Realm of Ice

by Angela J. Ford

  The Frost Queen snarled, raised her hands, and leaped. In a flash, she shifted into a white fox and launched herself at Tor Lir’s chest. He went down hard, banging his head into the ground. His eyes blazed with surprise. Before he could react, the fox was on top of him, scratching and snapping at his chest. The Clyear fell out and awkwardly rolled a few feet away. Ignoring the sharp, pointed teeth so close to his face, Tor Lir lunged for the Clyear. His fingers brushed it just as the fox leaped off him. She changed back into a regal female, snatched up the Clyear in one hand, and pulled a sword from under her bed. It looked like an icicle, long, wet, and sharp, glinting in the fading light. She bared her teeth and snarled again, whipping the sword around.

  Tor Lir raised his hands. He was unarmed, his shirt hung in tatters, and she’d ripped the skin near his throat. He backed away as though giving himself up. She grinned, and Tor Lir kicked.

  His boots sent a spray of snow into her face. She ducked and snarled as she batted the snow away. Holding the sword straight out, she dashed for him. Tor Lir dodged and stuck out a foot to trip her, but she leaped over him and swung her ice blade around. It connected with his back and sent him sprawling yet again. He balled up snow in his two fists and came up roaring, hurling snowballs at her with his full strength. She slashed them away with her blade, and her eyes glowed blue as she advanced on him, her blade moving so quickly it almost made him feel dizzy.

  He backed away. Cursing. He had nothing with which to defend himself against her sword. When he brought his hands up to protect his face, they glowed green, shimmering with a power he did not know or understand. But that did not stop her. She swung, and he blocked her blade with his arm. It sliced through his shirt and ripped open his skin, sending a white-hot pain through his body. He blocked her next blow with his other arm, and she cut through his shirt into flesh. Red hot blood dripped down his limbs, and a vague weariness settled in his bones. She swayed in front of him as his vision blurred, but suddenly the darkness faded and the spots in front of his eyes cleared. He hurled his body toward her, determined to ignore the pain, cast her down, and regain the Clyear. She skewed him like a boar on the point of her sword. It sunk into his side, a blade of fire, ripping through the organs in his belly. She yanked the blade out, sending agony through his body. Thrusting it toward him one last time, she roared with anger as the blade sunk deeper, cleaving through flesh to find bone.

  12

  Dead

  Tor Lir woke to flares of pain running up and down his arms, a sharp comparison to the cold on his back. He lay still and sent feelers through his body, seeking the torn flesh and weaving it back together. Energy poured through him and left his core with an empty, gnawing feeling. Hunger. Thirst. He lay still for a while, letting his powers work through his body. The pain lessened. It would take time to heal, but the bleeding had stopped.

  Dark green firs met his eyes. He sat up. He’d been left in the forest, and his blood had seeped across the snow and ice. When he lifted a hand, it was bloodless and white, and his fingertips were a cool blue. Cracked lips trembled under his fingers, and he searched the ground for his fur. It was gone, and night had swept over the mountainside.

  He brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in them for warmth. What should he do? He needed to find his friends and reach Stronghold, but he did not know the way. Walking farther into the woods might lead to another distasteful encounter. When he lifted his head, an amber-eyed beast was watching him. Tor Lir gazed at it, expressionless. Amber. He always associated it with Lord Nodin, but the thing that stared at him was not a bull but a bear with massive jaws and powerful legs. The eyes were unreadable, and Tor Lir was unsure whether it was an intelligent beast or one already too far gone. It put its nose down to the ground and shuffled toward him, eyeing him now and then as it neared, as though to ensure its prey would not balk.

  When it was ten paces away, it shifted so quickly Tor Lir felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. He eyed the male that stood in front of him, covered in brown furs, like the bear had been. The former bear spoke first, his voice deep and yet no more than a whisper in the night. “Are you the one called Tor Lir?”

  “Aye.” Tor Lir nodded, concerned his voice would not be enough. It felt reedy, thin against the light winter wind that stirred the branches of the fir trees.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” the male said. His amber eyes dropped down to the blood splattered across the clearing. “Are you wounded?”

  Tor Lir glanced down at his chest and held out his arms. His clothing hung in tattered ribbons, stained with dried blood. “Not anymore. I am healing.”

  The male stared for a moment as though he did not understand the words Tor Lir spoke. Something flickered in his amber eyes, a question perhaps? Or just mere surprise? “Do you have the strength to travel to Stronghold?”

  Tor Lir shook one foot and then the other, trying to shake some feeling into them. He took a deep breath and forced the blood to flow through his veins, ignoring the stinging sensations that shot through his body. He pressed his lips together, stood, and forced his groan of discomfort back down his throat. He took a few steps, but his legs held, and so he nodded at the male. “Aye. Lead the way.”

  The male walked in front, glancing back from time to time. His eyes regarded the trees, and he walked quickly. “We are in the domain of the Frost Queen,” he whispered. “It is her we must watch out for.”

  Tor Lir bit back a bitter laugh. “She has already had me; I do not think she shall return.”

  The amber eyes bored into him. “She did this to you?”

  He merely nodded. There would be time to speak of his misdeeds later. He swallowed hard, just thinking of Citrine’s expression. Usually, it was he berating her for her hasty decisions and impromptu actions. In one swift moment he’d betrayed them all. His stiff fingers would not form into fists, so he gritted his teeth instead. Once he recouped in Stronghold, he would take up weapons, hunt out the Frost Queen, and demand the Clyear of Revelation. She would pay for what she’d done to him.

  “I am Elbron. Nodin’s cousin,” the male went on, his voice cold. Distant. “He tried to help my sister, but I understand she perished under the weight of the beast. I hope you and Citrine can heal us.”

  Tor Lir said nothing, and yet he understood the hope. He cast out, hoping to catch the male’s aura, but just like the air and the crunch of snow and ice under their feet, there was nothing on the mountain but cold. Emptiness. A frost meant to chill people into submission. And yet the Frost Queen had used it on him. He cursed himself and his weakness, for he knew the fallout would come, and there would be consequences for his actions far beyond what he could see.

  It was pitch dark when they reached Stronghold, a massive castle of ice carved out of the jutting mountainside. Wan lights, pale and yellow, flickered in the arched windows, which appeared like gaping eyes, black and bleak, a horror in the stark whiteness.

  Tor Lir noted the guards—he assumed—that followed them toward the ice bridge. Gray wolves with long, pink tongues padded behind them. Giant furry bears paced the slope, scouting for intruders, and massive bulls bellowed at their arrival. Silver gates carved with sculptures of ice swung open, heavy and creaking with age. Inside, Tor Lir saw the Tiders, the Therian, lining the crystal walls. It was colder than outside, if possible, and they stared at him with their stone faces, hard and unfriendly. He recognized the aura they all gave off—fear, distrust, and anger.

  Tor Lir lifted his chin and shifted his eyes forward, unafraid and unintimidated by their stances. He heard the guttural growl of animals and the sharp bark of the wolves. He was not welcome. A bitter taste came to the back of his throat. What had become of his companions?

  He followed Elbron into the gloom, down arched, curved halls with walls carved out of crystal. The air shimmered as though the ice crystals spoke to each other in whispers, awed voices repressed by the passage of the Therian. When Tor Lir blew out his breath, it froze into black mist and dropped to
the ground. The slick wetness turned to ice which crunched beneath his booted feet. A low vibration went through his body when he saw colors dance underneath the casing of ice. The Therian were dark and mysterious, but this, this was curious. And then he heard it. In a distance, a low wail rang up, high and thin, but fraught with pain. Answering moans accompanied it, wild and feral, like an animal caught in the sharp jaws of a trap, fighting to get free but knowing it was only a matter of time before the end came. An ending that would be long and brutal. The meaning behind the voices was clear.

  Let me go.

  Let me escape.

  End this misery.

  He sent out feelers as they walked, his mind coming up hard against the strange imbalance the Therian dwelt with. The curse. The change. But there was nothing but impassive, unemotional cold in those halls, aside from the creatures far below, waiting for the end of their lives to come.

  “In here,” Elbron grunted, pausing in front of a double-door. They towered fifteen feet high and arched into the mountainside. The wood of the doors, if it was wood, had been painted a royal blue, a sharp construct to the gray shadows of the rest of Stronghold. A gold knocker shaped into the jaws of a wolf was mounted on each door. Elbron pushed against the door, his muscles straining until it swung inward, silent and heavy.

  Warmth flooded Tor Lir’s body with such an intensity it stung. Shaking his frozen limbs, he stepped inside. Heat flared across his face. Narrowing his emerald eyes, he swiftly took in the shape of the cavernous room. A bright fire burned in the center, raising a tent of heat across the room. Long tables covered one side of the room where families sat, eating, drinking, and staring at the newcomers. On the other side were bedrolls. Tor Lir’s lips drew down in a frown. This was no kingdom; it was a hiding place.

  The doors shut behind him with a clap of finality, and a sinking feeling swept through Tor Lir. The light shifted as someone stood, and his eyes roved over and met Citrine’s. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, red, and her aura snapped around her in a fiery combination of anger, grief, and relief. Tor Lir recoiled and studied her manner as she approached him, a question in her eyes as she took in his torn clothing and the dried blood on his tunic. She twisted her hands in front of her, and he saw she still wore her pack which carried her book of spells and the herbs she’d carefully selected for their adventure into the mountains.

  “I knew you weren’t dead,” she breathed.

  Tor Lir almost took a step back, but she paused before she reached him. The relief on her face was plain, but there was something else simmering just beneath the surface. His eyes flickered over the Therian again, searching for Nodin, Hava, and Zilpha. Where were they?

  “Citrine.” He lowered his tone and moved closer to her. “Listen.” The admission of his deed pulsed against him, begging to be let out. His face flamed under Citrine’s wide-eyed gaze, and he knew, once he confessed, he would lose her trust. The trust he barely had in the first place. She hardly tolerated him now, much less than if he spilled his secret.

  Lemon-yellow eyes shimmered at him. “I can’t listen to you, Tor Lir.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, an act of comfort that was so unlike her, Tor Lir almost flinched away. “Listen to me. We were attacked. . .The arrows. . It’s Hava. She leaped in front of an arrow to save me and got hit. It happened so fast. I could not save her. She’s gone. Dead.”

  Everything within Tor Lir went stiff with shock. He gaped at Citrine. Her mouth moved, but he could not hear any words. Instead, the words from the Truth Tellers swept through his mind. Beware. Be warned. The price you pay is death.

  Hava was dead. Somehow. Someway. Her death was his fault. He’d tempted the wings of fate not only by sleeping with the Frost Queen against his better judgement, but also by ignoring the wishes of the Truth Tellers. A tiny voice of protest whispered inside his head. Perhaps this was the outcome the Truth Tellers wished for, perhaps there was nothing he could have done to stop it. They extracted death in exchange for the information they gave him, and he thought he could escape their wishes. A bitter rage rose within him, and he gripped Citrine’s arm. Hard. Spittle flew from his lips when he spoke. “I know who is responsible. They will pay.”

  13

  Anger

  Citrine watched emotions flash across Tor Lir’s face. Horror. Sorrow. Anger. And then vengeance. Deep and furious. Citrine swallowed. His reaction was. . .unexpected. But she would use it. His attitude would inspire him to finish the business with the Therian quickly, which meant she could return to her beasts and her final quest—the Udi. Already the gloom and cold had settled in her bones, giving her an odd ache. She longed to be away and basking in her garden under warm rays of light.

  She wiped Tor Lir’s spittle from her face with the back of her hand, imagining, for a moment, she saw a horned beast, frothing at the mouth as it roared.

  “I am sorry,” she continued. “Hava was my friend too.”

  His grip on her relaxed, but the smoldering glare of fury remained in his emerald eyes. When he spoke next, his tone was cooler than the walls of Stronghold. “Will you take me to her?”

  Citrine glanced at the Therian and made eye contact with Nodin’s amber-eyed cousin. Elbron. He was big and burly, as his bear form foretold. His mortal form was a reflection of it, with corded muscles on his powerful thighs and big arms. He seemed immune to the cold with his fur cloak tossed behind his broad shoulders and his bare arms on display. Rugged clothing covered the rest of his muscular body. He wore his dark hair long, pulled back from his face and gathered into a topknot on his head. A jagged scar ran from his temple across his cheek and ended just before it cut into his lip. How it missed his eye was a miracle. His amber eyes were deep set, haunted, and his face lined. There was no joy there, and Citrine felt a tug of sorrow every time she looked at him. Which was often. Instead of holding her gaze, Elbron dropped his eyes and shifted toward the door.

  Citrine turned back to Tor Lir. “One of the sentries will take us, but first, eat. It is past time for the last meal, and you must keep up your strength.”

  Tor Lir scoffed and crossed his arms. “I have no need for food.”

  Citrine put her hand on Tor Lir’s arm and steered him toward the giant doors where Elbron waited. “Come then. Elbron will take us to the crypt. Nodin and Zilpha have retired for the evening. We’ve been ordered to rest here and begin our work on the morrow.”

  Tor Lir said nothing else, his silence dark and penetrating as they left the room. Elbron lit a torch and held it high as they traveled deeper into the maze of ice. Citrine pulled her fur tightly around her, her mouth set in a hard line as the events of the day replayed in her mind. Tears pressed now and again on the edges of her vision, but she fought them back. It would not do to lose control. That was what night was for. When at last she lay down and hid her face from others, she could let sorrow worm its way through her heart. Hava had been brave, a fighter, and perhaps, if time permitted, a mate for Tor Lir. And just like that, everything had been snatched away.

  The dark foreboding pressed against Citrine again, and she shivered, torn between calling her beasts and fleeing from Stronghold, or staying to see it done. But she needed Tor Lir with her when she went to visit the Udi, and so she remained. She reminded herself of the end goal, of the haven where at last her beasts would be safe. She could plant a garden and dwell in peace without interference from mortals who brought chaos and ruin to her life. She could not get close to anyone again. It hurt too much to deal with their trials and troubles, for they ended up dragging her down with them.

  The crypt was cold and so far underground it seemed as though they walked into the heart of the mountain. Arched walls curved away into the stone, and a pale blue light shone out from the crystals inside the walls of ice, providing a shadowy light for those who ventured into the place. Shallow boats made of ice held frozen bodies. Most of them were covered with words written in the ice or a sculpture perched on top. It was an odd ice cemetery. Citrine shudde
red. It was just as creepy as the first time she’d come down to lay Hava to rest. Her pace slowed, and she allowed Elbron and Tor Lir to take the lead.

  Elbron led them up a set of stairs to the circular area where Hava’s tomb was. The covering hadn’t been pulled over her yet, and she lay with her luscious hair in two braids and her hands folded over her chest. Citrine thought it was only right she be buried with her swords; one was in her hand while the other lay by her side. Her face was pale, and it looked as though she were only sleeping.

  Tor Lir’s pace slowed as he walked up the steps and stood above her, his face bent to hide his expression. Citrine tugged at the fur around her neck, suddenly uncomfortable at peering into such an intimate part of Tor Lir’s life. It was clear from Hava they hadn’t been lovers, and Citrine wondered if his thoughts would have changed, given time. Although in the end, Tor Lir seemed more concerned about his endeavors than smiling at Hava across the fire. Was that what he was feeling now? Remorse? Shame?

  Citrine’s eyes grew hodded as she watched him, until her face felt frozen and she wanted to leave. A warm shadow passed over her, and she looked up at Elbron. His bulk made him seem like a towering giant beside her, even though he was only a head taller than she was. He nodded at her, his eyes cast down, in deference or reverence, Citrine could not tell.

  At last, Tor Lir finished, and when he turned around, his face was pale but calm, without a ripple of emotion. He took a deep breath, and his eyes met Citrine’s. She withered under his gaze, wanting to say something inappropriate, but now was not the time. She lifted an eyebrow. “We can have a ceremony for her, before we lay her to rest.”