Chapter 22 – Neve
Chapter 22
NEVE
O n the stage, the actors raced and whirled and swung their fake weapons. Occasionally, false blood sprayed, and someone fell. All of this was, somehow, still done in time with the orchestra despite the scene depicting the sheer chaos of the White Bear’s Rebellion.
Before coming to this kingdom, I’d never given much thought to the rebellion. Now, though, the signs of it were everywhere. The White Bear’s Rebellion had restructured the kingdom in ways the fae of Winter’s Realm hadn’t seen since Queen Sassa Falk unified all the high lords and ladies. She gathered the many kingdoms and queendoms of Winter’s Realm, all under her banner—the Falk banner.
The events playing out before me only solidified the rebellion’s importance.
Two greater houses, gone from this world. Villages and smaller cities leveled. A king fell, a king rose, and the fabric of the kingdom tore and knitted back together with royal blue and gold threads.
But this play didn’t just tell the story of House Aaberg, of how the White Bear, King Magnus, brought together many noble houses and obliterated the Cold King Harald Falk. No, it focused on the people of Winter.
I’d wondered about my own losses, the family I might have had once upon a time, and this play made it clear I was far from the only one who had lost loved ones.
In the center of the stage, Avalina Truso played a mother kneeling over her lost son. A son who had fought for the White Bear and died for him. The mother was the narrator in the story, the voice of the commonfae, and I could see why Avalina had been cast. Why the queen and Saga favored her.
The dryad possessed a presence that none gracing the stage could match. Even as the play drew to a close and the chaotic final battle of the White Bear’s forces whirled and fought around Avalina, I couldn’t tear my eyes off her.
“Burning moon, she’s too good,” Saga whispered, her voice tight as tears ran down her pale cheeks. Was she moved by the truth of the performance or merely the performance itself?
Vale, unlike his sister, had been relatively silent for most of the play, sometimes leaning closer to me, whispering historical additions to scenes.
Still, quiet as he was, emotion rippled across his handsome features. He’d been too young to fight in the rebellion, but he’d been in battle since. How many mothers had he seen kneeling over their loved ones? Mourning the losses of their children?
My questions dissolved as the music below swelled, stealing the very air from the room as the soldiers on stage cleared out. Only Avalina and the actors portraying the White Bear and King Harald Falk remained. They fought one-on-one, two white-haired warriors, covered in fake blood, fighting for their lives and circling the distraught mother.
Avalina Truso didn’t seem to notice the males. She continued to wail, to cry over her son’s body. The long white dress she wore, stained with red from the fake blood that had flown off prop weapons, only added to the chills rushing through me.
Then, in perfect timing with the epic music, the White Bear stabbed the Cold King, and as King Harald fell, the music dimmed too.
One would have expected the actor playing King Magnus to stand over the fallen king, to proclaim his right to rule. Perhaps for the lords and ladies who had supported him to appear from the sides and kneel.
There should have been pomp. There should have been a celebration for ending a cruel tyrant. A king who, by all accounts, had turned on his own people during the end of his rule. Instead, the faelights blinked out and the White Bear left the stage. The fallen body of King Harald remained.
As did Avalina Truso and her dead son.
The music played on, soft now, haunting, and as Avalina’s wails died out, I held my breath .
The dryad was silent for a moment, her gaze still on her son, her body trembling. I leaned forward, as did a hundred others. We waited for her to speak, to rise and follow the king, to do anything but kneel over her son’s body.
So when Avalina raised her tear-streaked face, she had everyone’s attention. With a haunted expression, she stared out at the crowd and opened her mouth. The orchestra stopped playing just as her song filled the room.
“ We love our land. Our people. The frost and snow and ice and storm of Winter’s embrace. ” Avalina’s voice was clear and bright, yet also contained depths I’d never heard. She had to have been gifted such a voice by the dead gods. It was simply that lovely.
And it was not only her voice that held us enthralled, but her words, which were spoken not in the common tongue, but in High Fae. A shiver ran down my spine at the ancient language, one that Yvette, the human woman who had acted as my mother, had learned through books. This was the language of my ancestry, taught to me by a gracious and brilliant human. Understanding it required me to perform clunky mental translations and yet, the language still struck my heart. I fell a sentence or two behind in Avalina’s song, but the words didn’t fail to move me. They were simply so much more poetic than the common tongue.
“ But our land and people are dying a true death. A final death. ”
“ We must rise .” As she sang, Avalina Truso rose and swept in a circle around the stage, gesturing gracefully to the depiction of Winter’s Realm. To where the fallen had lain not long ago and where pools of fake blood still stained the wooden planks of the stage.
Pausing in the silence, the actress stopped moving and slowly turned her lovely, angular face up to the royal box.
“ For twenty turns, we have weakened and died. Slowly. In hushed whispers. In tears, our brothers and sisters in the countryside bury their younglings when Winter claims too much.
“Why do we stay quiet? Why not ask for what is promised to us?” She raised a hand, five fingers splayed.
“ Protection .” Her hand closed into a fist, which she shook. “ A tempering of the cold, of the death that only grows. ”
“ Why have we not demanded it of our leader? ” A slender finger pointed at our box. “ Is it because we know he cannot save us? Is it because he is not so unlike the one before? ”
I stiffened, but Avalina plowed on, her voice strengthening with the words she sang. Her eyes shined with sorrow that burned from the flame of anger that even an actress as talented as Avalina could no longer hide.
“ We must find the one to bring back the magic. To claim Winter. We, the fae, must stand behind the one who is true to the land. To us .”
She knelt, dipped her fingers in the false blood, and began to draw a symbol. “ Long live the trueborn heir and wielder of Winter’s Touch .”
She ended her song, and, delayed, I gasped, my blood freezing in my veins. Beside me, Vale stiffened. The symbol Avalina had drawn was the one I’d seen painted on that dilapidated building in Rall Row. The symbol of the Falk loyalists.
Vale leaned forward. “Be ready for anything. ”
“What in the stars?” Saga whispered, already hitching the skirt of her gown up, clearly ready to flee.
On the stage, the actress rose and stood resolutely, illuminated by a flood of faelights. In the crowd below, many tilted their heads, wondering what she’d said. Neighbors translated for others and when they were done, faces paled, and eyes drifted up to the royal box. One old fae stood and ran from the playhouse.
Avalina Truso brought a fist to her heart and the curtain fell.
A gasp ripped from me. Across the red curtain was the same treasonous symbol Avalina painted on the floor.
King Magnus shot from his seat and thrust a finger at the stage. “Bring her to me. I?—”
Fae soared from the rafters, from behind the curtain, from within the crowd of commoners now rising to exit as fast as they could. All of those in the crowd had been wearing cloaks, not unusual for a cold winter’s night. Now those in the air shucked off those same cloaks, revealing daggers at their sides and painted hawks on armbands wrapped around their biceps. Rebels—at least fifty of them.
“Neve, with me!” Vale pulled me up to stand with him. At his side, Rhistel rose too and lost no time in sprinting to the door.
“We should help others!” I looked at the many boxes, at the younglings filling them. “We can defend ourselves.”
“I’m not armed.” Vale yanked me into the aisle. “But the rebels are. We must get out of here. ”
We made it up three steps before shattering glass froze Vale in his tracks. Unable to help ourselves, we turned.
From the center of the dome, now shattered, two dozen more fae dropped, starlight blazing at their backs. “The trueborn heir will stop Winter from killing us!” an older male faerie roared, but all my attention was on another faerie, one clad in black fighting leathers and flying on silver wings, her long black hair whipping behind her as she soared our way.
The black-haired female lifted her bow, arrow already nocked, and aimed for the king.
“Father!” Vale yelled, but the Clawsguards in the box were already there, ready. Sir Lars, the king’s most faithful, threw himself in front of King Magnus in time to take the arrow into his own heart. The other pulled the king from the box.
Rhistel was gone. Saga and the queen too. We should have already fled as well. Vale might not be the heir, but he was an Aaberg in line for the throne.
And yet, my feet were frozen to the floor.
The rebel aimed her arrow at the king . . . she looked like me.
Black-haired, yes. Glacier blue eyes, yes. But her wings were silver like mine. Her face was of a similar shape. Her eyes and lips too. We were about the same age, and we might be cousins.
And then there was the way her eyes narrowed on the king in hatred . . . I’d looked at him that way too.
“Move!” the king bellowed. He was racing from the royal box too, leaving his Clawsguards to fight .
Vale lifted me off my feet and swept me out of the room.
I wanted to scream for him to stop, for him to wait, but as the black-haired female came closer, another arrow at the ready, I swore at my stupidity. I was in the royal box, and she hated the Aabergs. Hated the name I bore.
I was a target too. I let him take me, let him carry me from the box. In Vale’s arms, we raced down the hall, to the third-floor foyer, and into utter madness. We paused at the edge of the room; our bodies pressed up against the wall.
“Let me down,” I said, and Vale did so carefully. Seeing as I swayed slightly as my feet touched the floor, I was thankful for his care. There was just so much happening. Too much.
Rebels swarmed the area, taking on lords and ladies, many of whom fought with magic, not steel. It was the largest display of power I’d seen yet, and the breadth of magic in the room, how the fae wielded it, made my mouth fall open.
Among the crowd, I spied Lord Riis. Somehow, he’d acquired a sword and was masterfully fending off two rebels and spinning, steel in hand, as another came for him. Sassa’s bloody blade! I’d only ever seen that sort of deft fighting from Vale and Sian.
The third rebel attacking Lord Riis fell, and he whirled back, taking out another with his fist. The last backed up, eyes shifting to us, to Vale, who looked ready to jump in despite not being armed.
Lord Riis pointed with his blade. “Below. Help is needed below. Arm yourself, Vale.” He gestured to a body not too far away.
A Clawsguard lay dead on the ground. I recognized him as one I’d seen following Rhistel.
“My brother,” Vale breathed, taking in the Clawsguard, knowing who he’d been protecting.
“He’s not here,” I assured him. His body, had there been one, would be close by. And no doubt a rebel would be gloating over killing the heir.
I despised Rhistel, and he and Vale had a complicated relationship, but they were still brothers. Still twins. The anguish lining Vale’s face said it all. No matter the turmoil between them, he’d be devastated if something happened to Rhistel.
“Vale, help is needed below.” I motioned to the sword near the fallen Clawsguard. “Take it.”
Vale picked up the sword and pulled a dagger from the soldier’s side sheath. “For you. It’s all too likely that someone will attack me. If they do, let me take them. Keep running for Frostveil and defend yourself.”
Anger rose in me at his insistence that I leave him. I was about to tell him I’d do no such thing when I heard a scream. “Vidar!”
Another female voice joined it. “ Brother !”
Ice flew through my veins.
“Saga and Sayyida.” I ran to the top of the stairs.
Below, commonfae streamed from the theater, around the rebels who were doing their best to slaughter noble fae.
It took a moment, but I found who I was searching for. Sayyida and Vidar—the sight of the latter stopping my heart. A rebel had struck Vidar in the belly and blood seeped through his fine gray tunic. The rebel laughed as the heir to House Virtoris fell to the ground. Their victory was short-lived, however, as Sayyida’s water magic surged from her, the torrent picking the rebel up and slamming him against a wall so hard I doubted that he lived. Across the room, Saga was cornered, fighting off a rebel with only magic.
Like Vale, Sayyida had procured a sword to use in tandem with her magic. The steel flashed with tight, controlled strikes as Sayyida circled her brother, who had fallen to the ground. She protected Vidar from a half dozen attacking rebels who saw their chance to kill the House Virtoris heir. All the while, Sayyida’s gaze bounded between Vidar, her brother, and Saga, her best friend.
“Vale, we have to help them.” Far more rebels were attacking Sayyida, trying to harm both her and her brother. “I’ll take Saga. Fewer rebels targeted her.”
He didn’t need to reply, for we were already leaping over the balcony and soaring toward the ground. Vale went for Sayyida, and I heard when he added his sword to the mix.
I only hoped that they were fast enough to save Vidar. Pushing my wings, stronger from days of training, I didn’t falter as I flew toward Saga.
The princess had been using winter magic to fight off her attacker. I assumed Saga was giving her attacker everything she had, and if that were the case, it only revealed to me how strong King Magnus was with winter magic.
Whereas he could freeze someone to the ground and transform a whip into an even more terrifying weapon, his daughter fought with small bursts of cold wind and an occasional hurled icicle. Creating the latter drained her. She looked pale and sweat dripped down her brow as she tossed one icicle as long as my forearm and then collapsed.
The projectile sailed right at her attacker, who whirled about to avoid being impaled. She saw me, then twisted to face the princess again. Saga was still on the ground, passed out from the effort of wielding magic.
The rebel turned to me, and her eyes sparked with an inner fire. “One princess down. One to go. Hopefully, you’re as weak as Pink here.” She leapt at me.
The moment she was within reach, I slashed at the rebel with my dagger. The blade struck, running across her collarbone. She fell back with a grunt as I landed, holding the dagger over her.
“I don’t want to kill you, but I will if you continue to hurt me or Saga. If I let you up, will you stop fighting and run?”
The words shocked me as they left my lips. This person had tried to hurt, possibly kill, one of my only friends. And I would let them go?
I didn’t have time to examine the insanity running through my mind, for the rebel sneered at me and pushed off the ground. Blood flying from her cut, wings beating powerfully, she launched herself at me again .
But before she slammed into me, a dagger came whirling from above, slicing her right wing in half. She screamed, and I spun to find Lord Riis still fending off rebels above, shooting glances my way.
He’d sent the blade. He might have saved my life.
But I needed to finish this.
I spun to face the rebel, and though there were tears in her eyes, she stood again. The fury in her face made it clear that she’d never stop fighting.
“How can you ally with them? Don’t you see what they’re doing? The land is dying. Magic is spinning out. We’re weakened. We’re dying. ”
I swallowed, understanding. Empathizing, even. Killing off the land, people dying because of it, I understood why the rebels would fight for that.
“I know. I’ve seen it.”
“And yet you still sleep at a White Bear’s side. You still wear the gowns and go to the plays and eat the finery. The villages starve and yet, here you are .” She spat at my feet.
“I haven’t always lived like this,” I murmured, shame welling inside me.
“You do now.”
“I—”
“Long live the trueborn heir!” she screamed and came at me.
Before I knew what I was doing, I raised my dagger and sank it into her chest. Blood sprayed. But I barely noticed the hot gush as her eyes widened. They dipped down, so mine followed. I gasped.
I glowed, a silvery-violet hue that was stronger than the other times it emanated from me. As if my magic had been dying to get out, to help me. To save my life. The light flickered again, and then the light vanished, just as the life in the rebel’s eyes dimmed to nothing.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d killed her. Without even really knowing that was what was about to happen, it had.
My throat tightened as I took her in, my gaze darting to the hawk insignia on her armband, to the dagger I’d pushed into her chest.
She would have tried to kill me. Had aimed to injure or kill Saga too, and yet . . . This was my first fae kill. One of my own people, not a vampire monster I despised with all my heart. I dropped the dagger.
“You should never let your guard down,” a voice said from behind.
I whirled to find an arrow aimed at me. The faerie who looked so like me. Closer now, I could see that we shared yet another resemblance. She bore a vertical scar, slashing over her left eye. Not an identical twin to the crescent scar over my temple, but the similarities, when combined, still caught.
She seemed to notice the resemblance too, her ice-blue eyes going round, her lips parting in shock. That second of hesitation was all Vale needed to come at her from the side to slash his blade.
The archer spun to safety, dropping her bow down as she did so. And when she faced Vale again, and saw his sword raised, likely measuring it against the likelihood of her drawing her arrow and aiming in time, she chose correctly and ran.
“Warrior Bear and the princess in here!” she screamed.
“We have to run,” Saga hissed. I spun to find that she was awake and rising to stand. “There are so many.”
Vale growled, and in his eyes, I could see that he wanted to fight, wanted to hunt down the fae who would have put an arrow through me.
“She’s right, Vale. We need to go.” Behind her, I saw Vidar, still on the ground, bleeding out. “Vidar needs serious help.”
With each minute, fewer fae rushed from the theater, the theater in which I could hear the clashing of swords, the groaning of downed people. No doubt Clawsguards fought under the dome of the playhouse, keeping most of the rebels contained inside. Unable to stop myself, my gaze dipped to the very rebel I’d killed. She stared up at me, lifeless and cold and resolute, with that same sneer on her lips.
Vale still didn’t look convinced, but fifty soldiers burst through the front doors. One soldier paused when he saw Vale. He eyed Vidar, covered in blood, and the four bodies of the rebels that Sayyida and Vale had felled.
“Get Lord Virtoris out of here.” The soldier’s attention strayed to Saga, Sayyida, and me. “We’ve got this under control.”
Someone, likely the king as he’d been one of the first to flee, had sent help .
“ Please , Vale. Let’s go,” I urged him. “Help Sayyida carry Vidar.”
This time, his friend’s name worked like a spell. He blinked, turned to the Virtoris siblings, and marched over.
“They got his belly,” Sayyida croaked from where she knelt over her brother. “I don’t know how to move him without ripping it more.”
“There’s no way to know, but we have to move fast. Help me lift him into my arms.” Vale motioned to Sayyida, covered in her brother’s blood. He set his sword on the ground. “As gently as we can. I’ll carry him.”
She nodded, clearly relieved that someone with experience was there to help.
Vale had once carried me in his arms. On yet another day, when the rebels had attacked. He had made it look easy, carrying me and running from the terror of the attack, but Vidar was much larger and taller than me. Together, carefully, Sayyida and Vale lifted the Virtoris heir until he was in Vale’s arms. After examining the wound the best he could, Vale exhaled. “I don’t think we made it worse. Now, Sayyida and Neve, watch my back as we run for the palace. Saga, you take Neve’s dagger.”
Vale motioned down to the sword. “Neve, this is for you.”
I understood how momentous this moment was. Vale was asking me to protect him, to protect his friend.
I would not fail him. I picked up the sword. Sayyida and Saga were already in position, one on each side of Vale. I positioned myself behind him, sword at the ready. “Run like the wind. Let’s get Vidar to safety.”