Chapter 26 – Neve
NEVE
She called me her sister.
I sat up straighter and looked the black-haired archer in the eyes. “Is this a joke?”
“I’m not the joking type,” she replied. “Am I, Bac?”
“No, Lady Thyra.”
Thyra. That name did something to me, opened a hole I hadn’t known it was possible to open. Tears that I did not wish to show, let alone let fall, filled my eyes. My twin sister was alive. Right across the table from me!
For so long, I’d wondered if I had blood family in Winter’s Realm.
When I was a slave, I’d imagined a quiet family life in some small town glittering with snow outside the window of a cottage.
A place alive with fae and the love of a family.
Since learning who I was, I’d resigned myself to not having anyone.
At least not a blood family. And I’d been happy to have those who loved me, my chosen family and my mate, take their place.
But I did have family, and she was staring at me with those cold ice-blue eyes. Smirking at me.
“I guess you didn’t know I existed either,” Thyra said. “Then, at the very least, no one can claim that you’re far cleverer than me.”
Her flat tone brought me back down. “Why would you say that?”
Thyra shared a pointed look with both Bac and Brynhild before answering.
“You were at the Theater, Neve. You heard Avalina Truso’s song.
She sang for me, the heir and holder of Winter’s Touch.
Once I learned who you were, I looked into the histories.
You were born twenty minutes before me, and while I know little of your magic, you’re a threat to my ambitions.
” She cocked her head. “You were planning on challenging that upstart White Bear, were you not?”
I leaned back, unable to believe that this moment, something that might have been beautiful, would begin like this. That my twin was worried I’d take what she thought was hers.
However, she was right on one score: As she knew little of me, I could say the same of her. I needed to take a step back and be more cautious.
Thyra had tried to kill me once, and her soldiers had wreaked havoc on the fae of Avaldenn. She was dangerous, and while a sister of blood, she may not be a sister of the heart. I had to tread as though I walked on a frozen lake with a n?kken scratching at the ice from below.
“Yes, I was planning on challenging King Magnus,” I answered.
“When? How? And with what force? You arrived here with eight others, two of them cripples and one of those cripples is a human.” She smirked, but Bac appeared taken aback at her tone when she mentioned cripples.
“I understand that your mate is formidable. The others might be too, but your numbers are not promising.”
“I wouldn’t take on King Magnus with only eight—”
“Use his name. Or call him the White Bear.” Thyra plucked a piece of bread from the center of the table. “Do not allow him to be king. That gives him too much power, which he does not deserve.”
“There’s no denying he has the power, Thyra,” I retorted, my hands forming tight balls beneath the table. With every passing second, I felt more and more that she was toying with me.
“Names hold power,” she insisted. “History recognizes them. Reveres them.”
“People give those names power. And whether I call King Magnus a king or not, others will. At least until he meets his undoing. I will meet them where they are and, in me, they’ll see a relatable fae.”
Thyra snorted. “Are you aware what they are calling you right now? What they’re whispering in the villages and cities alike? What they’re calling your mate?”
She did not wait for my answer. “Slave Queen. Traitor Prince.”
My name did not surprise or hurt me, but my belly hardened at the thought of anyone calling Vale a traitor.
Vale . . . once touted as the Warrior Bear, now a Traitor Prince.
That would crush him, though perhaps his fall from grace had been inevitable after he tied himself to me.
I didn’t think that King Magnus, who still did not know that Vale wasn’t his son, meant for that label to spread. But how could it not?
Thyra shook her head. “We’re both right. The people give names, and they hold power. But when we are dead, more fae will come after us, and I would not like to be remembered, not for a second, as a slave queen, sister.”
I swallowed. “Considering my past, it’s not so odd.”
Thyra sipped her wine, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You mentioned ending the blight of Winter? How do you intend to do so?”
I frowned. Thus far, she’d been so mean, so unwelcoming, that I didn’t want to tell her, but someone had to extend the rowan branch.
“We were traveling south, to the seat of House Balik, in hopes of gathering allies.” I’d nearly said more allies, referring to the dwarves of Dergia, but they were my secret.
I would not tell Thyra unless I was sure I could trust her.
Fates willing, that day would come. “But we’ve also spoken of finding the Ice Scepter. ”
“So the king doesn’t have it,” Thyra mused. “The rumors are true.”
King Magnus had never come out and said so, though I’d learned from Roar that the noble houses had surmised as much many turns ago. Apparently, the rebels had too.
“What do you want it for?” Bac asked.
“To tame Winter’s hold on the land. To help with the blight—if that is, in fact, wholly related from the disappearance of the Hallow.”
A small smile played on Bac’s face. “The fae of Winter’s Realm deserve a respite from the harsh and the cold and death.”
“Do you believe the Scepter connects to the blight too?” I asked the golden-eyed male.
“I do,” Bac replied. “You’ll see many in our forces affected by it, either directly or indirectly.”
My gaze shifted to Thyra. As if expecting this, she shrugged.
“I never said we did not have cripples in our forces. I merely wished to learn more of what you thought.”
“Cunning.”
“A leader needs to be.”
I sighed and, already wishing for a break from the verbal sparring, gestured to the food at the center of the table. “The meat is getting cold. Shall we eat?”
“We should,” Brynhild replied, her tone soft again. I got the sense that as one of Thyra’s advisors, she brought a warm edge. And perhaps Bac brought reason?
I wasn’t sure, but it did make me wonder what my sister would be like if she wasn’t trying to investigate me. Would we be alike? Or was this her true nature? Harald Falk, my father, had been said to be calculating and hard. A Cold King. Was Thyra the same?
The food tasted bland compared to what I’d eaten in great halls of castles, but after days of eating on the road, and then being given only hardened bread, cheese, and water in my cage, I savored the meat, fresh bread, cheese, and wine.
The others seemed hungry too, and we allowed ourselves to eat for a few moments, and it was almost easy to ignore the glances Thyra sent across the circular table.
I’d nearly finished my plate when my sister pushed her plate away.
“What else do you know of the Hallows of Winter’s Realm?”
I set down the piece of cheese I’d been chewing on. Only recently had I learned two others existed, one of which I had in my possession. “Not much.”
“They’re lesser known,” Brynhild offered, at the same time Thyra tossed up her hands.
“Fates! She has no idea about anything!” Thyra hissed. “Why are we tiptoeing around this?”
“You brought it up.” Bac did not look at Thyra as he spoke but glared at his plate. “We said we would not. Not yet anyhow.”
“Yes, well, this entire conversation is not turning out as I expected, and I require answers.” Thyra’s jaw hardened. “You’re ignorant about the Hallows, yet you arrived with one? How is that so?”
My jaw tensed. So she recognized Sassa’s Blade when no other had. Interesting. Still, I was not ready to give her more. Not yet.
“I’ll remind you that you carried me here,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “The sword, Isolde! Sassa’s Blade! You truly don’t know what it does?”
My heart skipped a beat at her using my birth name. My real name, though I had yet to use it publicly. However, hearing it from Thyra’s lips—no matter who frustrated her tone—that was different. She said my name and for the first time, it rang true. It felt like me.
A well of emotion sprang up in me as the second part of her claim hit when Thyra stood from the table.
“I can’t do this. She may be my twin, but she knows nothing and less. I need to consider how to proceed. Make the plans we discussed.” She left the table and strode out the door, banging it open as she left.
I sat there, mouth hanging open at what had happened. No words could describe the mountain of emotions I’d felt during this meeting with my only surviving blood—and some of them shouldn’t be said in polite company.
A feminine sigh came from the other side of the table. “I’m sorry. Thyra is worried.”
“Scared,” Bac said hotly.
“That too,” Brynhild allowed. “She has never been good at handling surprises, and you’re the biggest surprise of her life.”
“We don’t seem much alike, but we share that at least.” I picked up my goblet of wine, noting that it was dented from use, and drank.
Brynhild watched me. “I noticed your reaction when she used your birth name. Would you like us to call you that, or Neve?”
“Neve for now,” I said, surprised they would even ask. “It’s no surprise who I am, but I’m still getting used to Isolde.”
The older fae nodded. “Smaller changes are difficult enough to wrap ones head around. I cannot imagine altering your identity so thoroughly.”
Stars, I did not want to talk about this with them, fae I barely knew. Thankfully, I had another topic in mind. “I don’t suppose you could elaborate on Sassa’s Blade?”
Brynhild nodded. “It’s the blade of the Unification. How much do you know about the Unification?”
“The basics, perhaps a touch more, I suppose.”
“Did you know a great cavern opened in the ground? That is where Sassa banished the Shadow Army?”
“I—I did not.” Nor did I see how that was possible. Or understand the implications.
“That’s what they say happened. No one alive then is alive now, and many of the histories have been destroyed, but oral tradition lives on.” Brynhild leaned back in her chair and rested her folded hands on the table. “It says that the blade possesses great magic. Have you experienced it?”
I jolted, shocked at the mention of the magic of the sword, but also curious for answers. Perhaps I’d found the one person who could give them. Maybe the rebels understood more than anyone gave them credit for. And maybe I should share the information I’d gleaned about the sword.
“Once. A shadow came from it,” I admitted.
Brynhild’s eyes flew open. “A shadow?!”
“In the shape of a man. It helped me.”
The other two exchanged glances.
“Will I get my sword back?” I asked, more possessive of it than I had been since I learned they’d taken it.
“In time,” Bac replied. “I must ask though, since you have one Hallow and are going after another, do you have the third?”
“I do not,” I said. “I assume you speak of the Fr?r Crown?”
Brynhild smirked. “You have more knowledge than you let on.”
“Barely.” I shrugged a shoulder.
“Well, let us see if we’re on the same page.
” Brynhild clasped her hands together on the table.
“The Fr?r Crown is a sign of legitimacy for the ruler of Winter’s Realm, and the least is known of it, but it is the third Hallow of this land.
The Fr?r Crown has magic, like the other two, though I cannot say what that magic is. ”
That was what Vale said too.
“And you two learned all of this from the histories?” It was my turn to ask questions. “How did you get these histories?”
The male’s lips curled up. “My mother worked in a famous library in the south. She was well respected and well loved, by one more than most.” He gave an unamused chuckle.
“My father, in an effort to impress my mother, allowed her access to the place where only the members of the Golden House and select keepers can go. She read of the Hallows there and told me of them.”
The Golden House. I’d never heard House Balik described as such, but it fit. They were gold of eyes and deep gold of hair and certain members of the Balik clan such as Sian wore enough of the metal to weigh down an orc.
“Your father was a keeper of this knowledge?”
Bac shook his head. “Better. He was a brother to Warden of the South, Tadgh Balik.”
I drew in a breath. So Bac was a highborn bastard, related to Baenna, Eireann, Sian, Filip, and the other Baliks who I’d not met. A cousin. I looked at him afresh and believed it. His brown skin and golden eyes were so very familiar.
“I’ve met some of your family,” I said. “They’re my friends and very kind.”
“My mother spoke well of them, and even though my father died, and they never married, I think she loved him until she took her last breath.”
Stars alive. If there was one thing I understood, it was being an orphan. I didn’t think Bac had intended to draw a line connecting us, but as far as I was concerned, he had.
“I’m sorry about your parents,” I said. “But I’m pleased that you entrusted me with this information.”
“It’s not a secret,” Bac laughed. “Our rebel forces comprise of bastards, criminals, cripples, and otherwise broken fae. Sometimes just fae who want a better life for their younglings too, but all of us have seen hardship.”
“That we have.” Brynhild stood, revealing she was missing the lower half of her right leg.
Fates, what a life these two must have lived.
And they weren’t alone in this. I’d seen the disfigured fae.
I’d known them. Just as I’d met broken families, and those who did not fit in with a blood family.
It seemed that times were not better when my father reigned, but they weren’t good now either.
“Thyra wishes to set a trial for you.” Brynhild walked over, more graceful on her false leg than I would have imagined. “It’s her way of seeing how reliable you are—if you’re strong enough for the fight she has been planning for many turns. If you can really work together.”
Thyra was plainly untrusting and equally as tough. Hardened by her past. No doubt the task would be dangerous and difficult.
But as frustrating as I found my sister and this assumption that I’d jump at the chance to complete a task for her, I would rise to the occasion.
I had to. Not only did I wish to see Magnus thrown from the throne, but I also wanted someone worthy to sit there.
And I wished for revenge. For that, I needed more allies, and the rebels already shared my cause.
If I had to prove myself to Thyra to earn their help, I’d do so.
“Fine. Set the task,” I said. “I’ll be ready when it comes.”