Chapter Twenty-Six- The War Came to Us
It takes me a moment to get up, pain searing my side where he started to heal me.
In the end, Thorne isn’t blessed with healing magic so even though his own stubborn immortality allows him to heal, my own healing process will be much slower.
It’s his ice magic that is currently stopping the blood.
Which is fine… until we start ascending the stairs and the pain burns anew.
“Ah!” I grab the wound in agony as Thorne rushes up and around the stone staircase. It takes him a moment to notice I’ve collapsed.
“Harrow!”
As he sprints back down to me, the palace rocks with the clash of magic, and stones come loose from above us.
I look down and to my horror, my own magic has started melting the ice he used on my wound. The wound spurts blood anew to the beat of my frantic heart. Fucking fire magic.
“That’s still a cool little trick,” I smirk and loll my head back onto the wall. Thorne grabs my tunic and shakes me.
I black out and then come to as he’s whispering the minor healing spell again. It seems to work because the bleeding finally slows after he’s labored over me for far too long.
“Stop icing me,” I swat his hand away. It hurts like hell, the constant freezing and melting of the skin paired with only merciful minutes of numbness.
“Stubborn Serpent,” he murmurs and drags me to my feet as another boom rocks the palace.
Yes, let’s hurry into the fray.
When we resurface in the library, the first thing I notice is the absence of not only Arcanists, but Paper Sprites. I hope they’re hiding between the pages of books and staying safe. Poor things.
“Here, sit,” Thorne shoves me to sit on a table and scrambles through a desk, Gasha’s. May Xeusis protect her.
I watch Thorne as he unravels some bandages. “Lift your shirt up.”
I almost say something scandalous but he senses it and frowns before he yanks up my shirt himself, preparing bandages for me.
“I need you to be functional up there, not flirtatious and delirious,” he says.
“Saying that while standing between my legs and touching me is kind of pointless, Princeling,” I slap his cheek lightly.
It’s fun to pretend that the gravity of the situation isn’t what it is, but maybe that’s how I survived this long.
He wraps the bandages around my wound and tugs them so tight that I gasp. I arch toward him, throwing my head back. He makes a noise low in his throat when I do but shakes his head.
“War, now,” he points at the door like a scolding parent.
“Fine, let’s kill these assholes,” I clamber to my feet and lead him out.
Thorne murmurs a series of curses as we emerge from the library on the east side of the palace to find the sky full of dark magic and ice raining down upon us.
It’s clear that some of the people from Dawnfalcon tried to evacuate into the palace when Frostguard marched through Titan’s Rest and into their homes.
While the palace itself boasts a moat and extensive stone walls, this conflict came fast and chaotic.
I know Reese would have ordered the knighthood to let the civilians in and given that his rebels were also marching on the palace… the security measures were abandoned.
Smoke burns my eyes, and, as we try to find our way to the south entrance, my foot slips in some mixture of blood and mud. The head cracked open next to my foot boasts white hair. A Frostguardian soldier.
Those born in Frostguard always have white and silver hair, giving them away instantly.
It’s why Thorne’s own parentage was clear to Dreven the moment he was born.
He did not have the black hair of Netherhelm, the red of Incendria, the blonde of Celestia, not even the chestnut brown of Terramora.
When Thorne was born, it was obvious that his father was not Dreven.
Just as it’s obvious that the soldier dead before me was born to Frostguard.
I swallow and push my own black hair from my eyes.
Pulling my sword free from its sheath, I’m glad I remembered to grab it from the antechamber in our haste to exit.
“Fuck!” Thorne curses as a Frostguardian soldier runs a woman through. She chokes up blood instantly as a child gripping her shirt screams.
Thorne wrenches the soldier backward, who has a chance to regard Thorne’s own white-silver hair in confusion before Thorne’s killing touch pulls a blood-curdling scream from him. I scoop up the child, a girl of about five.
“Amnyistey,” I cast the spell, rendering the poor frantic thing unconscious and sprint for the south side of the palace.
This attack is from the Northeast where the Titan’s Rest Mountain range lies. The knighthood must be holding the southside as a refuge. How is Frostguard here? Did Aleksander lose Titan’s Rest?
If Aleksander lost Titan’s Rest, then they came through the wards there.
This is a problem.
“Harrow!” Thorne warns me in time. I drop to the ground, the girl’s small form still tucked tight against me as I feel the air of a sword swing over my head. It’s a Black Lantern.
“Iizyiah,” I summon dozens of serpents and send them towards him.
They attack him in a frenzy. These new serpents aren’t gentle and obedient like the ones before.
They are from the depths of the Venomwoods, wild and untamed.
It’s the price I paid for killing my beloved bonded serpents to save my own life.
I hear Thorne engage with someone behind me as the Black Lantern slumps to the ground.
“We’re kind of on your side, asshole,” I grit my teeth at him. And it’s true, we want Netherhelm to bow. But we are not on Frostguard’s side.
They will bow to the people within, not another kingdom.
I look at the child’s tear-streaked face and know she’ll remember the moment of her mother’s death for the rest of her life.
I skid through blood, hurdle bodies, and cast small defense spells as Thorne guards our backs.
“Sir Darkbloom!” One of my fellow knights hails me from the southern watch tower after we’ve been running for what feels like forever. The endless fog and smoke of magical warfare creates a paradox-like gloom.
“Take the child!” I hand her off as we enter through the main gates.
Sure enough, hundreds of people are crammed in the courtyard and spilling out of the south and east wings of the palace. Wails can be heard as healers rush between hastily cast tents while the remaining knights fight to keep these two wings secure.
“Where’s Dreven,” Thorne demands of the knight—Vernin—who’s seemingly in charge at the moment.
“The—the King is in the east wing library.”
“Keep them alive,” I say, thrusting a finger into Vernin’s chest. “If any more of them die, I will hold you personally responsible.”
He nods frantically with wide eyes.
Thorne storms through the crowd despite the people pleading with him to stay and protect them.
“Prince Thorne, please.”
“Your Grace!”
When we enter the east wing, knights are pushing back against makeshift barriers.
“Back up!” I tell the one in the middle. He stumbles back, shaking from exertion. “Give me a dagger.”
He places one in my hand and I exhale, closing my eyes in concentration. Then, like so many times before, I drag my forked tongue across the blade and imbue it with my venom, with serpent magic.
I’m vaguely aware of Thorne shouting into the library but I’m too focused on perfecting this spell.
I send more magic into the dagger than normal, my abilities faltering from having been stabbed.
Still, it takes and with a grunt I stab the glowing dagger into the wooden double doors.
The people around me gasp as I turn to them with the eyes of a serpent, glowing green to match the door behind me.
I pant and wipe blood from my tongue as bodies touching the door start to hit the floor with a thump on the other side.
The knights on our side stumble away from it.
“It’s defense magic. You’re safe on this side.”
“The Serpent!” Someone wails. “The Serpent of Netherhelm!” It’s a noblewoman who screams in horror.
“Back off!” A knight pushes her away from me when she lunges. The crowd falls into disarray as they clamber to get to me. “He has just protected you all!” I can’t even name this knight who has rushed to my defense. He must have come from Dawnfalcon.
Variations of he killed my husband, my uncle, my brother echo through the once-seemily large space now suffocating me.
“If they are dead then they deserved it!” I roar. The crowd recoils at the bass in my voice. “Now let me through or you will follow them to an early grave. These good men cannot protect you from me,” I growl.
Slowly, they move aside to let me through to get to Thorne in the library where I find a different commotion going on.
“Father! On your knees!” Thorne orders from a turned-over bookcase that the King has turned to a dais. Because of course he has.
The King trembles opposite him, Reese gripping the once-daunting man by the elbow. I push through the crowd to get to them.
“I will not bow before you, you wretched thing,” the King declares, spitting at Thorne’s feet. The crowd watches on in horror and confusion.
I see that Thorne has removed his gloves, and I watch as he raises a siphon-embedded palm toward the wicked King, whispering something.
At his words, ice flies forward and wraps around the King’s kneecaps.
Thorne snaps and the deafening sound of Dreven’s knees crushing sounds through the library.
The King howls in pain and collapses from Reese’s hold. The Black Lanterns cheer.
As I step onto the makeshift dais, I spit on the King. “You are nothing compared to him. You coward.” I kick him in the face, earning a roar of laughter and applause. From his own citizens, no less, who have suffered by his hand for too long.
“With war at our door, who among you have had enough of living under this cruel tyrant?!” Reese shouts as more people push into the room.
Black Lanterns in cloaks raise their abnormally black-flamed lanterns in agreement.