Chapter 31 Rosalina
Rosalina
Kel and I walk side by side down Voidseal Bridge, followed by an entourage of soldiers, handpicked by Keldarion from Frostfang’s elite.
Bright sunlight burns my eyes. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I can’t seem to catch my breath in the cold.
Is it obvious to everyone how fast my mind races, how my hands tremble within the elegant gloves I wear, embroidered with the sigil of Winter?
I try to remember everything I’ve learned from watching the princes take command or reading about my mother’s rule. Here, I’m not just Rosie O’Connell. I’m Princess of the Enchanted Vale.
The members of the Deep Guard have mobilized, their usual duties on pause for preparations.
Baskets of arrows line the walls, and vats of oil with torches are placed nearby for ignition.
Barricades are reinforced with iron and ice, and jagged stones are piled, ready to be hurled at attackers—all ways to turn the bridge into a death trap for invaders.
The Deep Guard stare at us as we pass by, then hurry out of the way. We cut a commanding presence through their ranks. I straighten my back, trying to pretend I have something to do with it, but I know it’s all Kel.
“I don’t like this plan,” I murmur to him. “We should be attacking our enemies, not walking straight into their war camps.”
“And I don’t like that you insist on accompanying me as envoy, but here you are. So we’re both going to be unhappy,” he responds, casting me his most deal with it eyebrow furrow.
“I’m Princess of the Enchanted Vale. It’s my duty to attend diplomatic missions.”
“Princess or not, you’re my mate. Your safety comes first.” He stops walking, causing our entourage to pause, then grabs my wrist and pulls me tight to his body. Everything about him exudes pure male energy.
I’m tempted to stand on my tiptoes and kiss that growly expression right off his face, but I know we’re being watched by both the Deep Guard and our own soldiers. I have to stay focused.
Jerking out of his grip, I keep walking. For that one moment, staring at Kel, I could forget what we’re doing. But when I look at the ice-covered lift ahead of us, I know I can’t escape this.
It’s been three days since we received the message from Irahn about the discovery within the chasm.
Three days where I’ve been thrown into the reality of what it means to be a leader in wartime.
Three days of councils and planning and making decisions that will affect not just my life but the lives of thousands of Winter citizens.
Most of our time has been spent in Irahn’s bridge house. The council was made up of myself, the princes, my father, Eirik Vargsaxa, the leader of the Tundrafolk, Irahn, and his best scouts. There, we learned exactly what Caspian uncovered after moving the briars from the hidden tunnels.
“There’s got to be a thousand strong down there,” one scout had reported. “A camp of them. They’re not fae. Not fae as we know, mind.”
“Underfae, that’s what we’ve dubbed them,” the other scout added. “They’ve all got horns like a goat or a bull or even a damned unicorn, some. Their skin ranges from white as ash to light green to moss to the color of slate. And they’re armed to the teeth.”
“Did you observe their weaponries?” Ezryn asked. “Who’s supplying them?”
I knew his fear was that they had gotten hold of Spring steel. The scout’s answer was worse. “I didn’t recognize the weapons at all, my lord.” He handed Ezryn a handful of sketches they’d made, detailing everything from their armaments to their clothing to the fabric of their tents.
The drawing was passed around. Even Kel hadn’t recognized any of it. “If they’re not part of the seasonal realms, they must be a sect of the Below. Sira is doubtless arming them.”
At this, Caspian flattened the parchment on the table. “I don’t think so, Kel. While I wasn’t privy to all Sira’s actions, whispers of the dealings down Below always reached me. Never once did I catch even a hint of horned fae or craftsmanship like this.”
To my surprise, it was my father who spoke.
He’d been silent most of the council meetings, but everyone turned to look at him as he began.
He picked up the drawings with a shaky hand.
“Don’t ask me to tell you where, but I recognize some of this.
I’ve…seen the designs on this sword hilt.
Somewhere.” At this, his eyes went glassy, and he touched his head as if he could coax a memory out of it.
Throughout all these meetings, I’d sat and listened quietly. But at the sight of my father wounded in some way we still can’t understand, knowing that the horned assassin would have murdered him in cold blood if Keldarion hadn’t gotten there in time…
I couldn’t contain it anymore. I slammed my palms down on the table, startling even Irahn.
“We’ve cleared the briars. We have the location of the war camp.
Why are we still discussing? We can’t just stand here, waiting for another assassination attempt!
How many lives do we need to lose, or almost lose, before we fight back?
Let’s lead an assault on the camp now, before they attack us first! ”
Kel reached out and took my hand. I can still feel his chilling touch, soothing the heat within me.
“Rosalina, we have no concrete proof they’re working for Sira.
We don’t know anything about these fae. Underfae.
Whoever they are. It is our duty to meet with the leader and understand their intentions.
If they want war, we’ll give them war. But we have to try diplomacy. ”
Cas walked right beside Kel. “If we attack them without warning, we’re no better than they are.”
Damn, how I hate when those two team up against me.
As scared and angry as I am about the assassination attempt and as much as I want to make good on my vow to Sira, that she will regret what she’s done to me, I had to quell that fire.
Kel and Cas were right. What if the assassin was rogue?
We can’t attack an entire group of people because of the actions of one.
Not without discovering their true intentions.
The scouts had camped out in the tunnels until they finally crossed paths with one of the underfae.
Thankfully, it sounds like their interaction was less bloody than ours with the assassin.
After a few cautious messages passed back and forth, we arranged a meeting at their camp, a fragile truce carved out of enemy ground.
It is the only reason the five of us dare step into their territory at all, clinging to the faint hope that words might be worth as much as blades, even as my every heartbeat thumps painfully against my chest.
So now Kel and I and a host of ten soldiers are serving as envoys. Irahn’s scouts will lead us to the meeting point, and we’ll convene with their commander. My heart still pummels my ribs. Somehow, this feels more terrifying than going in, briars blazing. At least then, I know what I’m doing.
I do my best to stand tall, to look commanding.
I’m dressed in regal yet functional attire, including a deep navy coat embroidered with frost-like silver patterns.
My pants are adorned by an overskirt that’s cut short in the front and long in the back.
It’s made of shimmering ice-blue fabric that sways with each step.
Though I miss the Bow of Radiance, Frostfang’s armorers gave me a fine yew bow and a quiver of arrows.
Kel looks every bit the High Prince of Winter. He wears robes of indigo velvet embroidered with silver thread, white leather accents, and a dark fur cloak flowing from his shoulders. At his hip hangs the Sword of the Protector, making him radiate with a commanding presence.
We meet the scouts at the elevator and take the stomach-looping journey down into the chasm. I look up at the sun. “See you soon,” I whisper.
We’ve done everything we can to mitigate the dangers of a diplomatic meeting in the opposition’s base.
Dayton’s already gone ahead, leading a team of thirty into one of the neighboring tunnels.
There’s a spot the scouts have picked out where they can observe the camp.
“I’ll have eyes on you the whole time,” Dayton told me, kissing my forehead before he left.
“If anything goes wrong, my crew and I have your back.”
Caspian will keep watch from Irahn’s bridge house, so he’s not out front with the men.
It wasn’t safe for him last time. Farron’s leading command with Irahn on the bridge.
Meanwhile, Ezryn is captaining the airship he brought from Summer.
It should arrive over the bridge any moment now.
He’ll have air support from the flying members of the Kryodian Riders.
Despite his insistence he can fight, my father has returned to the safety of Keep Wolfhelm—courtesy of Caspian’s briars. “Your job is more important than any of ours,” I told Papa to keep him from sulking too much. “You have to finish putting the rose back together.”
Thinking of everyone I love most in this world, knowing where they are and that we have a plan…
It makes me feel a little better. I cling to that hope as Kel and I descend into the tunnels.
Irahn’s scouts lead our envoy deep into the darkness, and I cast a look upward before I enter, searching for any last glimmer of light. There are only torches.
There’s a mess of briars at the entrance of the tunnel, and I can tell how hard Caspian must have worked to move so many. But within a few minutes, the tunnel opens up, and it seems like no living thing could exist here. Not even briars.
The icy walls shimmer, casting ghostly reflections from the torchlight. Frost forms jagged patterns like veins across the ground. The cold feels alive, pressing into my skin. The only light is the flickering fire from the scout’s torches.
Every sound—our footsteps, the creak of armor, the snap of flames—is magnified, as though the tunnel itself is listening. “Are you sure about this, Kel?” I whisper. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”
Torchlight quivers in Kel’s gaze. “I have already brought so much war to the Vale. That cannot be my legacy.”
A shaky breath escapes me. I have only just accepted the mantle of princess. I don’t want needless war to be my legacy either. But still…
A creeping sensation crawls up my spine. “How far is it to the camp?” I ask the scouts.
“About another half mile, Princess,” the scout responds.
I spin in a circle. There’s nothing but the icy walls of the tunnel and the uniform step of our soldiers behind us. I force a deep breath, chiding myself for—
The walls have eyes.
A pair of yellow, then a pair of vibrant green, then orange as embers. They dot the walls like constellations. Before I have a chance to call out, bodies disengage from the shadows.
Suddenly, our party is surrounded by a group of fae, camouflaged to adhere to the walls. No, not fae. Horns jut out from above their brow bones.
Underfae.
The underfae have all drawn bows, the arrows pointed straight at us. Kel takes in a breath, mouth a grim line, then holds his hands up. He motions with his chin for us all to do the same. Trembling, I do.
So much for diplomacy.