A Crown of Ice and Fury, page 21
part #1 of A Crowns of Magic Universe Series Series
I flew towards her. “Astril!”
Her hearing, as impeccable as ever, caught my shout. She located me, and I waved her over. A blur came my way, and a second later, the vampire was there.
“What?”
“Isolde is over there, keeping the King of Dergia alive, but barely. She needs you to give him blood.”
“We do not make it a custom to share our blood.”
My shoulders hardened. Isolde was no normal person, but a princess. Their princess who one day might be a queen. “I do not expect you to help the entire army, but if you do not do as she asked, I will rip you apart.”
The vampire scowled, but gave a single nod before she disappeared, her blur of motion heading for my mate. I followed, and when I arrived, I found Astril’s wrist already pressed against Isolde’s lips. My stomach clenched. In what little time I’d been gone, Isolde’s cheeks had paled.
Upon seeing me, Isolde released the vampire’s wrist and took a long breath. “See to the king.”
“Will he be fine with it?” Astril asked.
“Do it,” Thordur said, his tone raspy. “Do it, please.”
At the prince’s plea, the vampire stalked over to the dwarf king, knelt, and assessed the damage.
“I’ll have to apply blood to the wound first. Then have him drink. My blood won’t heal all this damage, or even ensure the wound stops bleeding during the journey home. This damage is far too great.”
“He must survive,” Thordur said. “That’s all I ask.”
“Very well. Remove the shadow bind so I can apply blood. You’ll have to reapply it afterwards to be safe, but take the rest while you can.”
Isolde did as the vampire asked, and the effect on my mate was instantaneous. She sucked in air and stood straighter. I went to her side as Astril worked, dripping blood over the king’s wound.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Weak,” she admitted. “She’s right that the injury is extensive. I wouldn’t have lasted the whole way back.”
I pulled her close.
“But if she can stabilize him enough and stop the bleeding, I think the bind to keep the wound from re-opening will be minimal,” Isolde continued, seemingly trying to convince herself as much as me. “I’ll ask Thyra to help too, when necessary. And of course the healers, though I think they’ll need more supplies than we brought.”
I cast a glance at the battle. Or, more accurately, the lack of fighting. Not a single giant remained standing, leaving a relative hush where their roars and bellows had been.
We’d won, but we weren’t out of the dark yet.
“Burning seas, what happened?” a groggy voice came from behind.
Isolde pulled away just enough so that we could both see Sayyida rise to sit with Qildor’s assistance.
“I’m almost certain the fall severely strained some muscles in your arm. Maybe even fractured or broke a bone,” the knight said. “It’s already heavily bruised. Take care.”
“Fates,” I muttered. How many more dire injuries would there be?
Isolde let out a long sigh, mirroring my inner turmoil. “You should go help the others. See if anyone else needs stitches or the like. I’ll be fine here.”
I kissed her forehead, knowing she spoke logically, even if I hated to let her go. “I’ll flag down Rynni and send her over. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
I squeezed her hand one last time, and in the last light of day, went to assess the damage.
Interlude
PRINCE RHISTEL AABERG, HEIR TO WINTER’S REALM, HOUSE OF THE WHITE BEAR
The heir of Winter’s Realm wrinkled his nose as he stepped on to the dock.
“By the dead gods, what is that smell?” Rhistel asked no one in particular.
“Grindavik is a port city. Fae fish here,” the king replied dully, as if he were sick of his son’s attitude.
Rhistel bristled. Days ago, they’d left Avaldenn, and his father had been testy throughout the voyage. Likely because the king had left his capital in the hands of Lord Roar.
Or perhaps his father had noticed that, after their rough first meeting, Érebo and Rhistel actually got on quite well. Two pages of the same book, or so Rhistel thought. There was really something to be said for an ally who had seen so much. Knew so much. Rhistel could not help but respect the ancient male.
Currently, however, the Shadow Fae king’s existence remained a secret known to only Rhistel, his father, Lord Roar, and others of the royal high council. Those who commanded armies. But soon, after they released the news of Isolde and Thyra wielding shadows, King Érebo would have to out himself too. When he did, how would the people of Winter’s Realm take it, small-minded as so many were?
And after they’d defeated the Falks, would Érebo try to take what belonged to the King of Winter as he and his queen had done millennia ago? Like the shadowy fae though he did, the heir thought such deception very likely. Perhaps it was that which had his father in such a foul mood too.
But instead of worrying, Rhistel waited. Considered. Learned more of their new ally. And most important of all, he kept to the plan.
If his father was smart, he’d do the same. Pity that, Magnus Aaberg, for all the tales and rumors told about him, had never been known for his intelligence. He was smart enough, certainly, but Rhistel and Saga had inherited most of their intellect and their powers of the mind from their mother.
Speaking of Mother.
Rhistel took in the queen, trailing behind them, walking next to the Shadow Fae King dressed as one of their Clawsguard until they entered the Ithamai’s castle and revealed his true name. The queen’s face was blank, her eyes empty. Shackles wrapped around her ankles, placed there moments ago specifically so the fae of Grindavik would see them. The prince had been vigilant when it came to containing his mother.
He would never forgive his mother for what she’d done to him. How she’d made him impotent and would have stolen away his birthright. How she’d faltered and forsaken family and duty all because of guilt.
“What do you think of the smell, Mother?” he asked even as he gave her the command of how to respond.
She locked eyes with the nearest sailor, who appeared stunned that a queen was even breathing the same air as him. “Disgusting.”
The sailor’s face fell, but he didn’t deny it. Just nodded and bowed his head. Weak, like so many that Rhistel came across were.
Beside Rhistel’s mother, the Shadow King’s lips twitched upward ever so slightly.
“Stop,” the King of Winter muttered loud enough for Rhistel to hear.
No matter his growing annoyance, the prince did as the king commanded. If only because Lady Ithamai was approaching, and they needed the might behind her house.
Mother, Rhistel commanded. Look repentant.
“Lady Vaeri,” the king said as they met with the Warden of the East.
“Welcome to Grindavik, Your Grace. Your Highness.” She curtsied to the king and her prince, but Rhistel did not miss when the high lady’s eyes narrowed upon the queen. Lady Ithamai still did not know that Queen Inga was a whisperer, but thanks to Vale’s proclamation of their parentage, she had heard of the queen’s infidelity with Lord Riis. When Lady Ithamai asked, the king had confirmed the betrayal, though not addressed it publicly. Soon that would have to happen, but not until Rhistel’s plan was completed.
“You did not have to meet us at the docks at this early hour.” The sun was only just rising at their backs.
“It was the least I could do, Your Grace,” Lady Ithamai said. “After all, you allowed me to return home to see that my daughters were safe. My sleigh awaits us.”
“Many thanks,” King Magnus replied.
Not bothering to listen to the chatter that began as they walked to the sleigh, Rhistel wondered if the brothel that he’d visited last time was still open. Should their visit here go on longer than expected, he might patron the establishment again. See if that nymph was still around.
He began dreaming of slipping between that lovely fae’s legs when a shout from a nearby crowd drew his attention. Two males, a faerie and a dryad fought with their fists. A crowd gathered nearby and took bets. Rhistel snorted at the debauchery taking place when most had barely broken their fast, but his amusement faded as one fae drew his attention. A petite red-haired female lingered off to the side, watching the fight. She must have felt him staring, for the female looked over and caught the prince’s eye. She grinned and there was something so wild and untamable in the smile that Rhistel’s cock twitched.
Maybe not a whore tonight. The prince waved over the closest legitimate Clawsguard.
“My prince?” the knight asked.
“See that fae over there? By the fight with the copper curls?”
“I do.”
“Learn who she is. And where I can find her, if I need to. Then meet us at the castle.”
The knight nodded and went to do as his prince commanded.
“Clawsguards are not meant to make it easier to wet your cock,” King Magnus grumbled lowly.
“They seem to do that for you.” Like his father was one to talk with his ever-growing harem.
The king did not respond, and all the better. They had reached the sleigh.
One Clawsguard and the false one took up standing positions on the back of the sleigh. The others were commanded to walk to the castle. Once the nobles were situated on the dark purple velvet, the king began speaking of his plans for the armed forces the Warden of the East had left in Avaldenn. Rhistel half listened. When they still had said nothing of note by the time the sleigh arrived at the castle, Rhistel put on a charming smile and leaned closer to the Warden of the East.
“You have cleared an appropriate cell for her, no?” he asked.
“Right after I got your raven,” she replied. “It did not take long, mind you. Our cells have all the regular enchantments upon them. We added a few for her magic, though it’s the ice spider silk in the walls that makes the real difference.”
“So I’ve been told. A good thing too. She’s as powerful as ever.”
“The shackles are keeping her docile?” Lady Ithamai mused.
“The shame too. She thought she’d never be caught.” Rhistel had to agree. When you could lie like he and his mother could, the world was ripe for the picking. Or his picking, at least.
“Let’s show her to her room first,” Rhistel said. “Just in case.”
The High Lady of the East needed no convincing. “This way.”
Their party followed Lady Ithamai through her castle sparsely adorned with splashes of purple and stone lions, and down, down, down, down into the deepest, most impenetrable dungeons. Ones no prisoner had ever escaped from.
“Will this do?” Lady Ithamai stopped before a small, dank hole in the wall far from the other occupied cells.
“It’s perfect,” the king replied, and the Clawsguard and the Shadow Fae shuffled the queen into her new home.
“She’s already quite secure but as you asked for the best, I will send the warder down to activate their protections. Now, shall we move on to business?”
“On to business.” The king gestured for the Warden of the East to lead and, as a pair, they left the dungeons. The true Clawsguard followed.
But the Shadow King and Rhistel stayed and stood before his queen’s cell.
“Burn this moment into your mind,” King Érebo murmured. “Even the strongest among us fall at times. Make sure she cannot get back up.”
“I intend to,” Rhistel replied, and lifted his hold ever so slightly.
She gasped and gripped the bars. The prince sensed a pulse of magic that was not his, but felt similar. The queen was trying to access her magic, but none struck him. None would either.
“Soon, we’ll send forth the rumors,” Rhistel whispered.
“What rumors?” the queen asked. Her tone was hazy, for she was still not herself. Nor would she be ever again if he had his way.
“Of where you are, Mother.” Rhistel sneered. “Why would we waste time searching for the vermin destroying our kingdom when we can get them to come to us?”
Chapter 25
ISOLDE
With my sister at my side, I stood outside the gates of Myrr, my body and heart weary from travel and blood loss.
Though Astril’s ministrations helped, King Tholin’s injury had been so dire that Thyra and I had required the constant use of Sassa’s Blade to keep the wound shut as we traversed the mountains. We’d both given much of ourselves and were feeling the repercussions two whole days later.
Not far away, Bavirra and Thordur assisted the injured soldiers of Dergia on Rynni’s back. There was no denying that these dwarves were among the few with injuries so severe that they’d never fight again. Much like their king, their lives had been forever changed by the battle with the frost giants.
The dead? They were going too. Wrapped in soft, white linen, they had been placed in a large wooden box that the dragon would carry through the clouds.
We hadn’t even faced off with King Magnus yet and already my first allies had experienced great losses. And that wasn’t the only alliance that had been affected.
Lord Balik had yet to utter a single word to me or Thyra. Right after the battle, he’d made it clear that he was flying ahead of the armies—getting a severely concussed Filip back home. No one questioned that the lord had wanted to help his heir, though I suspected that wasn’t the only reason the high lord had left Sian in charge.
My stomach soured at the memory. Had our failure to trust Lord Balik with the truth cost us everything?
Vale assured me it had not. After all, Lord Balik had not kicked us out of his city, and the Warden of the South couldn’t deny that our magic had turned the tides. No, the stoic Lord Balik was simply ignoring us.
The final injured dwarf mounted the dragon and Bavirra and Thordur fell back to stand with my twin and me. Together we watched as the dragon and the gryphon riders rose in the air and banked east, back to Dergia.
Bavirra sighed. “May the winds take them swiftly home.”
“Indeed.” Her brother’s eyes were red, as they had been so often these last days.
My throat tightened. I’d apologized to the prince and princess many times for their losses. They’d expressed pain for the deaths of their people, but also acknowledged that casualties were expected. They’d agreed to war.
It was Bavirra who spoke the most haunting words. That in the end, we’d all lose someone we loved.
Thinking in that vein brought up another question. One I’d smothered time and time again, but it continued to flare to life whenever something went wrong. Back before I’d known who I was, back when a vampire prince hunted me, I’d bargained for Anna’s life.
What was that price for her life? Had I already paid it?
The past moons had been difficult. Sometimes heart-wrenching. But something told me that the answer was no. My debt remained and when I did have to pay, it would be awful indeed.
“Let’s go back.” Thyra’s hand brushed mine.
I glanced to the dwarves. They did not look inclined to leave. More like they wanted a moment to themselves.
“We’ll see you two at the castle,” I spoke softly.
“See you there,” Bavirra replied, her gaze still firmly on the dragon and the gryphon riders escorting her in the distance.
My twin and I turned to leave, and in doing so had to pass through a crowd of Dergians. Most were watching their friends leave, but some stared at us, anger on their faces. My stomach hardened. In the days since the battle, I’d overheard a few conversations.
Some from Dergia were already questioning if they should have left the safety of their rock. No such talk had come from Thordur or Bavirra, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the king thought.
“We need to go to the healing sanctuary,” I said once we passed through the city gates and our Valkyrja formed a circle around us.
“Why?” Thyra’s eyebrows pinched.
“The King of Dergia awoke this morning, and we need to speak with him. To make sure he’s not having second thoughts.”
“Don’t you think approaching Lord Balik would be more prudent?”
“When he’s ready to talk, he’ll let us know.”
“Not like you saved his heir or anything,” Thyra muttered.
True though her words were, I understood Lord Balik’s anger. Understood the frustration of anyone we’d kept secrets from.
Halladora had wanted an apology, which I thought brave of her, considering that she was under my command, but she wasn’t the only one. Sian, too, had demanded answers. Had questions. Of course I’d given them both whatever information I could.
And finally there was Thordur, who had watched me place a shadow wrap on his father’s leg. After his father had been placed in the healers’ sanctuary, he’d sought me out too. Bavirra at his side.
Others who’d seen had not approached me, but instead spoke to Sian or Vale, two trusted warriors. They had been sworn to secrecy for the time being, and Vale assured me that it wasn’t many fae. Our forces had been separated from the larger battle, and life-threatening situations had a way of keeping fae focused on the fight in front of their faces.
When we reached the castle sanctuary it was quiet. Peaceful. Thank the stars for that. After returning to Myrr, the place had been a madhouse, the healers frantically seeing to the injured, others helping wherever they could.
I scanned the front room, the less private portion of the sanctuary where healers brewed potions and performed other tasks related to their work. On the right side of the vast space was a large wooden carving of the eight-spoked wheel and four stars, the symbol of the healing goddess. No healers were readily available.
“Hello?” I called out, not wishing to go wandering and earn a healer’s ire.
“A moment!” someone replied from a private office reserved for the more senior healers. A short time later, none other than a Master Healer appeared.
