Ice Shards - By Yasmine Galenorn Page 0,2

the demons is too dangerous for any of you to die.”

Smoky punched Roz in the arm, and not all that gently. “Good thinking, though I hate to admit it. But next time, I’ll take care of the worrying.”

“Easy, Dragon-Boy. I am not after your woman. She has three husbands, and there’s no room for me.” Roz arched one eyebrow, but now he was teasing and the tension slipped away. Though they had actually gone tooth and claw at one point, they were friends now. For the most part.

Camille shook her head. “No use arguing. They’d gang up on us.”

Feeling outnumbered—and loved—I laughed. “Not a problem, as long as we don’t miss our appointment with Howl. I’m not upset he spilled the beans.”

But inside, I was pissed at Roz for sticking his nose in where I hadn’t asked him to. I didn’t want anybody else knowing about this. The last thing I needed was for Asteria, the Elfin Queen, to look at me with a question in her heart. I had enough of those myself.

Trenyth seemed to sense my mood. He leaned toward me. “Lady Iris, Ar’jant d’tel—the Queen knows only that you are planning a ‘vacation’ to the Northlands. I did not tell her the reason and, unless it threatens security, I will not tell her. I give you my word.”

Relieved, I forced a smile to my lips. “You’re all right, Trenyth. I owe you one.”

“Just do what you need to do, and reclaim what is rightfully yours.” He lifted my fingers to his lips, gently kissing the top of my hand. A shiver ran through me and I gazed up at him, wondering just how much he knew.

Ar’jant d’tel. In the language of my childhood—the language of the Talon-haltija—it meant Chosen of the Gods, bound for great hope and responsibility. But the title had been stripped away with my honor and every hope I’d ever had. I opened my lips to protest, but one glance at his eyes—at his caring gaze—stopped my tongue. Trenyth believed in me. Could I do any less?

I let out a long sigh and nodded. “Thank you. And we gratefully accept your help. I’m afraid . . . but I have to do this.”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

MY NAME IS Iris Kuusi, and I’m one of the Talon-haltija, a Finnish house sprite. I was born for greater things. Chosen by the Temple of Undutar when I was very young, I was carried away, much like the young Dalai Lama, and raised to be a priestess. My destiny was to become High Priestess—to rule over ice and mist and fog as the handmaiden of a goddess.

My consort was chosen in much the same way. We were raised together, never questioning our destinies, accepting that we would rule over the Order until we were old, if our goddess willed it.

But shortly before we ascended to our posts—before the elderly Priestess let go and fell into her final, mist-shrouded sleep—something happened, and I left the temple under a cloud of suspicion, never to return.

For six hundred years, when winter sweeps into the land, I feel the chill of the snow in my heart, and in every shadow I see Vikkommin’s accusing face. And I wonder—did I commit the crime of which they accused me? The Elders never ascertained whether I was actually guilty. And in my heart, I do not know the truth. I don’t know if I’m a murderer, or whether I was framed . . .

*

“WHAT ARE YOU thinking about?” Roz tapped me on the shoulder. I gave him a slow smile, thinking that he, too, had seen a life of pain and torture. The gods were cruel in their play and fate unmerciful in her choices.

“I’m wondering what I’ll find. Whether I’ll be able to find the answers.”

Trenyth glanced over at me from his seat opposite mine. “I have every faith in you, Iris. I trust you are innocent. But you need to prove it, once and for all, to lift the curse and to move on with your life.”

I nodded. There was no going back, no turning around and ignoring it. I wanted to marry Bruce O’Shea, my leprechaun lover, and have children—a whole passel of them. I was still young, young enough to have the large family for which I longed. But until I could answer the questions as to what happened that night, the temple Elders had cursed me to forever be barren.

But what if I’m guilty? How will I live