Frostbound Throne: Court of Sin Book Two: Song of Winter

by Sage, May

  And their spirits would break, and they would live in fear without hope.

  She got off her horse.

  Devi had not been raised to stand by and watch such horrors. She was a protector, and that word meant something. Before serving the unseelie realm, she’d chosen to serve the weak, the poor, and the defenseless. To be the dragon slayer her mother had said she was so many years ago.

  “Elden was wrong, Vale.”

  She turned, hands lifted toward the longcoats on the platform.

  Elden was wrong. The few were many, and each one mattered. She would not turn her back on them.

  And then there was fire.

  Sixteen

  From One Beast to Another

  Vale sighed. In all fairness, the moment he’d felt the despair emanating from the town square, he’d calculated their odds of getting out of Rhionhave without bloodshed, and they hadn’t looked good. He’d known there was a high probability that either he or Devi would attack the longcoats. He was glad to attest that, this time, he’d been the voice of reason. But now that she’d attacked, they had no choice but to kill every single longcoat.

  Oh well.

  Devi killed one with her first jet of fire and wounded another two, then a mage among them erected a blue shimmering elemental barrier. Water magic. Smart and efficient against her fire. Devi drew her bow and started picking them off left and right.

  The longcoats launched forward. Vale got down from his horse and told the dyrmounts, “You will stay here and trust that young little elf to protect your flanks. She may be rather foolish, but she’s not inclined to carry your load for the rest of our journey, so she’ll ensure you both come out of this contretemps in one piece.”

  The horses neighed their agreement—or their doubt, Vale couldn’t tell—and he walked away.

  “Where are you going?” Devi shouted at his retreating back, visibly surprised he’d leave her now.

  “Cleaning up your mess,” he replied.

  Devi was as smart and caring as she was beautiful. She lacked only one thing: experience.

  This town had not been terrorized without cause. Vale guessed that most coasts, ports, havens, and hamlets they passed on their way to Corantius would be thus occupied by strangers who were there for one reason.

  To draw him out.

  They’d revealed their presence, and all he could do was delay the inevitable to ensure no message reached their enemy.

  No doubt, the longcoats had been told to check in often, and when they remained silent too long, the Corantians would know to look for Devi and Vale here.

  It was his fault. They should have left at dawn.

  Vale jumped up onto a low roof and removed his coat and shirt. His wings painfully tore out of his back.

  Damn, it was cold. Warmer near the coast than it had been in the forest, but it definitely wasn’t the kind of weather he liked to parade half naked in.

  He leaped in the air and extended his rusty limbs, beating them in the air. He glided in a circle, eyes and mind scanning the horizon. Within an instant, messenger birds were released from a house near the town square, and they flew in every direction.

  Vale flew after them, sword at the ready. How he hated having to slay beasts over the deeds of their masters. Some stained his sword with blood and feathers; others he concentrated on, only relinquishing his hold on their small simple minds when they fell. Soon, only a small falcon with a white throat and warm brown feathers was left.

  Its black eyes were fixed on him somewhat expectantly. That bird knew it was looking at its death.

  Vale rarely saw the minds of animals clearly; they had very simple needs, a limited range of emotions, and that was it. But that spoke to him, in its own way. He understood it.

  The bird was young and would have liked to have seen more of the Isle. It had been bred in captivity and trained to do specific tasks it did not like. Death was a prospect it wasn’t entirely set against.

  “And what if you never see the far south of the highest mountains whence your peers came? What of your dreams?”

  The bird gave no answer. One did not answer death.

  Vale tucked his wings in and landed in a crouch atop the roof of a tall dwelling in Rhionhave. He lifted one arm in a wordless invitation.

  The bird circled him thrice, crying high, before racing toward him at full speed, talons extended. It landed on Vale’s bare arm, drawing blood.

  “I will not slay you as long as you do not betray me.”

  The falcon screeched.

  “Good. Now go. I still have work to do.”

  He lifted his arm, inviting the bird to fly away, but the falcon wasn’t so inclined to leave. Sighing, Vale ran, the beast still perched on his shoulder. He headed to the house where the birds had been launched from. There were a dozen longcoats still inside. Vale made short work of them. The home had evidently served as their headquarters.

  He paged through letters on a desk, rummaged through their pockets, and inspected whatever belongings he saw on shelves, cupboards, and drawers.

  A man with a weathered face and his arms held open like a cross adorned their coins. Corantians. Not scions, evidently, as they’d been easy pickings. None of their correspondences were worthy of note.

  He smiled right before the door of the house was kicked open.

  “Twenty-seven soldiers!” Devi screamed, glaring and pointing at him accusingly. “You left them all to me and got me to take care of the horses too!”

  He shrugged. “That was your call. And forgive me for ensuring the Corantians didn’t send word of our being here to every corner of the four realms.”

  “You’re a lazy-ass rake, Valerius Blackthorn!” She calmed down long enough to ask, “And why is there a falcon on your shoulder?”

  “Ah, yes. Devi, meet…” He hesitated, turning his attention to the bird. It probably needed a name. “How do you like Vulen?”

  The bird screamed angrily. “All right. How about Dain?”

  The falcon tapped his head with its beak. “I get it. Not Dain. Adris.”

  This time, it cooed merrily.

  “Adris, this is Devi,” Vale said. “She’s not usually this crotchety.”

  “Crotchety!” she roared, outraged. “While you were out bird shopping, I was dealing with a bunch of idiots and then an entire crowd that wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “And why would they?” Vale asked with a smile. “That’s what you get for playing the hero. I trust the horses are tended to?”

  “I left them with Thomson while I came looking for you. Come on, we need to go.”

  “Not quite yet,” he replied, taking a seat at the longcoats’ desk.

  A stack of blank paper was piled at one corner. He took a sheet and placed it in front of him.

  “You’re catching up with your pen pals? Now?”

  Vale lifted his eyes to her. “It could be hours or days, but eventually, the realms will learn of our position, thanks to your heroics. So yes, I must write, now. I’ll tell my mother we’re to join her in Elderdale, and I’ll tell Kallan we’re to join him in Carvenstone. With some luck, either or both letters will be intercepted, winning us back a semblance of an advantage.”

  She sighed. “All right. Then we need to go. Seriously, the people here are all being weird and annoying.”

  Vale smiled. Before she left, he called, “Devi?” She turned to him. “You wanted the people of this town to believe they would not be forsaken, left under the talons of a tyrant. You were right to act. Do not let my teasing convince you otherwise.”

  She grinned. “Contrary to what you believe, your opinion doesn’t matter that much to me, Blackthorn.”

  He laughed and returned to his writing.

  Seventeen

  Fire

  Kallan breathed in and out hard. He couldn’t recall struggling this much since his days spent training during his youth. He was a seasoned horseman, and his daily exercise with Valerius Blackthorn had ensured he remained in top form.<
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  And for all that, his body felt like he’d taken a relentless beating. Three days of riding without so much as one stop. If he’d ridden anything other than a dyrmount, the beast would have died of exhaustion by now.

  After the griffins came the seelie archers, and then the orcs.

  Fucking orcs, dozens of them.

  His horse, Falkr, outran most, and his bow and arrow felled the rest. Kallan used the shade of the Graywoods to confuse his assailants, riding right at the border and under the trees when he wished not to be seen. But he didn’t remain in that godsforsaken forest longer than necessary. He didn’t know if the Graywoods were haunted, possessed, or worse, but they’d always frightened him.

  Not to mention, there was the fact he could be cut down by an elf at any moment for daring to enter their domain uninvited.

  Yet he did so anyway.

  After three days and as many nights, he needed rest and so did Falkr, if only for an hour.

  The world seemed to stop once he entered the woods. Time was a strange notion under the shade of the thick trees, where one could not see the sky.

  Kallan hated how unnaturally quiet his surroundings were. There were many creatures in this forest. Why weren’t any of them making a fucking noise?

  He knew the answer, of course. Because of him. Because he was a stranger who did not belong, and they didn’t trust him.

  He listened closely, eyes closed, searching for one specific sound. At long last, he opened his eyes.

  “Come on, Falk. I found water.”

  They advanced slowly and carefully, tension heightening as they got farther into the wood, but at long last, they reached a small pool. He dismounted Falk and approached, cupping water in his hands to taste it with the tip of his tongue. It was freezing but tasted pure. He’d heard that some streams coming down from the White Mount were poisonous. The last thing he needed right now was to fall ill, but he’d run out of water early that morning. If he did not drink, he’d die regardless, and more painfully.

  Kallan got to his feet to return to his horse but stopped dead. Between him and Falk stood a female. Not the sort of female one might encounter by chance and forget someday. Not the sort of female who’d become nameless and faceless with time. A female made of dreams and sorrow. Hair red as blood and eyes of emeralds, so intense he could not look away from them. She wore form-fitting gear, a warrior’s attire befitting a goddess of death. In her grasp was a staff—a long, thick piece of carved redwood with a stone embedded at its tip.

  Her face was familiar, although he couldn’t place where he might have seen its likeness.

  “Am I dreaming?” he asked.

  A fair question, really. The female tilted her head and stepped sideways to stand closer to his horse. The hand that didn’t hold her staff was bare, and a leather glove that ran up to her elbow covered the other.

  She lifted her gloveless hand to Falk’s head. “Tired,” she stated.

  Her voice was honey and barbed, a mixture of sweetness and ire. Kallan instinctively knew it reflected her spirit. She was all fire or the very opposite.

  “We rode far,” he explained. “We are being followed. I’m sorry we entered the Graywoods uninvited, but I’d hoped—”

  “Shhh…”

  Her eyes returned to him, and he felt as if he were standing in front of a great beast that hadn’t decided if he’d make for a decent dinner.

  “What is your name, stranger?” she asked.

  And there it was. Fire and ice. Softness and strength. If he gave her the wrong answer, he would encounter the beast. He would give the wrong answer because he was fae, and he couldn’t lie.

  “Kallan, my lady. Kallan Blacks. I was on my way—”

  “To Carvenstone.”

  His eyes widened. “How did you—who are you?”

  “Kira Rivers Star.”

  “Devi’s sister!” he realized.

  That was who she reminded him of, although they had a different presence, aura, and coloring. Everything but that face.

  Her eyes flashed, becoming brighter yet more menacing. “What do you know of my sister?”

  Kallan smiled. The female seemed so cold and larger than life, but for all that, she was worried about her little sister. There was something comforting about it.

  “She made it out of Asra with me and Vale, the lord of Carvenstone. They were headed to Elvendale.”

  Kira scoffed. “And they made it, or I would not have been told to babysit the likes of you.”

  Babysit?

  “You’re here for me?”

  “I’ve been sent to aid you, yes. I’m to deliver you home.”

  The prospect did not enchant her.

  Kallan shook his head. “Not a good idea. In three days, I’ve had orcs, griffins, and fae after me. Who knows what will come tomorrow. I’ll make my own way.”

  “Funny,” she said without a sliver of humor in her tone or composure, “I don’t recall saying you had a choice in the matter. Go to sleep, weakling. You’re barely standing up. I’ll stand watch.”

  At least the weakling was pretty enough to look at, despite the stinking dark dye in his hair.

  Had he been stingy with information, Kira would have gladly gutted him where he stood—and stolen his horse. That was a great horse. But he’d willingly divulged what she’d wanted to know. Devi was safe and home. Some of the ire that had blazed in her soul since they’d heard words of the attack on Asra dissipated.

  So, Kira had a temper. And no wonder, given the power running in her blood. They always said fire mages were volatile.

  She assumed Kallan Blacks was a friend of Devi, or her father would not have bothered sending her. And so she’d deliver him safely to his border before returning home.

  Too much time had passed since she’d seen her sister. Thirteen years. They’d been but children the last time they’d spoken in person.

  Kira and Devi wrote to each other regularly, but she placed little value in pieces of paper.

  “You’re a beauty,” she told the horse.

  It neighed contentedly, obviously concurring.

  “You don’t belong with the likes of him. Come home with me.”

  The horse didn’t like that suggestion. It shook its head and kicked its front hooves.

  “And loyal, too. You’re too good for him.”

  Again, she could tell the animal disagreed.

  Kira turned to the weakling, frowning.

  Horses were seldom mistaken. Was there more to this Blacks fellow?

  Blacks wasn’t a name of note among fae, as far as she knew. From his appearance and his presence, she could tell he was a high fae, but she felt no power from him. Yet a horse he’d almost ridden to death showed him devotion.

  Tired as he’d been, the fae slept no more than four hours. He awoke alert.

  “Kira,” he called with a familiarity that grated on her nerves. “I thought I might have conjured an illusion.”

  She tsked. “You don’t have the creativity to invent me. Ready?”

  He got to his feet. “Almost. I just need water and—”

  He stopped, his eyes going to the small fire she’d built on the muddy ground to roast two rabbits, a squirrel, a duck, and a fish.

  “You hunted and fished?”

  She shrugged. “I was bored. They should last until Carvenstone.”

  He nodded. “It should. It’s just a day’s ride from here. But, Kira, I am chased by—”

  “If you’re about to make me sound like a helpless female who cries when she breaks a nail, I’ll kill you myself. My father says I’m to take you home, and to your home I will take you. The end.”

  “Your father may not have understood the danger he placed you in when he gave you this assignment.”

  This time, she laughed. “My father,” she said, “is Elden fucking Star, master of Elvendale, ruler of Wyhmur, king of all elves. Please, tell him to his face that he doesn’t understand things. Go on. I’ll watch.”

  Eighte
en

  Words from the East

  Kallan hadn’t been overly troubled by his fate the last three days. He’d ridden as fast as he could and done his best to fight his enemies and survive. If he died, he died. Now, there was another concern. The thought of endangering a female who had nothing to do with his fight troubled him greatly.

  He could tell she was strong. For one, he’d seen her sister in action, and Devi had revealed devastating powers at the eastern gate of Asra when they’d fled the city. Things started to make sense. He’d wondered how a youth who had yet to see her first century could possess such power. Now he knew. Devi was the daughter of Elden.

  He had many questions. Why had she been in the unseelie realm and not with her people in Elvendale? But he knew better than to ask Kira.

  Kira did not speak unless she wished to. Kira did not stop unless she so desired. Kira would not mount his horse behind him when he’d offered. She preferred to run beside him.

  The fact she could effortlessly keep up with a dyrmount was a testament to her strength, but after ten miles, Kallan had to reiterate his offer.

  He extended his hand. “Come on up! It’ll do no one any good if you’re too exhausted when the next attack comes.”

  She glared in silence. He knew he was risking a feral attack when he pointed out, “You were noticeably faster when we set off. I’ve slowed Falkr so you can keep up. I didn’t know pride thus blinded the elvenfolks.”

  Kallan stiffened, expecting a blow, given the disdain and anger in Kira’s eyes, but she ended up sighing and taking his hand. He hoisted her up. She sat behind him.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, a little vulnerably.

  Kallan smiled. The simple expression of gratitude seemed so out of character.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He rode as fast as his mighty beast could go, feeling increasingly anxious as they approached his home.

  What if Carvenstone was destroyed? What if their friends, their people, their way of life had been obliterated? The notion made him feel sick.