by Ana Calin
“But it could do irreparable damage to her.”
Miriam places her hand on mine.
“Power comes with responsibility and danger, and sooner or later Arielle will be forced to deal with all that. Besides, she’s in more danger without her magic. You won’t be able to protect her forever.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You can’t be with her every waking second, King Lysander. She needs her independence, and it’s paramount that she gets it soon, as much as the idea frightens you. Besides, you’ll soon be married to Minerva, and you’ll be even less able to watch over her.”
Her old face grows determined, making it clear she’s made her decision, and won’t be talked out of it.
“Beware, child,” she tells Arielle, rising slowly from her chair, her old bones crackling. “You will feel a heavy darkness inside of you, it will spread to all your organs like tar, and it will feel like a black octopus strangling you from inside out. It will be the worst thing you’ve ever lived through, but when you think you can’t take it anymore, remember this—you’re becoming a dark fae, but one so powerful it would make Hell seal its gates to keep you out.”
She lifts her face to the ceiling as she speaks, spreading out her arms, her words transforming into chanting. Instinctively, I shield Arielle behind me.
“Don’t do that, Ice King,” Miriam chants, her aura now glowing pale blue, like Caribbean waters, waves rippling through it. “I need her chest bare. Remember why you’re doing this.”
Her aura shines brighter, now surely visible from the outside like a blast of light. Arielle places herself in front of me, the crown of her head at the level of my chest. I breathe in her scent of sea and fresh linen, the perfume of her silky hair. By the cursed realms, it fills me with emotions so strong they’re almost scary.
Darkness seeps like tiny rivulets into Miriam’s aura, spreading like ink through crystal-clear waves. Black magic that stains her sea fae glow, but also infuses it with a magic signature that seems forged in the cauldrons of Hell.
My big hands tighten protectively on Arielle’s small round shoulders, my jaw tight to keep myself from springing in front of her. I start a chant of my own, deep in my chest, which must be nothing but a low rumble to Arielle’s ears. It’s a protection spell that I’m ready to cast over her, because I can’t risk anything going wrong and hurting her. The protective magic would billow into the air and shield us like a dome of gas-like crystal if things turn nasty.
“No, don’t,” Arielle shrieks, realizing what I’m doing. She pushes her back into my chest, as if wanting to get me out of her aunt’s cluttered kitchen. If humans were in the apartment with us, they would be crushed under the magic pent up here.
Bubbles of murky blue split from Miriam’s aura, floating toward Arielle. Ghostly whispers accompany them, the room filling with a skin-crawling sensation that only hellish magic can bring with it. Miriam looks down from the ceiling.
Her face is no longer that of a human old woman. Her irises shine golden, the slit pupils of snake cutting through them. Her now jet black hair floats around her head like the serpents of Medusa. My warrior instincts flare, and it’s all I can do not to call forth the sharpest blade of ice, and slice the woman’s head off her shoulders.
“Bare your chest for the black snake’s nest, oh Pure one,” the woman chants, her voice spectral, like a demon’s. Arielle’s fingers lace through mine, her arm across her chest, shielding her heart.
“You can back out of this, if you want, just say the word,” I whisper in her ear, my teeth clenched, all my muscles flexed. I’m ready to step in. It would take only a split second to shield her behind me, and expose myself to the bubbles of infected hell magic, letting them infuse me instead of her.
By the cursed realms, I’d be willing to die for her, right here, right now. In this instant I realize that my only reason for breath is to keep her alive.
“No,” the woman shrieks, her whole frame shimmering. She levitates in the air with her arms spread, her terrible snake-like eyes on us. “It has to be her.”
“I’ll do it,” Arielle calls, and removes her hand slowly from mine, thereby removing the barrier across her chest. I can feel the fear in her veins, and it hurts. I want to do something, protect her.
Miriam’s chanting fills the room with the energy radiating from her rippling aura.
Open your veins, hand over the reins,
Oh Pure One
It becomes your blood, the snake of hell mud,
Oh Pure One
Raise the blade of power, when night strikes the hour,
Oh Pure One.
The bubbles float around Arielle, forming a ring of hell ink. When the last one joins, they flash into her chest like blades. Arielle crashes against my chest at the impact.
I catch her in my arms and turn her around hastily, cupping her face.
“Take it in, Arielle, don’t fight it,” I say with all the calm I can muster, my lips close to hers. It cost me great effort not to block the black magic with my blade when it slammed into her, and it’s just as hard to control myself now, seeing her eyes rolled back, white foam beading at the corners of her mouth. But now that the magic is inside her body there’s no going back, she has to integrate it, or she’ll suffer irreparable damage. She shakes hard.
“Your own natural magic is trying to fight off the new one like it’s a virus. It’s similar to an allergic reaction, and it’s usually healthy, but not this time. You have to push through it, force your barriers down.”
The shuddering slows, and her eyes roll back to normal, but her blue irises betray she’s still not fully here. She looks through me, but I can sense my closeness is helping her. I come down on one knee and lay her over my thigh, one arm under the nape of her neck, cradling her like a child. Her shiny black hair falls over my forearm like a thick blanket of silk, her skin burning.
“I’m not feeling well, Lysander,” she manages through white lips.
“What you’re going through is normal, the pain will subside in a minute.”
I keep talking to her, my words soothing her, as I caress her smooth forehead with my fingers. I can feel her body accept the new magic, quicker than expected, following my guidance. It’s a balm to my heart to feel her trust. A thud on the floor makes my eyes dart in its direction, finding Miriam collapsed on the floor.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Arielle, and lay her gently on the floor. She sits up, taking a hand to her dizzy head, her limbs still trembling in the aftershocks of pain.
A pool of white spreads around Miriam’s head, the first sign she’s once again an old human woman. But when I turn her around, I find her pruned like a fig. By the cursed realms. Transferring her secret power to Arielle has caused Miriam’s body to weaken even more, and accelerated the aging process. She lies in a thin layer of bluish liquid, which has spilled from her aura, now free of any traces of black.
The woman opens her eyes slowly.
“It’s done.” She sounds exhausted. “Arielle has my power, but she will need help. You mustn’t leave her alone in this, Lord of Winter, whatever happens.”
“I’ll help her through it, I’ll be by her side the whole way,” I assure the woman, my arms strong under her weak old body. She feels light as cardboard.
“She’ll need your guidance will all her powers,” the woman manages. Her words are barely intelligible beyond the wheeze of her lungs. “With her sea magic most of all. It’s the most tremendous magic in her veins. Teach her how to fight, too. As the only descendant of the ocean king, and heiress to all his power, she’ll have so many enemies she’ll lose count.” She grimaces in pain, and when she speaks again, I know it’s her heart that aches. “She’s only a child. Barely twenty-two. Half human. Innocent, as fragile as a fairy, despite powers.”
“I will protect her at all times, I promise.”
“No, that’s not enough. Swear to me that you’ll instruct her. Teach her how to use her powers as weapons.”
>
“That would make her an uncontrollable weapon, dangerous even to herself.”
“Listen.” She grabs my forearm and squeezes, but I can barely feel it, she’s so weak. “I understand that you want to protect her, but think about it this way. What if you die in a fight? You may be one of the most dangerous and powerful supernaturals in the world, the ancient ruler of the Court of Ice, but your enemies are powerful, too. Even if they don’t kill you, it would be enough to separate you from Arielle for a day or two for one of her own antagonists to finish her.”
Scenarios flash in my head, and they’re all poison. A bitter taste floods my mouth.
“I promise. But that doesn’t mean you get to die on us.” I scoop her up, and rise to my feet. “Arielle, quickly. A mirror.”
CHAPTER III
Arielle
The dark whirl of the portal spits us out at the castle, through an ice mirror in the Council tower. I have just one memory from this place—the day they put me through the test, and threw me into the waves that crash against the castle base. A test that could have killed me.
“Get Iridion, quickly,” Lysander commands the guards. He lays Aunt Miriam on the ice Council table.
“Is she going to make it?” I grab the table edges as Lysander runs his hands over her feeble body.
“I have healing magic, but this is a special situation,” he replies, moving his hands along Miriam’s body like skilled scanners. I remember how he taught me to heal Edith months ago. “The magic she transferred to you was linked to her life force, which is draining rapidly.”
The doors bang against the walls, and Iridion storms inside, his ivory cane knocking against the ground. His silver-white hair stands on end, his white robe rippling around him. He’s moving faster than I would have thought his old frame capable of.
“Stand aside, Milord,” he urges Lysander, yet not without respect. The large king moves out of the way, his ice-blue eyes finding mine.
Old Iridion’s spells and magic fade into the background as Lysander lose ourselves in each other’s gaze. My heart beats in my throat as his intensity enwraps me. It’s the first time I’ve met his gaze directly after the mountains. I let the connection unfold, searching for the feel of our bond.
Problem is, I’ve always found him compellingly attractive, on all levels, so I don’t know if what I feel now is due to the bond, or if it’s just a natural development of that attraction. But no, the chemistry is too strong. In only a few moments, the charge between us exhausts me, especially knowing that I can’t have him. My body and soul are aching for his embrace, for his beautiful lips pressed against mine, and that ache weakens me.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” a shrill voice resounds against the walls. I turn on my heel, my mouth pressing in a bitter line when I see Minerva. She walks confidently into the hall, like the queen she’s about to become, her crimson cape billowing behind her. I remember that Lysander pledged himself to her, and anger returns to the pit of my stomach.
She’s wearing an intricately ornate red dress, which accentuates her slim, elegant frame, but her face is just as pointy and unpleasant as ever. And damn, if she would at least quit on that red lipstick, it makes the expression of her mouth even harder than in natural state.
“The little oppressed sea princess is back.”
Her jealousy poisons the air, I’m sure even the guards can feel it by the way they watch her. She walks to Lysander, but glares at me like she could ram an iron dagger straight into my throat.
“What took you so long?” she addresses him with false sweetness as her hand snakes around his bicep. “And what in the cursed realms happened with this one?” She creases her nose as she looks down at Miriam, raising an eyebrow.
“She tried to escape when I said I’d take her into custody. This is the result.”
“You wanted to take her into custody?” Minerva frowns skeptically.
“It was about time she got hers for staying with the humans, don’t you think? Anyway, she won’t survive the dungeon in this state. She will receive a room in the castle, and Iridion will keep an eye on her health.” He meets my eyes, silently beckoning me to back him up on this.
Minerva squares her bony shoulders. “Well, now that that is taken care of, we have to be on our way soon. Best we leave later today. The Seelie Fae expect us on the Flipside of Scotland tomorrow. If my sources, are right, Xerxes is gathering his own armies, and his fire magic has already started to pierce the veil to the human world.”
Lysander’s irises flash.
“How do you know that?”
“I told her.” That voice. I know it.
And sure enough, Zillard Dark is standing in the doorframe. He’s wearing a sleek black suit that’s fitted to his body, his black eyes like molten coals.
“It’s urgent that we have a word, Lord of Winter,” he addresses Lysander. “In private.”
“Not in private,” Lysander retorts. He keeps his voice commanding, controlled, but so obviously contemptuous of Zillard that I’m sure no one in the room misses it. “Minerva will be joining us, of course, as my pledged future queen, and trusted partner.” He addresses the guards. “Announce Sandros.” Then he looks at me, an intense secret in his gaze. “Lady Arielle de Saelaria will be joining us as well. I hear that you’ve already met each other at the engagement ball, so I won’t be wasting time with introductions.”
Not even a muscle moves on Zillard’s face, but he must be mad. He surely expected me to keep the secret from Lysander, which means I’ve just lost a potentially powerful ally. And which might be exactly what Lysander wanted.
Lysander and Minerva start towards the door, guards trailing after them, while I hover behind, worried about Aunt Miriam. She already started to regain the healthy color of her skin.
“Go in peace, child,” Iridion whispers with closed eyes, still immersed in his healing magic that feels like soft winter chill. “When you see her again, she’ll be as good as new.” He glances at me with glassy, but kind eyes. “I promise you.”
Arielle
“WILDFIRES STARTED TO spread in isolated regions in the human world,” Zillard reports, sitting back in a silk-cushioned chair with a high back-rest made of beautifully woven wrought silver. We’re in the antechamber to Lord Lysander’s private apartment where he holds his secret meetings.
“That’s how we know where he concentrated most of his fire warriors on the Flipside, but some of these fires could also be decoys, keeping us away from the areas where his real bases are located. I understand he has powerful allies, too.”
Lysander stares at him as he speaks like a warlord made of ice and metal. He’s so beautiful, it’s hard to keep my eyes off of him, but I have to look away if I want to ease the tension in my stomach. When we look at each other, the bond between us activates like charged wires, and we can’t risk the others noticing.
Especially not Minerva.
“We can even expect demons, and dragon lords,” Sandros says. “He’s the Fire Lord, he has special ties with them.”
“Demons and dragon lords wouldn’t join him, at least not until it looks like he’s winning the war,” Lysander says. He takes this with impossible calm, the way only an experienced warlord could. “Demons wouldn’t jeopardize the balance between the two poles of Hell, it would take centuries to get Lucifer to authorize that. And dragon lords are too proud and vain to come to anyone’s aid. They expect to be served, not called on like vassals.”
Zillard scoffs. “That still doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be worrying. The Fire King is resourceful, he surely has serious back-up to start this war.”
“I’m sure he’s secures support as we speak, I just don’t think it’s demons and dragon lords.” His icy gaze pierces Zillard’s stony stare. “He could, for example, be relying on his old friends, the black mages and dark warlocks. You’re a member of the Dark Warlocks Order, if I remember correctly?”
“Lysander,” Minerva intervenes, “Zillard i
s here to help. He’s not the enemy.”
“Isn’t he? By the way, did you invite him to our engagement ball, Minerva, because I don’t remember putting him on the list.”
She hesitates for a moment. “No, I didn’t invite him.”
“Someone must have, though.” Suspicion shadows Lysander’s face, enhancing his deliciously dangerous aura. “Strange thing is, he told Arielle he was there on my part.”
Tension fills the room, hostility sprouting in the air.
“In fact, Zillard Dark was only there long enough to advise Arielle to go and see the sea witch,” Lysander continues. “Who is supposedly able to lift the silver spell I put on her to bind her sea powers, powers that could overwhelm her. Now, you both know—” He addresses Minerva and Sandros, “that even if it were true, seeing the sea witch would mean certain death for Arielle.”
“It was me who invited Zillard,” Sandros speaks up, surprising everyone. The big warrior looks down at his dagger as he plays it in his big hands. His wild dark hair falls over his thick mailed shoulders, his voice rough. “I have relations to black mages and dark warlocks, too. I’m half fire fae, after all.”
“I didn’t mean to send Arielle to death,” Zillard hurries to add. “I just pointed out that there was another way to recover her powers.”
Lysander’s stare could crush the warlock, but I speak up before he can say anything.
“What if I can help you get Calanbriel Seawrath as an ally?” I say. All faces turn to me, Minerva particularly outraged. She raises an eyebrow, her red mouth twisting in an ugly expression.
“How can a half-fae with the powers of a jelly fish have any influence on Calabriel?” she bites.
“I’m the ocean king’s descendant, that should carry some weight, especially in Calabriel’s eyes,” I counter. “Besides, he didn’t honor your engagement ball, I doubt you have other ways of persuading him.”
Minerva’s face distorts in a mixture of contempt and hatred, but her mouth stays closed. I grin, letting her understand I know about her old affair with him. I wonder if Lysander knows.
