42. Chapter 42
W inter had crept in overnight, quiet as a thief and twice as unforgiving.
Ren had woken to find slender icicles curling against her windowpane, glistening when they caught the morning sun. By midday, much of the ice had melted into shining drops that slid from rooftops and branches, though the wind still carried a crisp bite.
Ren wondered how winter looked here in Pyraelia. Winters in the west or the southern reaches were fair and fleeting, a passing coolness rather than a season of deep frost. Here, though, she sensed the cold might settle in and linger.
The Iron Bridle was warm and loud, a welcome contrast to the bitter chill outside.
Ren sat across from Elira at their usual corner table, the rich smell of roasted meat and spiced ale wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.
A half-eaten plate of lamb and thick-cut potatoes sat between them, and Ren nursed her tankard, letting the hum of conversation soften the sharp edges of her mind.
It had been a week since the battle at Greymoore Village – a blur of training, volunteering with the efforts in Greymoore, and sleepless nights.
What struck Ren most wasn’t the destruction, but the resilience that followed.
The villagers, human through and through, possessed a toughness she couldn’t help but admire.
Men and women alike worked side by side, rebuilding homes with their own hands, refusing to bow to despair.
More than once, she’d stopped to watch them hammering, hauling, laughing through exhaustion and felt something tighten in her chest. Even Lucan had been spotted passing out water to the displaced folk one morning.
Ren had to look twice to be sure.
It had been a week, too, since that throne room encounter with Kaelin, and in all that time, Ren had seen little of Kaelin.
The few glimpses she’d caught were fleeting – glimpsing the fae princess in council chambers, issuing orders with clipped precision, or striding through the courtyard flanked by guards.
Always distant, always untouchable. Yet Ren caught herself searching for her anyway, as though her eyes couldn’t help but seek her out.
“Feels like things are finally settling,” Elira managed around a mouthful of bread.
Ren tipped her head in a half-nod, half-shrug. “Even the Witherblight seems to be keeping its distance.” She hesitated. “And I’ve been actually working with Princess Kaelin.”
Elira nearly choked on her ale. She coughed into her sleeve, eyes narrowing in exaggerated disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Miracles do exist.”
Ren bristled, leaning forward in her chair. “It’s not like that. She’s not—” She broke off with a sigh. “She saved me and Talen. We were fixing to be food for the undead corpses, and then there she was with reinforcements. Not sure if we would have made it out alive without her.”
Elira’s brow lifted, genuine surprise flickering there. “Are we talking about the same person who’s tormented you since you stepped foot here?”
Ren didn’t answer right away. Her mind had already gone back to that moment – Kaelin astride a midnight-black horse, golden hair streaming behind her, violet eyes blazing. It was the kind of sight that branded itself into you.
“She’s… not what I expected,” Ren ad mitted at last.
Elira leaned back in her chair. “I’ll give her this – she’s the kind of terrifying that could lead an army straight to their deaths and have them convinced it was for their honor.” She reached for her ale. “Makes you wonder what else she could convince people of.”
Ren rolled her eyes as Elira nursed her ale, but the words stuck in her chest more than she wanted to admit. Ren pretended to focus on her food, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Later tonight, she’d head to the library. She hadn’t been since the battle, too busy attending to rebuilding efforts and training. The thought of seeing Kaelin there sent a faint, unwelcome twist through Ren’s stomach, and it was not the usual churn of dread.
It was something dangerously close to eagerness.
Ren took another swig of her own ale, trying to smother the feeling.
But it stayed.
Inside the library, the faint crackle of the hearth at the far end mixed with the soft, steady patter of rain and hail against the tall windows.
Ren slipped through the arched doorway at the back, still holding the warm paper bundle Veylan had shoved into her hands after an overly long conversation about his husband’s “newest and fluffiest” biscuits.
She hadn’t planned to take them, but they were still warm to the touch, buttery steam curling up from the folds, so she couldn’t resist. Veylan had winked as he passed them over, adding, “Perfect for the nip in the air. Nothing chases off the cold like these.”
Near the third row of shelves, a familiar shape stood hunched, back turned to Ren, shoulders bobbing as he muttered under his breath. Sir Pindlewhip, his quill tucked carelessly behind one ear, floating before the spines of weathered tomes, sounded out a limerick that refused to resolve itself.
“There once was a fae from the coast…” he grumbled, rubbing his chin, “…who claimed he could drink the most? No, no, blast it all – ghost? Boast?”
Ren bit down a laugh and pressed closer to the shelves, careful not to let the soles of her boots squeak on the polished stone.
She slid sideways past him, clutching the biscuit bundle to her chest, while Pindlewhip kept muttering strings of improbable rhymes to himself—“roast, host, post, compost…”—oblivious to her presence.
Her boots barely whispered over the rug as she rounded the last shelf and immediately spotted Kaelin sitting in a deep-backed chair, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a half-full glass of wine balanced on the table beside her.
The dim lamplight caught on the pale gold of her hair, the soft waves tumbling over her shoulder as she bent over a heavy tome. Her gaze was locked on the page.
“Hey,” Ren greeted.
Without glancing up, Kaelin replied flatly, “Hey.”
Ren set her biscuits on the table, sliding into the seat across her. “Brought some food for thought. I managed to pass by Sir Pindlewhip before he saw me. Hopefully, we don’t get another surprise from him tonight.”
“I should hope not. I’d hate to endure another of his mangled limericks.”
Ren grinned. “He tries.”
“Hm.” Kaelin’s eyes flicked back to her book, her slender brows drawn tight in concentration. The pages caught the lamplight, the faint gold thread in her gown glinting each time she shifted.
Something about her posture felt off. The swagger was gone, her usual sly confidence replaced by a rigid, brittle stillness.
Ren leaned back, tearing off a bite of biscuit. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I’m reading,” Kaelin answered pointedly, the words clipped.
“Obviously. But I can tell something’s gnawing at you.” When Kaelin didn’t answer, Ren tried again. “I’m a good listener. And I try not to judge too harshly.”
That got Kaelin’s eyes on her. She closed the book with a snap . “If I wanted to be annoyed, I’d go elsewhere.”
Ren stilled, the heat in her chest replaced with an uncomfortable slap. Her gaze dropped to the biscuits.
Ren thought after the battlefield, after the moment in the throne room—
She forced her shoulders not to sag. “Right. Okay.”
Kaelin reopened her book, her attention snapping back to the text as though Ren had ceased to exist.
Ren settled into her chair, tugging a tome from the nearby stack and flipping it open. She didn’t see a single word. Her eyes skimmed the pages while her mind gnawed at the sting in her chest.
Why the hell did she get her hopes up?
Maybe she’d misread Kaelin from the start. Maybe the fae princess truly was exactly what she showed the world, and somehow Ren overlooked that.
Her chair scraped faintly as she shifted, the thought of standing and walking away tempting. But, no. She wasn’t going to slink off like some dog with her tail between her legs.
Ren pressed her lips into a hard line, squared her shoulders, and stayed. If Kaelin wanted to sit there radiating frost, fine.
Ren could match her, minute for stubborn minute.
So they read in silence, the fire popping in the hearth, the rain whispering against the windows. Every so often, Ren’s gaze drifted sideways, catching the faint movement of Kaelin’s hand as she turned a page, or the rise and fall of her breath.
Details Ren hated herself for noticing.
The next morning, snow drifted in lazy spirals through the frigid air as Ren fell into step behind Elric.
A winter storm had blown through in the night, rattling shutters and whistling through the windowpanes.
When Ren woke at dawn and peered from her window, she found the world remade beneath a thin, glittering sheet of snow.
The rooftops wore white crowns, and the courtyards below lay hushed and still, as though holding their breath.
They moved single file, boots crunching over frost-hardened ground, the line of trainees winding beyond the skeletal treeline that bordered the training grounds.
Ren’s fingers ached around the steel shield in her grasp.
It had to weigh thirty pounds, maybe more, and each step she took made it feel heavier.
She gritted her teeth and forced her legs to match the long, unhurried strides of the fae ahead of her in the single file line.
Laughter drifted from the front – Lucan’s voice carrying easily in the still air. His hair flashed like pale gold against the bleak gray sky.
A shiver worked its way down Ren’s spine as she caught sight of Mount Solfira’s jagged peaks, their white crowns stark against the horizon.
Somewhere beneath the wind, she began to hear the soft, persistent trickle of water.
The sound grew louder until the trees broke apart, revealing a wide, dark river.
Its surface churned sluggishly, not yet frozen.
“Into the water,” Ivan’s voice cut through the hush of falling snow. “Shields in hand.”
No one hesitated. They stepped forward in a crunching march. Pebbles shifted treacherously beneath Ren’s boots, and she nearly lost her footing. The first lick of icy water against her ankle made her inhale sharply; it burned with cold, stabbing up her calves as she waded deeper.
She stopped beside Elric, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. His face was taut, mouth set in grim concentration. She returned her attention to Ivan.
“On the first day of frost,” Ivan began, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back, “House Vaelaran conducts the Steel Hold. It is a trial of endurance and willpower. You feel the current beneath you?” His gaze swept over them.
“It will try to pull you from your stance. Your own body will beg you to drop the shield. If your shield falls, you will start again, but this time with a stone lashed to your back. And you will hold until the river decides to take you under or until I give the order.”
The current swirled around Ren’s thighs. Her grip tightened on the shield’s leather strap, and she forced her shoulders back. Whatever this trial was, she would not be the one dragged under.
But the river’s cold was relentless. It sank its teeth into Ren’s bones, chewing through muscle until her legs trembled under the water’s pull. The shield’s weight seemed to double with each passing breath.
“Remember that sometimes it is not the river you must fight, but the weight you bring into it.”
Ren’s breath steamed in ragged bursts, each exhale a desperate attempt to steady herself. She adjusted her footing, shifting against the slick stones beneath, but the current pressed and tugged in an attempt to sweep her away .
The others were silent, their own focus sharpening.
Ren’s arms shook violently. She bit her lip until she tasted iron, trying to will the tremor away. But the burn was rising, creeping from her shoulders down her back, into her ribs, until it was everywhere.
Her grip faltered. She tried to hold, just for a moment longer—
The shield slipped from her fingers with a deafening splash .
Her horror was immediate. She’d failed.
Ivan’s voice cracked like a whip. “Stone to your back, Harper. Now.”
Someone splashed through the rough, strapping a rock into place on Ren’s back, its weight pressing between her shoulder blades. Her chest heaved as she stepped back into position, the shield once again above her head. Every nerve screamed, but she gritted her teeth and planted her feet.
Lucan appeared to her right, shield held high, and voice low enough for only her to hear. “Square your feet. Lean into the current, not against it. And stop thinking about here .”
Ren huffed out something like a laugh, more pain than amusement. “Right. And I’m supposed to forget I can’t feel my toes.”
“Think of somewhere else. Something else. Doesn’t matter what – just not the pain.”
She shifted as he said, feeling her weight root more firmly into the stones beneath.
Time blurred after that. The pain didn’t fade, but it dulled at the edges, her mind flicking through half-formed memories – the hushed stillness of the library, Kaelin’s violet eyes gleaming in the candlelight, how the fae princess’s fingers tapped once or twice on the edge of the page whenever she found a passage particularly interesting, or how she scrunched her nose ever so slightly when she came across something she disagreed with, like she was silently arguing with the author.
Nights had blurred together like that, quiet hours spent in the glow of lantern light.
And in pieces of Ren’s training – when she got knocked flat on her ass or tasted blood after a strike to the teeth – Ren realized that some small part of her looked forward to the nights after, when she might find Kaelin waiting among the shelves, sharp-tongued and unpredictable, and yet… there .
A pang coiled in Ren’s chest. Unease, yes, but not fear. If Kaelin thought her silence and frost could keep Ren at arm’s length, she was sorely mistaken.
Ren might not have known what sin she’d committed to receive the fae princess’s disdain, but she’d damn well figure it out.
By the time Ivan called the trial, Ren was shaking so badly she thought she’d collapse into the river. But instead of the smug jabs she’d expected, Elric clapped her on the back, some of the other fae even shooting her grins.
“Hard task for your first frost,” one fae complimented with a grin. “You held longer than most.”
Lucan gave her an approving nod, the faintest glint of respect in his pale eyes, before another voice from the group called out an invitation to join them for drinks.
Ren blinked, still dragging air into her lungs, each breath burning against the cold that had settled deep in her chest. Her muscles ached, yet she caught herself smiling.
And she met Lucan’s eyes. She bowed her head in silent thanks, and he returned it.