ago, so when I heard a knock on the door to the common area of our guest wing, my senses went on high alert. I stepped out of our bedchamber, shadows spreading from behind my shoulders, eager to intercept whoever was going to come through the door. From across the room, I watched the knob turn . . .

Vanir cautiously leaned inside, glancing around as if he would find something of concern.

Disappointed, my shadows sagged and returned to me as I grinned at my friend. “You act like you’ve walked in here to absolute chaos in the past.”

“I have.” Vanir chuckled.

“Oh?”

“Courtesy of your commander.”

“Ah. No need to explain, then.” I knew what that type of chaos consisted of: still half-inebriated females, a mess of clothing throughout the room, and lots of ale and wine. Things Roirdan was infamously known for after courtly celebrations. “Surprisingly, he called it an early night. I don’t even think he drank a flagon’s worth.”

Vanir lifted a suspicious brow. “That’s very unlike him.”

Indeed. And it probably had something to do with the witch. The two had been locked in some sort of battle ever since we arrived here—before that, even. But last night, we all saw that there was something more going on.

“Speaking of Roirdan,” Vanir said. “I’m here because I saw something.”

“If it had anything to do with him and Nivelle, I’m happy to remain in the dark about it.”

“Not that kind of ‘seeing.’”

Oh. He meant . . . “A vision?”

He nodded.

Vanir’s secondary power of foresight was weak, so weak in fact, that the time between what visions he did have was so vast, I couldn’t remember how long it had been since his last one. And whenever they did occur, they were so vague that none of us could ever quite figure out what they meant until hindsight revealed it to us. The things he saw all seemed to be more like metaphors for something bigger, leaving so much room for interpretation that it wasn’t worth troubling ourselves over.

Still, I wanted to know.

I picked up the abandoned book from the sitting area’s table and walked over to the bookshelf. “Tell me.”

“I saw Roirdan encased in ice. Ice that his lighting couldn’t break or melt.”

A chill prickled along my spine.

Ice? Why ice?

I turned to look at Vanir. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He sighed. “You know how these things go: nothing helpful, easy to misinterpret.”

“I don’t think I even know how to interpret . . . ice.”

Vanir rubbed at the back of his neck. “Neither do I.”

“Huh.” I slipped the no-name book back into the empty space on the shelf of court histories and leaned back against it, folding my arms. “I don’t know a thing that his lightning can’t destroy. Ice seems like it would be simple.”

“Perhaps the fault is mine. My mind is a bit . . . muddled. I did enjoy myself more than usual last night with all the revelry. Either way, the vision just seemed like something worth noting.”

“Did it seem like a warning?”

“No.”