Butters let out a battle cry and a wave of fire blasted out in front of us. It was one hell of an impressive explosion. It was like a whole team of flamethrowers opened up at once, and they were all focused on getting the Nosferatu out of the way.
An animalistic shriek erupted from the fire where Santiago had been, and I saw something big and black thrashing about, but then we were through. The fire parted around us, leaving a clear path to the motel’s entrance. Butters kept the pedal to the metal, fishtailed onto the main road, and got us as far away from the enemy cabal members as her blackened, bullet-ridden car could carry us.
“We’re alive!” Butters sounded tired, but her eyes gleamed like she was on cloud nine. “How the fuck are we alive?”
“Teamwork, skill, and a shit ton of luck,” I managed, my eyelids heavy. “If you don’t mind, I’m . . .” I didn’t even get to say I was going to shut my eyes before they slipped closed, and I was out like a light.
Chapter 4
Darkness . . . it was complete, total, and it surrounded Aveena like a cocoon. She didn’t want to open her eyes. At least with her eyes shut, she could tell herself the darkness were her eyelids blocking the light; but that only worked for so long. Soon, the crushing despair of her situation would inevitably come crashing down on her. If she could find something sharp to slit her wrists, she would have done it ages ago. Without any light, there was no way to judge the passage of time, but she’d gone through six hundred and five sleep cycles of this unending hell.
Suicide was the coward’s way out, but to be considered a coward, you had to have some sort of honor to forsake. She had nothing. She had no one. In front of her entire court – or what remained of it – the Lady of Winter, her own mother, had declared Aveena banished. She had been stripped of her name, her titles, her very identity. Now, she was nothing. She was no one. She was little more than a weak consciousness surrounded by loneliness and near-suicidal despair. The lack of light just rammed that point home.
She finally opened her eyes, but there was no difference from when they were closed. In fact, it was probably darker. The dungeons of Queen Maeve were like that. They had a way of fucking with a Fae’s mind, turning strengths into weaknesses, and grinding a person down to nothing.
Aveena wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The cold was the ultimate torture. It was like her frost-giant gifts had been stripped bare by the queen’s power. Aveena was a child of winter, master of the frozen tundra of her ancestors. Frost giants weren’t supposed to feel cold, but as she lay huddled in the darkness, the chill penetrated deep into her bones. Her teeth chattered. Her body convulsed, and she had to endure it with no hope that anything would ever get better.
“Just kill me now,” she wasn’t joking.
Her banishment hadn’t started like this. When her mother’s guards transported her to the cells of her family’s fortress, she’d been determined to maintain her dignity. That hadn’t lasted long. Only two days passed before Aveena was literally bundled up to be taken to the capitol. She was bound, gagged, and tossed over the back of a beast of burden. For a moment, she felt fear. Nothing good happened to a woman in her position, even a frost giant.
The oath her mother extracted from her captors helped: she was not to be violated. The House of Foxbelle might have cast her out like week-old leftovers, but she was still a blood relative of the Lady of Winter. Not even Ymira’s heart was cold enough to allow Aveena to be used as a plaything.
Aveena assumed they were out of sight from the fortress when her captors tried to violate the spirit of the oath. They were only held to the letter, and couldn’t violate her body, but that didn’t stop one of them from tickling her asshole.
She’d been completely shocked. No one had ever touched her without her permission before. If anything, she tickled assholes. The surprise only lasted for a moment, and she made the mystery Fae pay. The man was busy laughing and joking with his buddies when she donkey kicked him in the fucking face. Judging by the crunch of soft flesh, and wetness that splashed over her bare ass, she’d likely killed him. The backlash of her attack also snapped the beast of burden’s back like a twig. The creature wailed in agony as it collapsed, and she rolled off it into the mud laughing like a loon.
Her would-be, almost-violator’s buddies screamed in horror, and she kept laughing; the laugh of someone with nothing to lose. That night, they tied her to a tree and punished her. It took hours for them to wear her down as they beat her with wooden practice swords. Whatever they were, their glamour was weak enough they wanted to save their strength to conjure weapons in battle. That insult hurt more than the welts and bruises that covered her body the next morning. Not only had Aveena been tossed out, but she’d been handed over to weaklings.
She could have run, fled the queen’s judgement and escaped to . . . somewhere; she didn’t know where, but she could be rid of this place and the Fae that thought so little of her.
“No,” she’d told herself when she contemplated snapping the tree she was bound to, and using it to beat her captors to death, “I still have my honor.”
Now, she looked back on her self-righteous self and wanted to slap past-her in the face. “I should have run.” The cold and despair continued to paralyze her, and she settled in for another day of darkness and misery.
Then there was light. Just like that, she was bathed in its warm radiance, and it hurt. She scurried backward until she hit the rear wall of the cell, and turned her back to the piercing glare. She heard footsteps, and something hard and unyielding grabbed her by the shoulder. She lashed out on instinct, but she was weak, and her forearm hit some type of gauntlet. That’s when the real pain started.
She howled as her skin flash-boiled from contact with the cold iron armor. She didn’t get any pity from the guards. Two pairs of hands hooked her under the armpits, and dragged her out into the light. She grimaced, and shut her eyes as tightly as possible. That helped, but with cold iron so close to her weakened body, she felt like a puppet for the guards to manipulate. She couldn’t even get her feet under her. The dignity of walking to her execution was beneath her at the moment.
There was no question where she was going. Her mother had declared it when she’d forsaken Aveena for bringing Cam before her.
“Despite that being exactly what she ordered me to do!” In her solitary confinement, she’d had plenty of time to bitch about just how unfair this whole situation was.
She’d done what had been instructed of her. She’d brought the man who killed Chloe and Ser Fredrick to justice before the Lady of Winter. How was Aveena supposed to know he was part Aesir? She didn’t even know that was a thing. Her only exposure to the monsters from another realm had been bedtime stories. The moral of those stories was always to do what Ymira said or the Aesir would come and eat her, rape her, kill her; basically, anything to make her pay for her disobedience. She’d never once been told what the Aesir actually were. Until the Trickster physically stepped through the portal into the throne room, she’d expected them to be some sort of spectral entity; not flesh and blood.
“Blood,” she gulped. There had been so much noble blood spilt in the halls of House Foxbelle that day.
The shiver that worked its way up her spine had nothing to do with the cold. She’d exited the dungeon, and whatever magic the queen had worked was gone. If anything, it was a little too warm. She peaked an eye open and wasn’t immediately overwhelmed by the sensation of sunlight streaming across her face.
Aveena’s family lands were eternal winter, and frost giants liked them that way, but the queen preferred the sun on her face. She’d even called herself the Queen of Summer for a few eons before she settled on the Eternal Queen moniker. Maeve had ruled the Fae . . . forever, so she was entitled to her whims.
Aveena caught a peek out the window and into a tropical paradise. Maeve’s capitol sat next to a turquoise-blue sea. White, sandy beaches spread out in either direction while waves gently lapped against the shoreline. Trees
lined a boulevard paralleling the sea, where some type of purple mist wafted off them and into the air where it dissipated into the cloudless sky. Harsh yellow-orange light beat down on the crystal walls of Maeve’s castle. Where the light hit the crystal, colors swirled. The dance of rainbows across the surface was beautiful.
She blinked away tears while her eyes finished adjusting to the glare. The Lady of Winter’s fortress had a harsh beauty; Maeve’s home . . . was something else.
“On your feet,” the guards huffed as they stopped before a door, released her, and took a step back.
A little space from the cold iron was all she needed to regain enough strength to support her own bodyweight. She was dressed in rags. She didn’t remember being dressed at all. She saw her reflection in the door that stood between her and the queen, and she’d rather go naked.
Fae had different modesty standards from humans. Naked bodies weren’t as taboo among Aveena’s people. Frost giants were slightly more modest as a courtesy to the violent males of her species. Females would wear something to cover their breasts and slit, but nothing more. The other Fae considered frost giants barbarians; extremely dangerous barbarians, but still creatures that lacked the civility of other Fae species. So, Aveena found herself fully clothed in shit-brown rags. They were probably meant to fully cover a prisoner from neck to ankles. On her, it looked like a mini-skirt; tightly hugging her ass and hips. One long stride and it would tear apart at the seams. Since her life might literally depend on her modesty, she tried to shimmy it down to cover more of her pale-blue thighs. It didn’t help.
The guards gave her a moment’s dignity to prepare herself before they slammed their fists into the door. It opened immediately into a room bathed in sunlight and power. Aveena didn’t even notice the room. She couldn’t tell if it was richly appointed, or a complete shithole. Her eyes were pulled to the nine thrones on a raised dais at the other end of the colossal space.
“The Hall of the Nine,” not many had seen this place and lived to tell the tale.
She gulped and her legs betrayed her. They shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and no matter what her brain commanded, they wouldn’t move. The guards put their gauntleted fists into her lower back and fixed that. Cold iron-induced pain broke the spell and she staggered forward. She tried to keep her face composed, but the pain leaked through. Several predatory smiles looked back at her from The Nine. Despite their human-like appearances, each and every one of them was an apex predator, and the next best thing to a god. In the queen’s case, it was likely that lower case G was upgraded to a capital G. She was a big kahuna.
Aveena gulped as she shuffled forward, her tight rags just as restrictive as manacles around her ankles; but she didn’t lower her eyes. Whatever her mother might have declared, Aveena was a child of winter. The mantle of her family was firmly settled on her shoulders whether her mother would admit it or not. She might have nothing left; no honor, no duty, no future title; but she was still a noble Fae, and no one could take that away from her.
“It’s crazy what a little sunshine, fresh air, and good company can do for a person,” she hid her smile as the crushing depression she’d felt during her imprisonment slowly evaporated.
“Although, I’m not sure I’d call The Nine, and iron-kissed guards, good company,” she came to a stop at the foot of the dais, which was much higher than it appeared from across the room.
The eyes of The Nine were upon her, and she looked back as confidently as she could. On the far left, where the four Unseelie members sat, was her mother. Ymira Foxbelle, the Lady of Winter, towered over everyone else in the room at nearly twenty feet tall. Even seated, she was taller than the rest of The Nine if they’d been standing. She also looked the most intimidating with a tangle of black hair she’d tried, but failed, to tame for the proceedings. Like Aveena, she’d acquiesced to the cultural delicacies of the other Fae, and was wearing a dress of deep purple that paired well with her blue skin. Her battle staff, tipped with the Coldstone was held in her left hand.
For what it was worth, Ymira didn’t look at her daughter, but the creature next to her did. Cold, black eyes, that reminded Aveena of the dungeons beneath her feet, sent a shiver of anxiety and fear through the young frost giant. The woman saw the reaction and smiled. Mab Shadowwood, the Lady of Hags, looked nothing like a hag. Hags were grotesque creatures that liked to feed on fear, pain, or the flesh of their victims; whatever was on the menu. Mab was the exact opposite of grotesque, she was quite possibly the most beautiful of The Nine; although, no one would say that aloud within earshot of the Queen, the Lady of Autumn, or the Green Maiden.
Mab’s hair was bone-white, and done in an intricate braid that fell all the way to curl on the floor around her like a coil of rope. Her face was flawless, symmetrical, and with high, aristocratic cheekbones. Her body was hidden by the table, but Aveena had no doubt it was just as perfect as the rest of her. A battle staff similar to Ymira’s, but more feminine, sat in Mab’s right hand topped with a jagged white crystal. Judging by the red liquid dripping from the edge, it was sharp enough to make things bleed.
Mab’s smile followed Aveena’s gaze as she moved further right to the Erlking, patriarch of House Greyvale, Master of Hounds. The man had a stern, lean face, gunmetal gray hair, and a beard that would leave any man envious. Sharp, intelligent eyes the color of gold coins critiqued her from head to foot. Like most Fae, his ears were pointed, but they were broader, covered in fur, and seemed to twitch and rotate at things Aveena couldn’t hear. They were the ears of a predator that hunted by sound above all else, and if the legends were true, he could hear clear across the realms. Those same legends said if he ever caught the scent of someone who’d wronged his House, he’d feed them to his beasts. It didn’t matter how long until they feasted on their enemies. They were patient, well trained, and would savor the meal.
Aveena quickly moved to his right to where the Green Maiden, Aurora Glitterwind, sat in all her voluptuous glory. The woman was the exact opposite of the barely-restrained violence of Ymira, or the harsh beauty of Mab. Her hair was made of flowers that cascaded down to cover full, fertile breasts. Her skin was the color of fresh moss . . . no, it was fresh moss. Everything about her was round and supple to the point Aveena was sure she was pregnant. Ymira hid it well, but Aurora was all about life, and her body showed it. She seemed to bask in the glory of being seated to the right of the queen, like a plant drinking in sunlight; but then she smiled, and any warmth Aveena felt evaporated. The Green Maiden’s mouth was circular. Rows and rows of needle-sharp teeth glinted back at the young frost giant. The Green Maiden’s whole appearance was a ruse, a trap, to draw prey in so she could eat them.
Aveena felt her knees tremble as she moved to the opposite end where the Seelie sat. They were her court’s natural enemies, but her supposed allies weren’t looking too friendly at the moment. At the far end of the Seelie sat Puck Cottonclove, the Satyr Prince. His brown beard didn’t have the same girth as the Erlking’s, but it was stylish and pointed, just like his gaze. His horns rose high above a very human, even compassionate-looking face, but she wasn’t sure how to interpret the look he was giving her. Aside from her mother, the Satyr Prince was the newest member of The Nine.
Next to Puck, with eyes a swirling mass of angry blue energy, sat The Lady of the Lake, Nimue Thundertree. It was no secret that Nimue and Ymira hated each other. Their realms bordered one another’s, and they’d been in various stages of war for most of eternity. Legend stated that the Coldstone first belonged to the Lady of the Lake, but was stolen by Winter’s forces. Ymira naturally contested this, and so the two Fae’s forces continued to battle over an ancient slight. Nimue’s hair was the color of the sun on a cloudless day, but her facial features were fluid. They shifted with her mood. Right now, she looked ready to spit fire.
“She’ll want me dead,” that was one vote against Aveena, and there was nothing she could do to stop that.
Her eyes shifted left to the two r
emaining Seelie members of The Nine. They might be two different people, but they always voted as one: Oberon Woodspark, the Master of the Hunt, and Titania Briartwist, the Lady of Autumn. Both looked down at Aveena with unreadable expressions, which was about as much as she could expect from her grandparents.
Her father was a child of these two members of the Nine. There was a little of Titania’s beauty in Aveena’s face to sooth the natural savagery of the frost giants. Even though they were technically family, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t sign her death warrant in a heartbeat. The Fae didn’t think like humans.
Titania was unquestionably beautiful, some would say Mab or the queen’s equal, depending on that creature’s tastes. Her hair was the warm auburn of an early fall day, and her eyes matched Aveena’s own, cold, silver hue. While Seelie, the Lady of Autumn was a creature driven by change. Just like the season she represented, she encompassed both life and death; the ending of something wonderful, and the beginning of something cold, deadly, but equally beautiful. That carried over into her personality, and while she looked like a middle-aged, vivacious, warrior woman; everyone knew to be wary around her. Human psychologists would diagnose her with bipolar disorder, but her mood swings were the balancing act of the powerful natural forces she held dominion over.
“I hope I caught her on a good day,” Aveena gulped as she tried to read anything off her grandmother’s face. She got jack shit.
Her grandfather was something different. The Master of the Hunt was a hulking man, the next best thing to Aveena’s mother in the room. His shoulders were broad and powerful, a mighty sword was strapped to his back, and an impressive rack of antlers adorned his head. These weren’t the antlers of some helpless creature to be chased down by hounds or wolves. These were meant for stabbing, tearing, and rending his prey to pieces. Unlike the other men, his face was cleanshaven, showing off his strong chin, while his salt-and-pepper hair was tied in a ponytail with a small bit of leather.
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