CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Garrick barged into my quarters a few minutes later, Aspen perched on his shoulder with her bag. Once they were within my rooms, she hopped down, shifting into her larger form. Seated on the edge of the bed, I blinked at them blearily, half-consumed with pain. Despite Preston’s insults, bathing was the last thing on my mind. I wasn’t worried he’d punish Garrick for touching me tonight, not when he’d been trying to protect me—I feared it was more likely Preston would hurt him for failing to prevent a demon from injuring me.
Instead, I’d tried to focus, tried to clear my thoughts. Perhaps there was some way I could prevent him or Nerissa from hurting Garrick. Some way I could convince them it wouldn’t be worth it. But my thoughts felt sluggish and my head light. I wondered vaguely how much blood I’d lost. Not enough to threaten my life, but enough to make me weak.
When I glanced up to see my friends, Aspen looked stern while Garrick seemed frantic, his brow creased with worry.
“Lay on your stomach,” Aspen said without preamble.
I stretched out across the bed as she’d ordered. The mattress bounced lightly as she tossed her bag down, reaching in for something. A moment later, I heard her slicing through my shredded tunic. Garrick positioned himself on the other side of the bed, leaning over to cradle my head in his calloused hands.
Aspen worked silently, not remarking on the state of my injuries as she applied something that stung fiercely. I bit back a groan, and Garrick brushed a tender thumb across my cheek, lifting my head so I could meet his golden gaze, soft and focused. “It’ll be over soon,” he murmured.
Once the pixie had finished cleaning the wounds, she set to work stitching the skin closed. Each pull of the thread had me hissing through clenched teeth. I tried to keep my eyes only on Garrick, letting his soothing words wash over me. “You’re all right, Starlight. Look at me. Think of your magic, what you succeeded in doing tonight. It was incredible.”
What he didn’t know was that I was concentrating not on the ice I’d conjured on the rooftop or the light that had flared from my blood when I’d fended off the demons, but on him. On the warmth of his arms when they’d encircled me on the rooftop. On the familiar rumble of his voice. On the achingly sweet touches he granted me now as he threaded his fingers through my hair, brushing it behind my ears, or as he ran his thumbs across my cheeks, catching stray tears that slipped out. On his eyes, bright and beautiful and full of an emotion I was sure I could name. It was on the tip of my tongue.
“Your plan worked?” Aspen asked at last, when she’d finished wrapping bandages around my torso. “You already saw results?”
As I sat up, cautiously clinging to the front of my tunic, she tossed me a fresh one from the wardrobe. Garrick turned his back to me without a word, offering me privacy as I shed the ruined garment and tugged the new one over my head. “Yes. Garrick escorted me so I could practice on a rooftop alone. It wasn’t much—but it was something.”
Garrick, who’d turned back to us, leaned against the headboard of my bed, a smile tugging at his lips. “It was more than something. Tell her what you did.”
I described the ice I’d managed to form across the roof floor, and Aspen grinned. “And they think your mortal side is a weakness. Look what a strength it has turned out to be, making you more resistant to forget-me-nots than any fae could ever hope to be.”
“I’m afraid it was one time when I probably shouldn’t have been her escort, though,” Garrick said, his expression sobering. “Not that I expect Preston or Nerissa would question me about Ren’s use of magic. Unless she’s been under threat of death, like tonight, they have no reason to think she can wield her power while they’re drugging her with forget-me-nots.”
“You’re right,” Aspen said. “We can only hope they won’t have any reason to suspect she can resist the flowers’ influence. And I assume they ordered you to escort and guard Ren anywhere she goes within the castle?”
Garrick gave a single nod.
“Then we will just have to manage. I never thought I’d say this, but thankfully, we only have a few days left to keep our secrets.” Aspen studied Garrick thoughtfully. “As for tonight...Ren and I could take advantage of this time to plan, unless you were ordered to remain here?”
Garrick sank his hands into his trouser pockets. “No, I was not.” I could see the reluctance painted across his face, even if he knew—probably better than Aspen or me—how important it was for him not to know every detail of our plans.
Crossing over to me, he grasped my face in his hands again, drew a deep breath, opened his mouth, and...shook his head. Without a word, he slipped from the room. I gritted my teeth, a mingling sense of desperation and loss coiled in my chest. Was he holding back the words I hoped he was? Did he worry they were futile, impossible?
Aspen’s dark eyes darted between Garrick’s retreating form as he closed the door and back to me. “We will win,” she promised, and I wasn’t sure if she was saying that to comfort me and give me hope for Garrick and me, or to refocus my thoughts on our mission.
Aspen had an entire kingdom to save. And while I didn’t want to see anyone suffer needlessly either—while I longed to do what was right—the reason I ached for a victory, for freedom, was for the chance at a future with Garrick. Or, if he didn’t want me, at least to see him also free and happy.
Settling on the bed, Aspen sighed. In a blink, she was her usual pixie size, relaxing cross-legged on the coverlet. I settled beside her, already feeling blessed relief from the pain-numbing salve she’d massaged into the wounds across my back. “Will they cover the Stormclaw mark?” I asked, gesturing vaguely toward my back.
When Aspen shook her head, her curls bounced around her shoulders. “I’m afraid not.”
I shrugged. “Then we can use it to our advantage.”
Aspen tilted her head to one side. “How so?”
“At the ball, the night before winter solstice, I can wear a dress with a low-cut back,” I mused. “Anyone present who is questioning their loyalty to the king and queen can see what they did to me, a Silverfrost by blood. And I suppose the claw marks will also be a reminder of what I’ve survived while facing demons.”
Aspen’s lips curled into a slow smile. “I like it. But do you think you can convince the seamstresses to make a ballgown to your specifications? They’re to come to your room tomorrow to measure you and have you try on fabrics. I assume Preston and Nerissa already gave them instructions about the sort of attire you’re supposed to wear.” She rolled her eyes.
“Back home,” I said, studying my hands, “I made my own dresses. Our human fashions are much simpler than the dresses fae wear—I would never have been caught wearing a dress that exposed my back at home—” -a soft laugh escaped my lips, an ache tugging on my heart for a place that would never be home again- “but surely, I could make a ballgown fit for the Silverfrost court. I would use finer fabrics.”
Aspen tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose they’d assume you’d want to wear something simple and human-looking. I can’t think of a reason why they’d refuse you.”
“I have great plans for it,” I said, my excitement mounting.
Aspen tossed me a sidelong glance, but didn’t press for details. “This would be perfect,” she mused. “I’ll speak with them, ask if I can be your escort into Northelm to purchase fabric. I’m sure they’ll send Garrick along too. They’ll order him to not let you escape. But this provides a chance for you to visit the wounded while we’re there. There are rebels there already, tending to our injured. It’ll be an opportunity to bolster their confidence in you, while also letting the wounded soldiers see what a better leader you would make. A way to draw even more to our side.” She fidgeted with the ties of her bag, its size now proportionate to hers. “As for the ball itself, we have been planning to make a move then...”
She launched into the details her rebel group had planned out. A lot of our success would rely not only on our growing numbers, but also on the hope that my powers would be at full strength then, enough to combat the might of the siblings’ death magic. If my magic wasn’t ready then, the resistance could turn into a bloodbath.
“During the ball, you’ll act normal. Drink more wine and let your scars be seen—if those actions sway more toward our cause, we may gain additional numbers when the fighting ensues. And watch and wait for the signal. Of course,” Aspen finished, “everything could change at a moments’ notice. Scouts are reporting that the Ashwood forces are pressing ever closer. If we’re dealing with a foreign invasion by then, we may have other problems to worry about.”
“What if I’m not ready?” I asked. “Would you wait?” I bit my lip. While I had the looming deadline of the morning after solstice threatening me—the idea of binding myself to Preston in marriage made my stomach curdle—the rebels had no such restriction.
“Unfortunately, we cannot wait. There’s something I haven’t told you,” Aspen said, her brow furrowing. “In Silverfrost, marriage works a bit differently than it does in the mortal world. It’s a requirement among royals that magical power is exchanged through blood. I fear Preston hopes to not only use you as a pawn and figurehead, but also to steal your power. And if he does? If he can seal the door to the underworld himself? I wouldn’t be surprised if he also killed you on your wedding night.”
I sat back, stunned. I had no choice but to be ready in only a few days.
Aspen stood, walking across the bed to set a small hand on my arm. “And you’re already drawing on your magic, Ren. I believe in you. You’ll be ready. You’re meant to be our queen. You can’t fail.”
After a reminder to rest, she bid me goodnight, shifting again into her larger form to more efficiently walk the castle halls.
“Be safe,” I murmured, thinking of the demons who’d attacked Garrick and me not long ago.
Aspen smiled, withdrawing a dagger from a sheath at her thigh, tucked beneath her dress. “I’m as prepared as I can be, but considering there was already one attack tonight, it’s unlikely more will slip out until tomorrow.”
As she left, I settled back in bed, pulling the covers up and trying to settle my whirling mind. But when I slipped into dreams, I was plagued with memories of Preston’s sharp features as he stood before me, pretending to lick my blood off his finger.
My heart pounded with anticipation as Aspen, Garrick, and I trotted into Northelm under the watery light of late morning. Nerissa had given Aspen her approval to take me to select fabrics, and according to the pixie, had laughed and waved her hand carelessly at my “human desire to make a mockery of myself.”
Remembering that now as we rode along the main city street, women, men, and children stopping to bow or curtsey in respect when they saw me, I couldn’t help the smug smile that danced across my lips. Little did Nerissa know that I’d be making a mockery of her.
I waved as the people bowed, nodding and smiling my thanks at their recognition. It was impossible to tell how many truly respected me and how many only displayed outward signs of submission because they feared repercussions if word got back that King Preston’s future consort had been insulted. All I could hope was that more fae than not would want to join our side when they attended the ball.
Still, it was an encouraging sight. Between their warm welcome, last night’s success with my magic, and my wounds feeling significantly improved after Aspen’s ministrations both yesterday and early this morning, my spirits were hopeful. Our hoped-for coup felt possible.
“This way,” Aspen murmured, pointing down a side street from where she lounged between my horse’s ears. I led my mount in the direction the pixie had indicated.
Garrick, stoic and quiet, waited before tailing me. Though I’d frequently felt his eyes on me throughout our ride into Northelm, he’d hardly spoken a word to Aspen or me the entire time. He didn’t seem to be under Preston and Nerissa’s control, but I wasn’t na?ve enough to assume they hadn’t tasked him with strict orders.
We tied our horses outside an unassuming shop halfway down the road. A welcoming plume of smoke curled forth from its chimney, and in windows reflecting the glow of warm candlelight, mannequins displayed fabrics ranging from thick and practical to sheer and scandalous. When Aspen shifted into her high fae size and tugged open the door, a bell chimed merrily.
Garrick’s presence was solid and reassuring behind me, though as I stepped inside the shop, I studiously avoided glancing back at him. I hated to see the distant, hopeless look in his eyes. The way he saw himself as an enemy, a threat to Aspen’s and my cause, because of the pawn Nerissa and Preston had turned him into.
“Welcome!” called a clear voice, as bright and musical as the ring of the bell. It took a moment for me to identify its source—the shop was full of crowded racks and shelves, full of everything from completed outfits to mannequins clothed in half-finished attire decorated with the pins holding them in place, to swaths of richly colored fabric. At last, I spied a counter in one corner, where a plump fae woman with sparkling eyes as vivid as amber and pale blue skin was cutting and sorting through piles of fabrics. When she set down her scissors to wade past the shelves and racks to approach us, I realized there were twigs and leaves in her dark curls, and they didn’t appear to be decorative. They seemed to be a part of her, growing from her scalp as surely as her hair was. “Oh, Aspen, it’s good to see you.” Her eyes darted to me, her mouth forming a small O of surprise before she dipped into a pretty curtsey, her whimsical patchwork skirt drawing my eye.
“It’s good to see you too, Juniper. We need to purchase material suitable for Her Majesty’s ballgown for the upcoming celebration,” Aspen said.
Juniper’s eyes widened eagerly, and she ushered Aspen and me forward, talking quickly as she guided her to her counter and started displaying various fabrics for her. Meanwhile, Garrick stationed himself near the door, arms crossed and face as expressionless as if he were a guard stationed at the castle.
The sight of so many fabrics, threads, ribbons, and other sewing necessities filled my heart with a sense of joy and familiarity. After a little while, I excused myself from the counter and left Aspen and Juniper to chat alone so I could wander among the shelves. I brushed my fingers along different swatches of fabric to test every texture and admired the numerous different colors and patterns. As I scanned the shop, I allowed myself to imagine a future in which we succeeded. In which Preston and Nerissa abdicated the throne and I was free, able to pursue what I wanted. Able to dream again. I didn’t fool myself into thinking my new life would be easy—I had no idea how to run a kingdom, and I knew many fae would remain opposed to me as queen. But in that moment, I could envision a world in which I was able to sew to my heart’s content without fear of being controlled or threatened. In which I could create a haven out of the castle I now so abhorred, and slowly assemble a court I trusted. One that I hoped included Garrick and Aspen.
A flash of glistening silver against velvety black caught my eye as I strolled past one of the shelves. I paused, lifting the fabric to watch it shift and shimmer in the light from a nearby candelabra. Traces of blues in varying shades flashed in the material as I moved it. It was like a beautiful night sky adorned in stars. It was perfect.
Preparing to gather the roll of fabric and take it to Juniper’s counter, I paused when I heard voices nearby. I lifted my head, noticing two figures a few shelves over muttering together. The shop was so large I hadn’t realized there were other customers present.
One of the forms sauntered in my direction, and when he lifted his head, revealing a scarred face and sharp green eyes, nerves stirred in my stomach. I moved to walk away, but unfortunately, fae were impossibly fast, and I hadn’t made it out of my aisle before he turned into it. “What a pleasure to run into you, Your Majesty,” he said, his tone mocking.
I straightened warily. There was no deference in his posture, nothing but hostility. “What do you want?”
He was in front of me in a blink, making my blood run cold. He was too fast. Too muscular. His hulking form dwarfed me, making me wonder if his high fae blood was mixed with that of a troll or giant. He was powerful, and my magic—when I reached for it—was still an echo of what it should have been.
“I want to see you put in your place,” he snarled, hot breath washing over my face as he leered at me. “A lowly human has no place near the throne or married to a fae king. No matter your blood. And we don’t need you alive to use your blood.”
“Actually, you do,” I retorted. “Even if someone else can use my blood to close the entrance, once I’m dead, there won’t be anyone else to continue to seal it for the years to come. Why would you doom your kingd—”
A meaty hand latched around my neck, squeezing. I choked in vain for air, my hands beating against his to no effect. My mind scrambled to concentrate and wield my magic, but after a breakfast laced with forget-me-nots, trying to grasp for my power seemed more like reaching for single grains of sand.
“Pity for you that you’re all alone,” he taunted.
Dark spots danced across my vision. I couldn’t even think straight anymore, let alone try to conjure my magic.
The man laughed cruelly. “What can your guard dog do now?” His fingers dug into my throat, trying to crush my windpipe.
A low voice rumbled behind him. “Kill you.”
I hadn’t even heard Garrick approaching—hadn’t noticed him sneak up behind the man. Not until he sidestepped him and seized the brute by the neck. Even though the stranger towered over him, Garrick’s motions were effortless. His pupils were blown wide in his gold eyes, dilated so much he looked more wolf than man.
The man released me to reach for a dagger strapped to his waist, and I stumbled back, clutching my aching throat and gulping down stinging lungfuls of air. He didn’t have time to even unsheathe his weapon before Garrick’s wrist twisted. There was a sickening crunch, and I turned away as my attacker’s neck snapped, his bulky form crashing to the floor.
Tears stinging my eyes, I scanned the shop, but the brute’s companion was nowhere to be seen. Garrick was in front of me in a moment, the wolfish bloodlust in his eyes melting into concern. He grasped my chin with the same scarred hand he’d used to kill only a second ago, but this time his touch was impossibly tender as he tilted my face upward and inspected my throat. You can’t touch me, I thought feebly, but I wasn’t sure I could form the words. Maybe Preston and Nerissa would forgive him like they had last night, since he was only protecting me, just like they’d ordered him to.
Garrick hissed a curse at the sight of the bruises I imagined were forming on my skin. “Don’t speak,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Juniper.”
Gently grasping my arm, Garrick led me past the rows of shelves and mannequins to the counter, where Aspen and Juniper froze mid-conversation at the sight of me.
“What happened?” Aspen demanded, rushing to my side and clutching my free hand as her eyes roved over my neck.
“A bloody man attacked her, right here in your store,” Garrick growled, his eyes snapping to Juniper.
Juniper blinked in horror before collecting herself. “Is he still here?”
“I disposed of him, but you’ll want to clean up the body,” Garrick said coldly.
Juniper nodded sharply, as if she’d expected no less. “I’m closing the shop immediately.” She glanced at me. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. I never would have imagined anyone would be so bold as to harm you here in public, in the middle of my own shop.” She lowered her voice. “Aspen told me of your other plans while you’re in Northelm. I will lead you to the infirmary myself, and ensure a healer sees to you immediately.”
As she scurried off to check that her shop was empty of other customers, blow out candles, turn her sign, and bolt the door, Aspen squeezed my hand reassuringly. “She’s a fellow rebel and integral to our movement,” she whispered. “You can trust her, despite what happened here. I’m so sorry.” She glanced toward Garrick. “Remember, stay out of the way. The rebels don’t fully trust you.”
“Rightfully so,” Garrick muttered.
Juniper guided us through a back orom and out another door, taking side streets and alleys to reach an abandoned shop. The building was long and low. Its door creaked on rusty hinges as she pushed it inward.
Aspen shifted back into her pixie form, and I settled her onto my shoulder.
The scents of blood and infection reached my nose and I forced myself not to cringe as I stepped inside after the shop owner. Garrick lingered outside where he wouldn’t be seen. Within was a single long room, dimly lit by curtained windows lining the walls. Countless cots occupied by wounded fae filled every available space, while healers walked among them, tirelessly working their magic.
“There are more wounded than the last time I visited,” Aspen muttered from her place on my shoulder.
“Can the healers’ magic can’t save them all?” I whispered back.
“Not always. Some wounds are too grievous. Even immortals can die.” The pixie’s voice was heavy with her sadness.
Hands shaking, I listened as Juniper murmured something to one of the nearest healers, who nodded in understanding before lifting her gaze to my face, awe in her expression. She dipped into a curtsey. “Could I tend to you, Your Majesty?”
At my nod, she strode forward, placing gentle, cool fingers on my neck. There was a flare of pain before a wave of weariness struck me. Slowly, the discomfort of my swollen throat eased. Then, she circled me, her fingers cautiously skating over my back. Her power must have been great, for even through the fabric of my tunic, I could sense the effects of her magic binding my skin, stealing the sting from both my Stormclaw mark and the demon scratches.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I can sense injuries as well as heal them, my queen,” the woman said as she walked around to face me again. “The marks on your back will scar, but they shouldn’t cause you any further pain.”
“Thank you.”
She grinned widely, her pink eyes sparkling. “My pleasure.” She glanced about the room. “Feel free to walk among our injured and offer hope, Your Majesty. Thank you for taking the time to see us.”
My stomach churned. This was a place of suffering, of death, so close to the castle where Nerissa and Preston hosted garish feasts and balls. No wonder a growing number of citizens were discontent with their rule, looking to me not only for salvation from the underworld creatures but also for hope and compassion.
Aspen stood on her tiptoes to hiss in my ear. “Remember, some of the healers are rebels, eager to see you prove yourself.”
Not terrifying at all, I thought.
Rallying my courage, I forced myself to walk among the cots, asking names of the more coherent patients and murmuring encouraging words. Anything to let them know I saw them, that I cared. Some of the fae studied me uncertainly, but others reached for my hand and grasped me as if I were their lifeline. As if my touch could heal.
All the while, I was conscious of the healers pausing their work, watching me with cautious curiosity. It was a constant reminder that even among the rebels who’d been waiting for me for years, I hadn’t proven myself yet. I had a reputation to withhold, and decades of hope and dreams to fulfill for them. I could only pray I lived up to their expectations and secured their loyalty and confidence.
“Address the room,” Aspen encouraged in her soft voice. “Give them a speech worthy of a queen. Their true leader.”
Exhaustion from the healer’s magic beckoned to me, but I knew Aspen was right. I needed to say something for the rebels to overhear. I needed to convince them I could lead—even if I was untrained and uncertain. I needed to at least appear willing to learn and try.
Swallowing thickly, I scanned the room, at first seeking the healers’ faces before glancing back to the wounded. Even though the rebels would be the ones to fight for me first, the patients, soldiers sent to suffer in a war the siblings had needlessly caused, held my attention. They were the ones who needed me most in this moment, the ones I hoped would recover and remember me later. They were as much my people as the rebels were.
“By now, I know word has spread of my engagement,” I began. Inwardly, I cringed. That wasn’t how I should have started. “I...” I cleared my throat, fumbling for words. Back in Altidvale, I had never been expected to address an entire crowd of people. I’d been trained to be a quiet, amiable woman and to communicate well at parties and other frivolous events. I’d never been taught how to soothe wounded soldiers or instill bravery in men and women I needed to fight for me.
“You can do this,” Aspen urged. “You’re their queen, Ren. Tell them who you are.”
I tried to start afresh. “That is, I know I may be human, and it’s true much of this world is strange to me...”
One of the healers, a man with antlers twisting behind his ears, turned away, shaking his head. Unimpressed.
My mouth was dry, and whatever I’d intended to say vanished from my mind. “I...”
“Who do you think you are?” one of the patients croaked from her cot.
Another scoffed. “Nobody.”
Murmurs broke out, doubt swiftly overtaking the room. Sweat beaded on my brow, and my weariness made me sway on my feet. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t a leader. I was failing already. They’d never help overthrow Preston and Nerissa, and Aspen and I would lose.
The sound of the door creaking open shattered the growing conversations around the room. Garrick’s form hovered in the entrance, his eyes burning with unmasked fury. “Who is she? She is Ren Silverfrost, daughter of Prince Ashton and only surviving member of our royal family. She is your rightful queen, and she sees your suffering and refuses to sit idly by. She’s here to fight for you, and she is worthy of your allegiance and respect.”
Stillness settled over the room as patients and healers stared at Garrick. And then, the silence was broken as more talk erupted. One of the healers, the burly antlered man, stalked forward until he was chest-to-chest with Garrick. “You’re the imposter Nerissa’s lackey,” he accused. “Why would we listen to a word you say, when you love to run about doing her bidding?”
Apparently he had no fear of insulting the siblings here, with other rebels nearby. The only ones who might be loyal to Preston and Nerissa were likely the injured, though I doubted many of them held the royals in high esteem after being left, forgotten, first at the border and now here in the castle’s very shadow.
Garrick stiffened, and without warning, the antlered man shoved him, hard.
My anger flared. “Stop,” I commanded.
“You worthless, traitorous dog,” the man snarled. “You’re the reason my brother is dead. You hunted him for them like the mindless puppet you are.” Something silver flashed in his hand—a hidden blade—as he swung a fist at Garrick. The hunter dodged but didn’t draw one of his own weapons.
“Don’t you dare touch him,” I warned.
The man only snarled at me before lunging for Garrick again.
I didn’t think, only reacted. A whirlwind of snow and black daggers of ice tore through the building, slamming into Garrick’s attacker. It was over in seconds, shards of glistening ice stained red with the man’s blood as he gaped and then collapsed. Still. Dead.
No one moved. I could scarcely breathe. “Garrick Darkgrove is loyal to me, and is here as my subject,” I announced, forcing my voice to be steady. “Does anyone else wish to threaten him or defy my orders?”
Silence answered me.
And then, the first of the healers stepped forward, her eyes wide with wonder and terror as she dropped into a kneel. Throughout the building the rest followed, joining her as she spoke:
“All hail Queen Ren Silverfrost.”