Quill of Thieves

Chapter 22

"Do you hear that?"

From his post beside her, Melvin tapped his heel to the beat of the music emanating from the string quartet. The players had started up again only moments before, and it did nothing to improve Abel's mood. Though Melvin's left boot moved in time with the dancers, he kept his watchful gaze trained on Sebastian who had been twirling in far-too-close of an embrace with the supposed princess of Rainier.

A princess that hadn't existed until it had been convenient to have one.

Abel half-wondered if Queen Davina hadn't made up that little shocker of an announcement: a hidden daughter, a secret Salvera heir. Abel had been there that day, coercing her way to the front of the crowd to hear the proclamation in hopes of finding Sebastian. And she had found him, she supposed, but he had looked sorely different to her. In fact, he had somehow looked far more at ease by Queen Davina's side than her own so-called daughter had. More at ease than he'd ever appeared on a boat, at least.

However, she couldn't deny Astrid shared shockingly similar features with the queen.

Melvin's boot stopped tapping as the song changed tempo. Abel frowned across the dance floor where Sebastian stood, now alone, though a few guests lingered close by, hoping to catch another impromptu performance. A hot feeling tore through her. Not anger, precisely. Something more poignant. Sharper. Envy. Jealous over the fact that Abel had missed the most exciting thing to have happened on this night thus far. All her life she had dreamed of magic, of the myths and fables of older realms, and now her only friend in the entire realm had erupted in flames at a royal ball, and she had been weighed down in a guard's uniform, unable to push her way through the crowd fast enough.

Why must the elemental gods and goddesses be so unfair?

Her skin itched beneath the cool, heavy armor. Abel huffed and then grimaced as the shrill sound she had heard just seconds earlier intensified.

Melvin glanced at her when she winced and bunched her shoulders up around her ears. He immediately shifted his stance. "What is it?"

"You don't hear that?"

She cocked her head, trying to follow the fissure of the un-godly sound. She took a step closer to it, the shrieking coming from...beneath the ice? It sounded as if a thousand prisoners were trapped under there, screaming, and Sebastian was caught up in the midst of it.

Something popped.

Her hawk's eyes—as Sebastian often called them—turned automatically to the smoldering swan ice sculpture. But it was now just a puddle, and the cracking noise was not coming from that.

Crack, snap, pop.

Abel's hand jumped to her shoulder, searching for the curve of her bow, but it came up empty. Instead her fingers scrabbled against the hard scales of her chest plate. She swore, remembering General Lyons had confiscated her weapons and had refused to give her any others until further notice.

"Melvin, something isn't right."

But Melvin was already halfway across the glass-like ice that was suddenly splintering into pieces.

One of the outrageously dressed guests screamed as the icy floor popped again, sending sharp fragments of it flying across the square.

The frivolous evening descended into chaos in a matter of seconds.

Abel pushed past fleeing dancers to go after Melvin, but being unaccustomed to the armor's bulk, it slowed her down. Growling at herself, she urged her legs faster. She had half-a-thought to shuck off all the added weight, stripping down to her underclothes. It would probably scandalize the older guests in attendance, but she'd be able to move, at least. As if he were beside her, she heard Sebastian's calculations of how much time it would take to ditch the guard's armor—five seconds to unlatch the chest straps, though add an extra second and a half due to the overlapping scales.