Page 200 of The Edge of Darkness

And there was clearly still some sort of wound there when it came to Auren.

“Well, as we discussed,” Laurent said, “you’re welcome to stay as long as you need or want. But if it’s going to be longer than another couple of weeks, I’m going to have to see about getting you fitted for your own wardrobe because Senna will have a fit knowing I’ve loaned out all my good coats.”

Breck pretended to laugh, but I caught the wariness in it.

Was he that worried about what I thought of him?

Maybe I should say something to ease his mind. After all, he had stood up to Killian for Auren. For all of us.

“You’re welcome in my court as well, Breck. You’re not a burden.”

Something in his expression lightened, but not wholly. He dipped his head in a stern nod and tucked his hands behind his back as his focus shifted to the ground. He obviously didn’t want to travel any further down this road right now.

Laurent gave him a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll continue our conversation later. Please make yourself at home while Niall and I have a chat.”

“Certainly.” Breck turned on his heels and strode back down the hall.

“Is he all right?” I asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

Laurent ran a hand through his thick hair. “For the most part. Just a little lost at the moment, I think.”

I nodded. That was understandable.

“So, about this ‘secret business’ you mentioned . . .” He extended an arm, and I gave him a wary look as I took hold of it, earning a light laugh from him as we ported.

The chamber we arrived in was set further within the glacier, where the icy walls were so deep blue, it looked as if we were beneath the sea. I’d been to this room once before, when we were last on the brink of war and my father had sent me as his messenger to relay information to Laurent’s father. Nothing about it had changed except the placement of the furniture and the overabundance of candles that made it feel more like a prayer chamber than a war room. The aesthetic was surely due to Senna’s delicate touch on the place.

Laurent leaned back against the crude, ice-sculpted table, ready to listen. I told him about what had happened with Auren, how Lyceius had summoned her through a dream. How Drastia’s army, like Vahrenhall’s and Benmoor’s, needed to be prepared to move at a moment’s notice.

“But that’s not the main reason why I wanted to come here today,” I said.

He grinned, lifting a knowing brow. “Are we about to do something no one else is aware of?”

“Something like that.” I took a small piece of parchment from my pocket and handed it to him.

He unfolded it and stared down at the image Aremis had sketched for me. “A gift for your mate?”

“A decoy for a goddess.”

Fully intrigued, he lifted his eyes to me. “I’m listening.”

I’d sent missives after Skadi’s manifestation at my northern gate, so Laurent, as well as the other High Lords, knew of the threat she posed, both alone and at Lyceius’s side. But as I explained to him the significance of the amulet and what it contained, the urgency and depth of the matter seemed to solidify in his mind.

“This is where your power comes from?” he asked, studying the depiction of the amulet.

“Somehow, yes.” There was a long pause. “Can it be done?”

“Forging a jewel in such a convincing way that it will deceive a goddess?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Easy.”

The place Laurent had brought me to was part of the Ancient Fae tunnels, bored deep within the glacier beyond the castle. It was the site of one of their most prominent forges, used to create all sorts of Drastia’s enchanted objects—objects that could produce heat without melting the surrounding snow and ice.

The walls of ice were so thick, their natural blue coloring looked black, and the splintered hairline cracks within appeared as silvery striations. It was enchanting, and one could easily get lost down here and never find their way back.

Luckily, Laurent knew the tunnels like the back of his hand, as most of his childhood was spent running the span of the long, cold corridors, and learning from Drastia’s Elder how to properly wield ice from water—the most difficult of all the elemental compounds to control, given that it tends to manifest in erratic forms.

We found that same Elder huddled over a table in a small room, spooning some sort of substance into a glass beaker. His spectacles were about two sizes too large for his face, but beneath them, his eyes were bright and lively. He wore a thick, gray, fur-trimmed coat that matched the color of his neatly-styled hair. Taller than both Elspeth and Amarna, he was an enigma when it came to the Ancient Fae. One would think he was more closely related to the modern fae, if it weren’t for his wings.

The forge was his home. Centuries upon centuries of creating magical objects was his forte. Which was exactly why I had come to Drastia for this task. Anyone could imbue magic into something, but to create a convincing enough replica of an amulet that contained a god’s power . . . That would require a special touch.