Chapter 31 - Chains of Ice
Wrenora
The ache in my chest grew worse as we got farther from the Ice Fortress.
It was the anguish in his eyes. The sorrow when I’d smoothed my fingers over his face.
I’d expected him to flinch back, but he’d leaned into my touch in a way that broke me.
I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be touched for the first time after eight years.
The way he’d kissed me as though his life depended on it...
Fucking Nine Hells, why was I leaving? How had I let him send me away? Freedom or not, this wasn’t what he wanted. I could see it in his eyes. And it sure as fuck wasn’t what I wanted.
The wind was to my back as we rode, mercilessly driving my spine straight in the saddle.
I kept reliving the journey to Dyga over and over, squinting as I glanced across the flat expanse of the permafrost. The guards accompanying me were a ways ahead.
How long would it take for them to catch up to me if I turned around?
They took turns glancing back to ensure I was still there, but if I timed it right, I could keep a fair lead at least for a while.
I patted the mare, considering my options.
What would they do if I ran? Would they try to kill me?
I’d be just another stupid thrall cut down for disobeying.
If they disposed of my body, Callan would never know.
Another look back. Every moment I grew farther from the Ice Fortress was a moment I’d have to try to outrun them.
I swallowed my fear and yanked my horse’s reins, turning into the wind.
The cold sliced through me like a dagger. I knew it would be frigid, but I hadn’t expected it to saw into my muscles like it did. I tucked the cloak around my legs as best as I could, bidding my horse to run faster.
Yelling was my only warning the guards had finally noticed, but I didn’t bother looking back. I kept my eyes adhered to the silhouette of the fortress’ spires in the distance—sharp like Callan’s blade of ice.
Callan.
The ribbon that seemed to connect us pulled, sending a ripple of urgency through my legs as they hugged my mare’s sides.
Something was wrong.
I don’t know how I knew, but the closer I got, the more the feeling melted into my marrow and spread through my veins. Something was very, very wrong. And not the least of which was I was somehow connected to a very dangerous, very beautiful elven prince.
The rush of wind and raw pounding of hooves muffled the shouts of the guards as they tried and failed to catch me.
After what seemed like an eternity, I could make out the shapes of the massive windows that faced out from the throne room.
They were like beveled mirrors, reflecting the white and snowy sky overhead.
As I plunged my horse into the valley at the outskirts of the main gate, it started to snow—fat, fluffy flakes that blotted out everything but a few feet in front of me.
I let the horse slow, but she seemed to know where she was going even in the whiteout.
We lunged into bailey, skidding on the slick crushed stone.
My heart was still racing as I flung myself out of the saddle and bolted toward the massive carved ice doors.
I slid to a halt. If something was wrong, running headfirst into trouble was not the best plan.
I spun in place and back tracked toward the stables, the mare oblivious to my urgency, following like a lost puppy.
When I entered, Cassmira looked up from her nest, a golden eye narrowing on me. I’d never been near her without Callan, and a sudden fear that she’d eviscerate me as soon as I stepped close enough held me in place.
“Do you remember me, Cassmira?”
She turned her head to regard me with the other eye, blinking a couple times before she turned her head again.
“I think Callan is in trouble.”
She scratched at the hay at her feet, ruffling the feathers around her neck.
I don’t know how I knew he was in trouble, but I could feel it burning down whatever this bond was that tied us together, and without any kind of weapon other than the simple dagger Magdala had given me for the journey, I was at a severe disadvantage.
“Can you help me? Please.”
She squawked, a short, warm sound that reminded me of how she’d answered Callan when he’d spoken with her before, but she didn’t move. I took a chance and stepped closer, watching her carefully for any signs she was about to rip me into thin strips of meat.
I took another step closer, and she leaned her beak toward me, the feathers on her neck fluffing out. It was now or never. I reached, my fingers easing into her soft feathers. She made a sound that reminded me of Fynn’s happy cat chirps as I stroked the side of her neck a few more times.
One of her golden eyes held me in place, her pupil narrowing on my face. Was this a truce? Did she understand? The trust of a frost phoenix warmed my heart more than I expected. I smiled, a glimmer of hope melting my frozen extremities.
“Let’s go.”
––––––––
The fortress was silent, the main hall completely empty.
This wasn’t particularly unusual, but the hair rose on the back of my neck.
I drew closer to the throne room, tiptoeing down the hall as quickly as I could on the polished ice.
The thread in my chest pulled tight the closer I came, and I glanced back toward the front of the fortress where Cassmira waited patiently.
I wasn’t sure how she’d help, but I would trust her, certain her instincts were far better than my own.
I froze in place at the sound of rustling. Muffled voices echoed off the faceted walls. A sound that reminded me of metal clanking against glass. I took a deep breath and side stepped against the wall, slowly leaning closer until I could peek inside.
There were guards positioned along the edges of the room.
Callan sat like a statue on his throne, the perfect prince of ice.
The snow outside made the view from the massive windows impossible.
Only I knew there were guards riding through the snow squall, likely on the edge of the valley at that very moment.
But something was off. These guards weren’t guards at all.
They were in all black where Callan’s men-at-arms usually wore some variation of pale blue or white to match the frigid fortress.
It was hard to get a good view, but Callan wasn’t merely sitting on his throne, he was chained to it.
His arms were strapped down, his ankles to the legs.
His hair was pushed back from his face, and the front laces of his doublet and shirt had been pulled loose and laid open, the purple sapphire glowing softly as it rested against his skin.
I’d been right. Something was wrong. He’d been taken prisoner. The very thing he’d wanted to help him control his magic had been used against him.
I pulled back, glancing at Cassmira who hadn’t moved from her spot at the main door.
I needed to make a decision before the guards following me burst through and alerted the fighters that had taken Callan prisoner.
If I’d counted correctly, there were twelve of them and only four of Callan’s guards.
I reached for the dagger. I could throw it at one of the closer fighters, but if I missed, I’d be without any kind of weapon.
Cassmira growled. It was low—barely audible from where I stood—but I took it as a warning. I was out of time to consider my options. I took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes closed and channeling the fear pumping through my veins into battle readiness.
I sprinted into the room, lunging at the nearest guard, managing to get close enough to embed the dagger deep in his eye socket.
He hadn’t had time to draw his sword. I yanked, but the dagger was firmly lodged in his skull.
Instead, I reached for his blade, pulling it free as his body slumped to the ground.
Everything was in motion all at once. Guards were drawing weapons, the sound of swords leaving their scabbards was bone chilling.
Callan’s shocked eyes held mine, but I pushed it all away.
I needed to focus.
I wasn’t an amazing warrior—I wasn’t even a good one—but I didn’t need to be, because Cassmira burst through the doorway behind me before spreading her wings wide and sweeping up to the ceiling of the throne room.
She dove at one of the fighters at the back, her shrieks blending into his as her talons ripped into armor, flesh, and muscle.
Two other fighters scrambled to get away from the phoenix with cries of terror as she spun and homed in on her next target.
Using Cassmira’s entrance as a momentary distraction, I bolted toward the next fighter along the wall, the blade of my borrowed sword sinking into the meat of his arm before he could block me.
Blood sprayed the wall as he spun away, pulling me along as the blade caught on bone.
I didn’t bother to kill him. He wasn’t going to be able to swing a sword easily, anyway.
I jerked the sword free in time to block a strange, paw-shaped mace aimed at my head.
I ducked under the warrior’s arm and spun, slicing across her back. She wailed in pain as she collapsed.
Cassmira proceeded to rip warriors to shreds.
The sound of their gurgling shrieks echoed off the faceted ice walls, and in my periphery, I could see more fighters pouring into the throne room.
I wondered how many more there were in the fortress.
I lunged for Callan, sliding over the icy floor until I reached him, catching myself on his knees.
“Take the sapphire,” he said, his voice low. For me alone. “The clasp requires heat.”
I couldn’t stop staring at his lips, trying to register what he’d said. I hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again. Or if I did see him again, it would be to face some punishment I should have already faced. His words washed over me before they finally registered.
“Wrenora, the sapphire.”
I reached for the clasp behind his neck. His breath on my face drove everything else going on behind me from my mind. Time slowed, the ribbon yanking us together, tightening.
It took all my focus to work the complicated clasp, each piece so small my fingers kept slipping off them.
He’d said it needed heat. I pushed everything else from my mind, focusing on the clasp held between my fingers.
Tendrils of my magic coiled around the silver, twisting until the clasp fell loose onto his shoulders.
I stepped back with the sapphire in my hand.
As soon as the necklace was free of him, the cold of his magic brushed over my exposed skin.
White snowflakes like the ones swirling outside whipped my hair back from my face as the chains that shackled him to the chair frosted over, massive icicles piercing through them.
With a sharp yank of his arms, the brittle, frozen metal shattered, and he freed his legs soon after.
Butterflies slammed into my ribs as Callan stood to his full height before me, a terrifying expression across his face, as he drew his ice blade. He could kill me—he nearly had before—with the same blade he’d once held to my neck.
One he could easily kill me with now.