Chapter 32 Ban
It only takes me an instant to realize I’ve slipped into a dream, something that hasn’t happened in such a long time. I find myself suspicious as to why this has happened. There’s no background around me, no setting to give any insight into what my subconscious is trying to tell me.
“You weren’t supposed to leave the Frostlands.”
Spinning around, I try to call my staff out of the shadows. Nothing happens, and I stare down at my empty hand for several moments in wonder.
“You won’t be able to use your magic here,” he continues, and my eyes narrow as shadows and sand float through the air until they form a figure. “You don’t need to fight, not against me.”
“Shadow Man,” I hiss, clenching my hands. “Or do you prefer the Sandman? Dreammaker, perhaps?”
A faint smile crosses his face as we circle each other, his arms folded across his chest as though we aren’t at odds. “Ban. This is not how I expected to cross paths with you again.”
“You could try the shit you keep using on Neve and showing up in my dreams.”
“But Reapers don’t dream very often, do they?” His eyes narrow as he watches me. “This is an exception for the time being. You used too much magic crossing the chasm between the Frostlands and Wonderland. It was a creative solution.”
“There weren’t many other options,” I reply. “But you know that, don’t you? Seems you’ve been watching us.”
“I watch all,” he says, and my anger flares at the way he eludes my questions. “I’ve been watching you. All my Reapers stay close to my heart. I picked you for a reason. Do not let it be a mistake.”
My eyes narrow. “What?”
He waves his hand, and I expect magic to slam into me. Instead, I find myself gasping, gripping my suddenly throbbing head as I fall to my knees.
“I chose the four of you for a reason,” he repeats, my eyes widening, as I stare at the ground. “Lest you forget what brought you here.”
I see Davina, the Mad Queen. The room around us reeks of blood, and the bystanders do nothing to help me. Zarev and Raymundo have already been pulled from their cells to face her, the wounds and scars she carved into their skin leaving behind a bloody mess.
She drags the tip of the knife across my skin, and my hands tremble before me.
She knows about my ice magic, so she had her guards place glove-like cuffs like on me before bringing me through here.
That way ,I couldn’t use magic even if I had the energy to.
My hands are stiff in the cuffs, but that’s the least of my problems.
“You should have been a better lover,” she growls in my ear, dragging the knife down my cheek before licking the blood away. “Maybe I would let you serve me in another way, peasant.”
I take a shuddering breath, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to do anything for her like this. The chains, which seem to be her preferred method for torture, limit my movement.
Without the chains and the guards keeping her toys in place, I don’t think she would be as frightening as she is.
“Fuck off,” I hiss, and she chuckles at my words. “I’d rather let you cut off my dick than use it on you again.”
She snarls, pulling away to backhand me. It stings, but no worse than anything else she’s done. I saw the scars she left on Zarev and Raymundo as they passed, so I know what I’m in for.
“What do you think, Lady Hartsell?” I ask in a low voice, and she clenches her hand around the blade. Getting caught trespassing in Wonderland is bad enough, but I’m not going to cower to her now. “You did clovers and spades already, right? Do I get hearts for your lost love for me?”
She screams, throwing the knife at me. It catches my leg in a glancing blow, and I bite back a scream of my own. It’s manageable, and for the umpteenth time, I try to get my ice magic to obey me.
Come on. If I could fight back, it might be a fair battle. Hell, I have enough rage trained on her that I could take her down by myself if I found a way.
The Queen knees me in the face, and I rear back to try and whip her with the chain. It’s in the arms of someone else watching, and the chain is jerked to one side before I get the chance. Crumbling to the ground, her court forces laughter around us.
Damnit. I won’t get anywhere like this.
“You were nothing to me,” she growls, keeping her voice low. She doesn’t seem to want the court to know about any involvement between us, even if that was years in the past. I don’t have the energy to make a dig at her over it right now.
She raises her voice. “Hearts? How you hold yourself in high regard, pitiful mage! Perhaps diamonds, to match the former Court of Cards. That would be pretty, so pretty! Little, broken rocks. Like I plan to break you.”
When I focus on her again, there’s a new blade in her hand with a black tip. She leaps over to me, pinning me against the ground while I’m stuck on my side. There’s no time to roll before the blade digs into my arm, her long nails scratching at my already bruising skin.
She’s carving something into my skin, the pain making my eyes squeeze tight.
This is somehow different from what she was doing before, the cut of the blade burning unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
It’s worse than when Andor fought me, or the terror in Neve’s gaze, or the fear that constantly lingers in my chest of being all alone.
“Stupid, stupid boy!” she shrieks, the cuts burning too much for me to worry about what she’s carving.
Perhaps it won’t end up looking like a figure at all.
“You think you can mess with me? You think you have a place in my heart? Let’s see what your friend feels, the ugly one with wings.
See if he looks at you the same when he’s blind! ”
“Nightmares are the thief of dreams,” the Shadow Man says, his voice slicing through the memory. It leaves me breathless on the ground, holding my head, but I can’t see him. “Our choices define our future. You cannot pretend to be one reality when another exists.”
I scream, the world around me shifting, dragging me back to a time long before I was a Grim Reaper, when I was older than all my friends.
“Dad! Dad, there's someone here!”
Breathing heavily, I lift my head and stare at the boy.
He’s got to be no older than twelve or thirteen, with red-brown hair that’s tucked behind his ears and a wooden quiver at his back.
He’s brandishing a sword, angling the hand-struck stone at my face, and I can’t help but notice that the blade itself is uneven.
Licking my dry lips, I meet his green eyes. He’s wearing lightweight clothing: a short-sleeved tunic and a strap across his chest to hold a quiver. He’d freeze where I’m from.
Why did I think Sherwood would be better than the frigid north?
It's been a lonely existence for many years now, drifting endlessly through time after I all but got myself banished. A change of pace seemed like a good idea since I couldn’t do much about the problems at home, and escaping across Icicle Pass felt like conquering one of my demons.
Ever since I was framed for killing the King, I’ve been on the run.
No one wants to see the King Killer, but now, with decades to separate me from the tragedy, I don’t know if anyone would recognize me.
I’ve learned to hide in the ice, the snow, the frigid breezes, and frosty nights that are my salvation from loneliness.
My hair’s longer, my wounds from that night long gone.
I’m not clumsy with the magic gifted to me now, and I don’t allow myself to be caught by anyone anymore.
Returning to chains… I'm positive it will break me for good. I’m no longer gangly, years of nothing but solitude convincing me to work out and grow into the tall body I had before dying.
It should make me somewhat intimidating to the boy, but he just looks pissed off.
The kid continues to stare at me, curiosity heavy in his gaze, and a few seconds later, a motley crew appears through the lush green trees behind him.
Green. Everything down here is green. Lively. It’s the opposite of home. I usually try to stay out of sight to avoid run-ins like these.
Today, that didn’t happen. The goddamned Flowerborne, strange beasts rising in Wonderland, made me curious, almost getting me killed again. There’s no reason that Flowerborne almost should have gotten a bite out of me if I had simply used my magic and gotten away.
Of the trio who appear, there are two young boys, about the same age as the first, and an older man. He moves forward quickly, taking me in with a mix of curiosity and fear in his eyes, and slides himself between me and the boy.
“Ray,” the man says, eyeing me carefully. I’m wondering if he’s related to the boy; they seem to have the same hair and eyes. The other two have different appearances altogether. One has dark hair and orange-red eyes, while the other has aristocratic features, purple eyes, and—
I blink, focusing on him. His skin is odd, not quite a sickly gray but something that reminds me of gunmetal gray. And… are those wings?
“Hey there,” the man says, distracting me from the boys who followed him. He kneels down near me, and protectively, I grab for my staff. It’s brought me this far, and I refuse to let the Purple Heart wood out of my reach.
If my reaction bothers him, he doesn’t let on. He’s a mirror image of the younger boy with the sword and bow, his hair darker and streaked with gray. He sports a thick beard and emerald-green eyes.
His eyes take me in carefully, as if looking for a threat.
I don’t have the same earth-tones to my clothing as the others do, and the muted grays, ivory, and cerulean of the Frostlands stand out from the other kingdoms. I wait, expecting him to send me on and let me deal with my Flowerborne-induced wound alone.
It barely grazed me, but those monsters leave a sting anytime they get their teeth in you.