50. Chapter Fifty
Isprinted ahead. A dozen other rebels who had been scrambling behind me followed, some with weapons, others without. Each were awaiting my command—one I did not have. I was unarmored. I was distracted by the idea of my love being lost to the madness of war. I was, simply put, inadequately prepared for the idea of war.
We’d done everything right. We’d scattered the towns and created havens for the rebels slowly, carefully. We’d even earned the trust of a few Winter Court subjects—though those were fewer and farther between. Most had forced my soldiers’ hands. Most.
These men who swarmed from the shores were the reason why innocent blood had to be lost. They’d spent centuries brainwashing these people, forcing them to believe in a fantasy where Sólkon was good, where anything Sólkon did or could do was good. It made me sick to my stomach as I hurled over broken rock and rolling barrels from the chaos of whatever storm plagued my old home.
Just as a group of soldiers had kicked in the door to a home, hollering for the inhabitants to kneel, I expelled a bout of icy magic their way. It was like a wave crafted of cold crystal, spiking through the man holding the door handle. His body was sliced in half, and the one behind him fell backward into the others. They immediately twisted to me.
There wasn’t a reality where I let them lay ruin to the place I was forced from when I was so close to resolving every issue that plagued both realms. I would save those worthy and willing to listen—those willing to turn their cheek to my brother and accept me on a throne I’d been stripped from far too early.
Once upon a time—before Sapphire threatened dismemberment, mostly—I’d wondered if it was fate’s sick way of telling me my time had come, if my greed and lust for power had gotten the better of me. And…perhaps it had. But as I thought about the empty throne, neglected and abused by my brother, my mind lingered on the most prized of missing jewels.
My chest tightened, my brows knitted together, and anger roared out of me as I squeezed my hands into fists, calling to the hail that loomed overhead. The storm harshened, piercing into my skin in ways that made blood poke from the tiny little cuts. I drew my finger toward them, waiting as they threw each other aside in an attempt to run at me.
Come at me,I hissed to myself. Faster. Do it.
And they did.
In fact, one threw their sword through the air like a javelin, and my smile widened.
If Aurelie was gone—if I had failed her—then I would make sure these soulless bastards colored the snow red. But there was no world where I did not save my witchling.
I will save her.
I would destroy every inch of this frozen wasteland, starting with the men who dared to threaten my domain. With my other hand, just before the sword had pierced the tip of my nose, I crafted a glove made of thick ice and caught it. The sword frosted over, and when I threw it on the ground, it shattered.
The man who’d thrown it looked at me in terror.
My hand thawed, but my heart did not. I bent my finger, the hail twisting at my command and piercing through the air like tiny little daggers. I smiled when it stabbed into his eyes like the beaks of a crow. He howled, falling onto his back as he clawed at his face. There was no remorse, no mercy, as the icy rain powered down on him.
He was beyond the point of saving when his body went still, face shredded to the point of no recognition.
One of the men wearing helmets had run through the chaos, his armor only dented. I unsheathed my sword and let the metal clatter against his, parrying his next attack just when one of his friends joined. The houses ahead were being ransacked, the rebel forces stopping few. Not enough, though. No, it wouldn’t be enough.
I roared out with my next attack, using the handle of my sword to hit the exposed chin beneath his mask. The point of his helmet tore into my wrist, but I ignored it and kicked his chest as soon as he lost his footwork. The second attacker grabbed me by the head and tore me away before I could make a finishing blow, but I wasn’t worried—not until I heard the distant cackles of monsters who didn’t belong in this domain.
I rolled onto the ground, sword clattering out of reach. The wind howled, drowning out the chitters and chatters of Underfae. When I lifted my head, I saw dozens of them running on all fours like beasts, bloody drool slobbering from their mouth like strings. There was no telling what sort of rampage they’d leave behind if they traversed through the Spring Court, but I couldn’t say I cared.
I had warned Queen Evangeline.
Whatever chaos laid waste to her land was her own doing.
I didn’t expect the Underfae to split off into three groups—perhaps I doubted their intelligence, but even if controlled by Yenira, I questioned whether they had the heart to obey. Scrambling for my sword, I missed the sole of my attacker”s boot by an inch. Just as one of the Underfae lunged at me, I rolled out of the way and sliced through its skin like butter. It hissed out, midnight blood spewing from the gash. It bared its rotten teeth, glowing eyes turning to slits. I made it onto my feet, but when the monstrous little thing lunged at me, it pierced its talons into my back, and I screamed. Icy breath left my mouth like that of a frozen dragon, freezing the Underfae’s tongue before I could grab hold of its throat. Then, I froze the skin—deep, down to the bone—and watched it shrivel off me.
I wasn’t done, though. I immediately parried the next one’s attack, balancing the Underfae’s unguided swings and the fae soldier’s metal swords. The other men were screaming, and although a few of the rebels had hollered out and jumped in, we were outnumbered.
When one of the Underfae sliced their talons against the back of my knees, though, I collapsed to the ground and wept. My sword clattered, and a harsh boot smashed into my back and sent me to my face.
The cool tip of his sword sat between my shoulder blades.
“I’m going to like this, winter bastard,” he hissed down at me. The Underfae giggled, backing off, as if they listened to this soldier’s command. My ears perked at the familiar vibrato—at the weight of his slurred words. This wasn’t one of Sólkon’s men—not by birth, no. It was the Night Court.
“Kristofer,” I howled as I closed my eyes. “I see that knee of yours has healed nicely. Do I need to remind you what happens when you cross me?”
He laughed and snatched me by the back of my tunic, forcing me off the ground. I stumbled when he tossed me back on my feet, twisting around to face him as he removed his helmet. My knees screamed, the muscles at the bend spasming. The Underafe swiped at me playfully, no harsher than a cat playing with a mouse. He bared his dirty teeth at me and wagged his sword clumsily. “Get on your knees.”
“Executioner style?” I said, prowling in a circle.
“Yes, yes, yes!” One of the Underfae cackled. “Blood, bleeding blood!”
I was intimately aware of the others alongside these monsters. The soldier’s red face to my left curled in disgust. There were others, too—I was far too outnumbered, far too vulnerable.
But I could do this.
“On. Your. Knees.”
I held my hands up when the soldiers started circling, each of their weapons drawn and pointed at me. I wanted to spit at their faces, but I was surrounded, too many to try anything funny yet. So, I did as he asked.
I got on my knees.
He howled out in laughter as he approached me, and I cocked an eyebrow when he dropped his sword, reaching over his shoulder for his second weapon. I watched the silvery metal glitter as he exposed it to me—
My expression fell into stark, numb indignation.
“Recognize this pretty little thing?” Kristofer muttered. “I thought it was plain, to be honest, but when the soldiers who captured the mighty Casynox said it belonged to your bride?” Whistling, he dragged the flat edge against the side of my cheek. The silver burned at the slightest touch, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even breathe. “How’s that work, anyway? Silver hurts you…hurts her. Hell, the damn thing burns my hand right now with all the leather protecting the handle. You into pain or somethin’, snowman?”
“Where is she?” I muttered, deathly cold poisoning my voice. Kristofer’s laugh was low, slow as he kneeled so he was at eye-level with me.
“She was on my cock is where she was,” he hissed.
My eyes narrowed into slits. He straightened again and let the blade scrape against my skin before resting at the crook of my neck. Cocking his head, he sniffled.
“Got nothin’ to say about her, Eero?” he cooed. “Nothin’ to say about your pretty little cunt of a bride taking a real fae—”
When I blinked, breathing out the rage that collected in my chest. Frigid air spiraled from my tongue and enveloped him like an icy kiss. I leaned over and touched the soil, ice splintering through the dirt toward each Underfae and soldier that even twitched in my direction.
In an instant, they froze.
I should have killed him a long time ago—I should have taken him by the balls and strung him along the patio of Novus’ castle for all the other fucking fae kings and queens to see.
At least then, they’d know whose side to be on during this war.
I only froze Kristofer from the gut down. His taunt turned into a scream, and I knew this would not end in a merciful surrender. This would end in his guts spilled across the floor—in my brother’s demise, put on display for all to see. I would be their end, and I’d make sure the last thing they saw was my icy fist extracting whatever little bit of life they were worth living from their shell of a body.
I grabbed his wrist, twisting it so hard, it snapped. He screamed, body jerking to try and alleviate the agony, but there was nowhere for him to go. He was stuck in a frozen block that was growing inch by inch. I snatched the silvery sword from the ground, placing it to his neck just as he had done to me.
“What’d you say about my witchling?” I hissed.
Without the giggling monsters filling the eerie quiet, I could focus on the man before me, the crackling fire as nearby buildings burned. The ice that crunched beneath my feet, the metal against metal in distant fights.
“Fuck your bitch bride—”
I drew my arm back and split his neck, blood squirting from his exposed neck. The blade, untouched by war, severed every artery, every bone, muscle, fiber, skin—it left nothing but exposed flesh and gore as Kristofer’s head rolled onto the ground.
His lips were forever twisted into that agonizingly wretched scowl he loved to wear.
I had no time to admire the beauty of his death before the other soldiers swarmed me. I hacked into their arms, freezing whatever part of their bodies I could touch. The shrieks of Underfae echoed into the sky, but when I turned my head to the right, I saw them vanish.
One by one.
Into ash darker than night.
I couldn’t stop, though. This blade was nimble, but I was not worthy of it. It was heavy, and it screamed through the air with every attack. More than anything else, it called for its true owner.
A sword like this had a soul, one that only deserved the lethal embrace of one hand, a far more forgiving one than mine. Still, I used it, screaming with every slice against my skin these bastards got.
I drove the tip of my blade through the gut of a soldier lunging over me before letting go to grab the wrist of the next attacker. They had no faces to me, no souls. No right to breathe my same air. This side of me had not been seen since the last war, since I had to fight for my kingdom, my life, and my crown. Yenira had bested me years ago.
That would not be the case again.
I snapped clean through the bone and yanked my sword from the gut of that convulsing soldier. The silver made this easier—it made their deaths louder, more pleasing to the ears. It was like a symphony.
But now, with the idea of my witchling lost to their unworthy hands, I relished the chaos of each life being plucked like a string. Their cries were a chord struck on the piano, and their deaths were the climax that made the cruelest queen weep.
Once those soldiers were no more than trembling, lifeless bodies seized by a silvery death, I kept ahead. So many had been lost already—rebels and innocent lives alike—but even more Summer Court soldiers littered the ground. If Novus had given him men, then this fight would go on. And on. And on.
The numbers were limitless, truly.
As I faced the shore, I saw a group of Sólkon’s men stringing a limp body over the wooden poles near the docks. Against the dead of night, I saw stark ginger strands curling with the breeze, face covered with a burlap sack.
If the chaos caused by my hands had not scared them yet, then the wintry hellfire I’d rain down on them would.
It started with hail.
And it ended with ice spiking out of the ground like rock, impaling their bodies like a sick, twisted statue. If they intended to make such a death a show, then I would make them the star.
If they had killed my witchling, I’d destroy them all.