The words were sharp, and all the geniality had been ripped from Asher’s face in a single moment. “How did you get this?” His fist clenched around the chain, letting the cursed charm dangle freely.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Daniella?” Theodore sounded confused, and he looked torn.
“Where did you get this?” Asher repeated, his face growing hot with fury.
“Ash.” Penelope grabbed Asher’s shoulder. “Give Daniella the chance to explain herself.” And it was impossible to tell what the brunette was thinking, her face was an impassive mask.
And Daniella could feel her heart in her throat.
It was the poison or the blade.
She could let the lie slip out, weave into their lungs and choke them. She could lie, and they’d never know to condemn her.
Or she could be honest, show them the shattered edges and gruesome smiles. She could let them see for the first time who their real enemy was.
It shouldn’t be a question.
She shouldn’t even hesitate.
She was Daniella of the Thron, the Chosen One, the Heir to a suffocating land.
She should lie.
She should lie and let her friends continue in this little game she had made.
To tell the truth would reveal that she wasn’t their friend and she never could be.
She should drink the poison. Lie. Let the joy and fondness in her chest shrivel up and die.
She shouldn’t put the blade against her neck. Tell the truth. Let their warm gazes and mirthful smiles turn to fury and disgust.
She should preserve the fortress of lies that protected her.
She shouldn’t let them see the truth. She shouldn’t let them see the mastermind behind the puppets.
“I-“ Her voice cracked.
There were tears brimming in Asher’s eyes, but he still spoke with a growl. “The truth, Daniella.”
She stood, feeling her eyes burn. “You know the truth!” She gestured at the cursed locket. “I’m one of the cursed ones with a soul bound to a core.”
Daniella hated how small she felt, the fear that welled up in her lungs like flood waters. “I’m not a ‘good guy’!” She brought her hand back to her chest, though there was no locket to grasp. “I’m not like you.”
“Who are you, if you’re not Daniella?”
Heart stuttering, she looked at Theodore.
“Who are you?” He repeated the question, gaze locking her in place.
“The-“ She took a quivering breath in. “The chosen one. The ‘real’ chosen one.”
“Is this just another lie that you’re expecting us to believe?!” Asher spat, eyes flashing green.
“No!” She snapped, turning to defend herself-
“You come any closer and I’ll destroy it.” Asher lifted the charm, a low growl rumbling out from his chest.
Daniella barely even breathed.
She should have lied.
Argalan and Verrin soldiers marched in a sea of competing colors. The golds and charcoal of the Verrin uniform standing out against the Argalan greens and blues.
The rumbling of a drum filled his lungs and he urged his horse forward still, pressing his lips into a firm line.
Enthri had insisted that capturing control of the northern passage to the celestial islands was vital to securing their kingdom, but Elvarte felt himself growing more and more wary of his queen.
She was a sharp and dangerous woman, and he had no doubts that she murdered his parents.
There was some greater scheme to every word, every movement, every look.
As enthralling as it had been, as intoxicating as it was to have a woman like that at his side, Elvarte was beginning to wonder if he was blinded by her affection.
“King Elvarte!” A soldier rushed up to him, her breath puffing out in clouds of mist. “There is a valley up ahead, what are we to do?”
Elvarte frowned, swinging off his horse and moving to the ridge of the hill. “Valley? The maps have no record of mount nor vale.”
His captains drew up beside him, each looking increasingly concerned.
“Did we get turned around in the snow storm?” Captain Leonard turned to face the direction from which they’d come.
“We’ll make came for the night.” Elvarte ordered. “The soldiers need to rest and we need to identify where in the ever spark we are. I will not rush into unknown danger.”
They bowed and began giving orders, settling the camp for the night.
No matter the time and focus he poured into studying every variation of every map they had, Elvarte couldn’t even identify a landmark that could be mistaken for a mountain.
As the night fell, the mists grew thicker, the temperature dropping and the snow growing thicker.
They couldn’t simply wait, they couldn’t afford to waste supplies. Traveling this far north had already cost so much already, they had to locate something of value - even if it was a carving depicted in the mountain sides.
The chill settled itself into his skin as he let out a breath, the air fogging in front of his face and obscuring his vision.
Was this his wife’s ploy to get rid of him?
But he couldn’t imagine her sacrificing 13 thousand troops just to be rid of him. She was far too clever for that.
Which meant she expected them to find something here in the north, to claim and conquer.
But what and where?
No map could even locate where they had somehow deviated from all known land markings.
A loud scream broke the night air. And the one scream quickly turned into panic.
Elvarte searched for one of his captains, but in the dark mist and chaos he couldn’t find a single one of his commanders.
Then he heard it.
Heavy footsteps that shook the earth. A guttural roar promising violence.
The monster appeared through the mists, and the soldiers all around him froze.
This was what Enthri had sent him to conquer.
This was the monster that 13 thousand soldiers had been sent to slay.
And for the first time, Elvarte feared his wife had predicted incorrectly. For 13 thousand men are nothing against a Frost Guardian.
The plan was simple, although not easy.
First, she’d marry he prince of Argal.
Then she’d commit a little covert regicide and take the throne.
She wasn’t prepared for Verris to fall into a bloody civil war.
An ocean away, there was nothing she could do but hear how her people were slaughtered by the winter frost and starved of any freedoms.
She had been the princess of Verris, but as the Queen of Argal there was little she could do.
Then her people had come rushing to Argal, to their princess, on hundreds of ships.
The influx of her people flooding the capital and the kingdom at large gave her more power and sway than she had been able to carve out on her own.
Her uncle was no longer king of Verris the whispering masses told. He’d been deposed in a bloody battle between brothers.
She was the sole heir of the kingdom of Verris even as she was the Queen of Argal.
Not even all her planning could have presented such a wonderful opportunity.
Argal was a kingdom of peace, it would have taken her decades to successfully campaign for a war to claim the northern territories beyond their borders.
But Verris had no such aversion to war, especially when a passageway to the higher islands could be claimed in the north.
And as they stood on the docks to welcome her people, her eye caught on a man.
He was Verrin, with golden eyes and starlight hair. But what caught her attention was the brand displayed on his neck. It was her uncle’s seal.
Had her uncle survived the first bloody battle and sent spies?
She drew in a deep breath.
No king would stand in her way, nor his slaves.
This new land was supposed to promise hope.
But as their ship neared the harbor, the circling harpies painted a different picture entirely.
They wore their finery and precious gems, as though to remind all those entering the grand harbor that they were only here because of charity.
The whispers and rumors about the kingdom of peacekeepers were false. He could see it in the gawking masses. The only reason there was any sort of peace in this blasted kingdom was frivolous dinner parties and unspoken threats.
The vultures and harpies flocked, pointed noses and beady eyes searching for a sign of weakness.
Oh, he’d give them some thing to look at.
His father’s grip tightened on his arm, warning. “Do not act rashly, boy. There will be no place to hide.”
Gritting his teeth, he allowed his father to pull him away from the edge of the deck.
If they were to get a position on the palace staff, he’d need to hold his tongue.
Stepping into the cradle of the eastern empire brought him no sense of hope.
Aristocrats sniffed disdainfully as they passed, not even bothering to offer them any sort of work. None of these harpies would want a servant with only one working hand.
Other passengers gave them a wide berth, having learned on the voyage just how easy it was to rile the young one handed man into a fight. They hadn’t come looking for trouble.
He certainly had, but a life of flavor wasn’t meant for the weak of heart.
A loud clattering of hooves on stone drew every eye on the harbor, each harpy straightening and preening.
The royal carriage was decorated lavishly, but the king and queen outshone it by far.
“I welcome you to Argal, and offer my deepest sympathies for your people.” Voice carrying like a battle drum, King Elvarte stood before the sea of refugees and aristocrats like a commander. His midnight black hair marked him as the heir to his parent’s throne, and made him the spitting image of his slimy father. The crown of Verrin heritage rested on his brow, as though the circlet belonged to his people.
Then the Queen of Argal stood. “People of Verris.” The harbor fell silent. “Our people have suffered much under cruel tyranny, but here in our sister nation you are promised protection.” Queen Enthri spoke with the Verrin accent, her golden eyes a testament of her bloodline. She was beautiful.
His father pulled him away, out of the watchful eyes of guards and nobles. “Come, Daven.”
But he couldn’t put much thought into his father’s directions as he locked gazes with Queen Enthri.
And then she was gone, the sounds and smells of the harbor lingering still after them even as they made their way through twisting streets.
The crown of Verris was their mission.
Daven just worried that the queen had gotten there first.
Her breath caught in her throat as the petals of the lily finally began to splay in full bloom. Magic filled the air with the scent of laughter and joy.
There, in the center, was a shimmering creature with wings.
“How did a human like you earn the Fairy Queen’s favor?” Harris’ drawling tone couldn’t draw her away this time, even with the magic lure vibrating in his breath.
The fairy was an infant, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.
Every feature was miniature and glowing. Tiny fingers reached up as a tinkling giggle poured from fairy lips, wings fluttering like water through starlight.
Reaching out her finger, she felt the warm bubble of awe fill her with a warm giddiness that she had long since let behind in childhood.
With a coo, the sparkling infant reached out to grasp her proffered finger.
“I know you’re weird and magic likes you, but you’re not supposed to touch-” Harris didn’t get to finish.
The moment they touched, the world around them vanished.
Light and warmth swathed them and the fairy babbled with an infectious joy, grasping her finger and smiling at her with pearlescent eyes that could see eternity.
She breathed the fairy child’s name, feeling the world around her quiver in recognition. “Lily.”
The fairy child cooed once more before her milky eyes shone and faded into eyes that looked far too human.
In fact, the fairy child fit comfortably in her arms now, like a human infant.
Wings like moonbeams brushed against her arms and her breath caught as the child gurgled, a cheery sound, and the moonlight faded.
A hand fell on her shoulder and she jolted, brining Lily close to her chest as she spun.
It was only Harris. “You idiot!” The satyr hissed, eyes wide. “You just bound your soul to a fairy child!”
She turned her eyes back down to the precious little girl in her arms.
Like a rose, the child had pink cheeks and nose.
Her eyes sparkled as a trickling stream.
She was so small.
“Her name is Lily.”
Harris began gnawing on his cane. “We’re so dead if the queen finds out. We’ll be so dead we won’t even have to worry about the prophesy of the living undead.”
In her arms, Lily let out a soft coo. And for a moment, her eyes seemed milky white, and then her blue eyes were once again gazing up with wonder.
This child was more important than the prophesy, she could feel it in her soul.
He had truly meant no harm. Their caves were frustratingly flammable and collapsed with the slightest pressure. He didn’t mean to destroy any of the little creatures’ hovels.
But they had hurt him and attacked him. He didn’t want to kill any of the creatures, they were frail and helpless. But they drew his blood with metal of harmfire and he could not be killed.
They were small, but once they died they seemed even smaller. Nothing changed with death, but without livingfire in their chests they seemed to fade.
In the shrinking silence of death, the sound of a fledgling crying peeled through the air. A desperate shrieking that burned in his ears. And then the creature’s tongue, a poor imitation of the reptilian length, and more quiet admonitions.
A fledging and it’s caretaker.
The stickiness of the creatures’ blood seemed repulsive now as he stepped back. He had killed their warriors, their protectors.
They would die.
No.
No, he couldn’t -
He would do it.
He would protect them.
He would redeem his wrongfire.
They would never have fear of another beast. He would protect them.
The waking world was as dull as the dreaming one, which is what informed her that she was no longer in her home.
The smell and taste of mildew and dust informed her that she was going to need a doctor’s appointment after this to make sure she didn’t come down with something.
The feeling of rope faded away with the heat that came from her sizzling hands, adding the smell of burning to the empty space.
And as she stood, she could hear the sound of shouting ringing in her ears.
It was a shame they took her on one of her off days, if they had taken her yesterday they might have lived.
