Soul of Ice

Chapter Fourteen

Even with the candle burning nearby, it was hard to read the faded text on the cover of the book. From what she could tell, the two books she'd nabbed from the forgotten library that served as the entrance to the rebels' hideout were history books. They were old and flaking and definitely priceless, with a distinct scent that could only come from age.

Astra shifted the candle she'd taken from the sitting room during free time, careful not to catch the books on fire. The pages were old, crinkly, and yellow from what she would guess years of disuse and ignorance. Individual letters, and sometimes entire words, were faded to the point of illegibility. When was the last time these books were even touched?

She perused the thicker of the two books, trying not to disturb the layers of dust as she went. She wasn't keen on getting her bed sheets covered with it and having to sleep on it.

The book was droll. It was a history of the three wraith guardians and told her exactly nothing she didn't already know. Besides, it was all ancient history anyway. The eldest, Streia of the Ice, the guardian of ice, had been killed centuries ago. The Flame, the guardian of fire, hadn't been seen in decades, save for that one sighting during a key battle in the war five years ago. And Solano, the guardian of wind, from what she'd heard, was staying quiet as well. He hadn't been physically seen in years. The age of wraiths had ended a long time ago.

She tossed the book aside. Useless.

The second book... Astra frowned as she scanned the pages.

It is my utmost belief the origin of the wraiths lie not in or from the power of the gods, but rather in a more ancient answer. Perhaps answers of the origin of wraiths can be found in an evolutionary divergence early in the history of man...

She flipped through the pages, picking out key words and phrases as she went. Just another opinionated piece of writing on the origin of wraiths without any factual basis. Just another book intent on separating humans from wraiths. Ridiculous. She tossed that book aside as well, blew out the candle, and rubbed her eyes, trying to relax, but the room was a cacophony of multiple people snoring. Gods.

Astra swung out of bed, hopping lightly onto the ground where she nearly tripped over what felt like a pair of someone's underwear. Gods. She was going to kill someone.

She kicked away the underwear, hoping it landed somewhere where its owner wouldn't find, and shoved her feet into those ugly, gray shoes and stalked out of the room. The hallway was empty. At least the guards for once had something better to do other than staring at the opposite wall for—

"What are you doing." Fuck. A second later, training kicked in. Astra looked upward and flashed a smile at the guard who was in the hallway she'd been about to turn into. Grimacing inwardly, she placed a hand on his chest—extremely well defined pectorals, her hand unhelpfully noted. Next to her hand hung a silver whistle.

She stared at it as she said, "Just looking for some night-time entertainment. It gets awfully boring around here, don't you think? I can't imagine having to stare at a gray wall for eight hours on end..." She had no idea what she was saying. The guard looked unimpressed, and Astra had to resist the urge to run; she'd never been good at the seducing part that some of the other agents had excelled at. They followed the 'fuck and kill' policy. Flirting was what she was better at, but when it came to being physical? She'd always more or less preferred the 'kill first' protocol.

Unfortunately, she'd probably be whipped or worse if she killed the guard.

"I know you," the guard said. His eyes narrowed. "Calayne Niemi. I'll need you to come with me so that we can pay the captain a visit." She slid the hand that was still on his chest down to his hip, getting an up close feel of his rock hard muscles that she really didn't want.