Chapter 21 #2
Varik stood straighter. “I’ve got guards stationed around the whole perimeter, but we need to know what we’re truly up against if we’re to defend ourselves, or these things are going to start picking us off one by one, and there won’t be an envoy to lead the king back.”
Jack cursed under his breath, exhaling slowly. “I can’t be certain, not yet, but ever since the shields weakened, there have been rumors of things prowling these lands…”
“What sort of things?” Torin interrupted, a bit too jumpy.
Jack shot him a glare. “Of the cursed wraiths once bound to the ruins of Dokkvíor.”
My eyebrows quirked upward, a sheen of cold sweat beading on the back of my neck. “Do you mean the…Helvaktír?” I asked carefully, my voice shaky. Even speaking the name of those cursed fae was enough to spur nightmares for days.
A silence seemed to fall over the entire camp, everyone holding their breath as if the shadowed creatures were going to spring out of the darkness and swallow all of us whole.
Varik exchanged glances with his soldiers before meeting Jack’s eyes.
“Look, I’m no expert on magical beings or cursed creatures, but we all remember the stories told to us as children.
If what you’re saying is true…” He glanced again at the corpses.
“None of these warriors have ever faced anything like this. We’re in uncharted waters. ”
Jack didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept over the camp, to the wide-eyed guards, the trembling horses, the flames burning low in the scattered campfires.
He silently dropped to one knee, laying his sword beside him, and pressing both palms to the frozen earth.
Power began to roll off him in heavy waves, dark blue light flaring around his body like wisps of frostfire as he reached deep into the soil with his magic.
Everyone took a step back, unsure of what the prince was doing.
I drew closer.
When the ground began to rumble, I knew what he intended to do.
A deep, thunderous crack split through the night, like the earth itself was fracturing at its core.
We all ducked as if a cannon had been shot, our breaths lodged in our throats.
The snow around the camp trembled when a sudden whoomph of frost exploded upward, followed by the unmistakable sound of ice surging through frozen soil as if Náldrún himself was clawing his way out of the underworld.
Jack’s linen shirt rippled in the oscillating wind stirred by his surging magic, his silver hair fiercely whipping against his face and neck.
His broad shoulders flexed with the strain of the power radiating off him, each muscle taut, shifting under his skin as his magic reached deeper into the ground.
A faint tremble rippled across his muscled back, from fatigue, from the immense weight of what he was trying to summon.
I couldn’t look away. So much power pulsed from him, not just in the arc of his spine or the sinew of his arms, but in the way he bore the burden of this realm like it had been forged into his very bones.
Gods help me, even kneeling, body trembling, he looked like a mythical fae warrior carved from winter’s punishing wrath.
The camp erupted in shouts of alarm as the first towers of jagged ice tore free from the ground. Horses reared, kicking and whinnying in terror. Pages ran, hands over their heads, unsure if the rising pillars would topple.
The rest of us stood paralyzed, staring at the unfolding magic with wide, disbelieving eyes.
The wall rose in great, violent thrusts.
Spires burst upward one after another, encircling us in a ring of crystalline frost. The sound of ice scraping against itself, shrieking and shearing, echoed through the trees, and a collective gasp vibrated through the ranks as the shield wall took shape—twenty feet high, ridged and battlemented like a fortress from some ancient war.
Sascha pressed a hand to her mouth; Ingrid stumbled backward, eyes huge. Even Varik stood still, mouth parted, as though watching something divine and monstrous manifest before his eyes.
An eerie quiet settled over the camp as the final sheets of ice locked into place, trapping us all within its protective barrier, the glistening surface still faintly humming with the residual pulse of Jack’s magic.
And at the center of it all, the prince slumped forward, shoulders quaking, lungs gasping for breath, sweat beading at his brow and soaking his hair. “Keep guards in pairs at every post,” he commanded hoarsely. “Archers up top. No one sets foot outside the wall without my word.”
Ravin stepped forward to steady him, but Jack waved him off, forcing himself upright on shaky legs. “Ready my horse,” he rasped to one of the pages, already stumbling toward his pavilion.
I caught his arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going after it.”
“Skadi’s breath, Jack, look at yourself. You used so much of your power you can hardly stand straight.”
His eyes met mine, rage flashing like lightning across a stormy sky. “Syl, whatever killed those soldiers is magic-born. I’m the only one who can fight whatever is out there.”
“And what if it is the cursed fae out there in those trees? Those monsters were imprisoned fifteen thousand years ago. How do you even know you can fight them? That your magic is strong enough?”
His jaw clenched. I shouldn’t have questioned him in front of the others, especially not his strength. But dread had its claws in me, and it refused to let go.
Astrid stepped forward, loosening her axe from the sling on her back. “I’ll accompany the prince,” she said, her voice grim, her expression one of grief and anger.
“You’ll stay,” Varik ordered.
Astrid’s shoulders tensed. “Whatever the fuck lurks in that forest killed four of my warrior brothers. You can’t expect me to—”
“You’ll stay,” he uttered louder. “That’s an order.”
“She comes,” Jack said calmly, yet with more authority than any command Varik could’ve hurled at the female guard. He stared at Varik with that cold steel in his eyes that left no room for negotiation.
A muscle ticked in Varik’s jaw, his throat working though he remained silent.
Astrid nodded at her prince and thudded her axe to her chest once. “Blood for blood.”
“Blood for blood,” Torin echoed, stepping closer and slamming his sword to his breastplate as well, followed by another of Varik’s soldiers.
Varik heaved a resigned breath, his expression barely masking his derision. “Ready the horses. Arm yourselves and make haste. We depart shortly.”
“I’ll grab my gear,” Ravin added, striding away before Jack could protest, with Sascha trailing behind him.
Jack headed toward the armory tent where his spare weapons and armor were kept.
I stormed after him. “I’m coming with you, too.”
He stopped at the threshold, turning slowly. “Syl…I need you here.”
“The Hel you do,” I snapped. “You know I’m just as capable with a blade as any of them.”
His expression shifted, eyes softening to something warmer, softer, though no less pained.
He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “You are more than capable than any of my soldiers, but that’s exactly why I need you here.
Sascha, Ingrid, the pages, all the others unskilled with a weapon…
They can’t defend themselves if something were to break through the ice wall. ”
His words were salt and balm. The ice wall shimmered with runes—he’d engraved it with protection wards. He wasn’t expecting anything to break through.
Something cracked inside my chest. “If I were still captain, you wouldn’t be holding me back from joining you.”
He cupped my chin, tilting it up. “You want the truth?” His voice broke, just barely holding back a river of emotion.
“I’m fucking petrified of losing you. I almost lost you once; I can’t go through that misery ever again.
Gods, can’t you see I’m falling apart right in front of you?
” His throat worked, struggling for breath.
“Every bone in my body is begging me not to leave you. I want to stay here, protecting you, but I can’t do that with whatever is out there in that forest hunting us. ”
“I’m not a porcelain doll, Jack. I’ve told you that. I don’t need protection.”
“That doesn’t make the danger hiding in the shadows any less capable of hurting you, of taking you from me. I have no idea what we’re going up against, and I’m not taking any risks…not where you’re concerned.”
“What about me and what I want? What I fear?”
“I’m a royal fae, Syl. The risks are different, and you know it.”
“I’m not just going to sit in this camp, idle, while you—”
“You will,” he said, his voice like thunder rolling off a mountain, and I swore the sound wrapped around my bones like a rope.
Had he just used Voice on me again?
I cocked my head, my eyes narrowing with confusion, something aching in my chest—hurt, betrayal. Anger.