Chapter Twenty-Five #4
The screams. The blood pooling in frost patterns beneath the fallen man’s body. The surge of the crowd and the wash of blue light flickering off the walls. The slam and splinter of frozen bodies hitting the ground mid-flight. The thunk of bone and flesh against his skull.
And then black. A tide of darkness that tugged at him even now, eager to pull him under.
“Adeline?” said Gerard.
The tide retreated.
Kai swallowed back the last of the frost on his tongue.
“Safe,” he rasped, and the gard’s rush of relieved breath was so palpable it loosened something in his own chest. Beyond them came a soft sob, and Imogen rose at once to sweep across the room, where she bundled a shuddering Mareda into her arms while Councillor Norris awkwardly patted her shoulder.
“She’s safe,” Mareda was mumbling over Imogen’s rhythmic hush.
Kai watched them a moment, his thoughts slipping through his own grasp, skimming over his aching skull like a drop of oil on the water.
He eased himself upright again, slower this time, wincing at the throbbing darkness that pulsed in his vision with each movement until Gerard steadied him with a hand at his elbow.
Between them, they got Kai to his feet, and when he pitched unsteadily, Gerard guided him to a table and sat him down.
These were the council rooms, he realised.
That was the queen’s empty seat at the head of the table, nearly groaning under the weight of its thick frost.
It had felt Avette’s touch often.
“Why has nobody stopped her?” he said, more to himself than out of any real expectation of an answer.
But at his side, Gerard stiffened.
“You’ve seen exactly why,” he said.
Any thought Kai might have had of responding was swept up and scattered in the ice breeze that preceded the slamming of the door.
Avette was a tidal wave crashing over the relative calm of the room.
Gerard leapt back from the table at once, Imogen and Mareda scattering apart, and Norris leaping into a seat at the farthest end of the table.
“Ingrates,” Avette spat. “Weak. Worthless. After all the years they spent at my feet, praying for this gift. I saved them from the Thaw, and this is how they repay my sacrifice?”
She did not raise her voice, but the climbing, high-pitched hiss of each word was somehow worse.
It dragged up his spine, frost-tipped claws counting each vertebrae.
And as her gaze flicked manically around the room, breath heaving her slim shoulders up and down, her eyes glowed that same eerie blue they’d held when he tried and failed to Wield his power against her in the throne room.
As though the pendant had sunk beneath her skin and lodged itself into her heart.
Behind her, Doran shut the door with a softness Kai hadn’t known him capable of. When he turned, his grey face was splattered with a spray of fresh, vibrant red. Nearly as vibrant as the light in his eyes.
Rage tightened his gills at the sight, but his head gave a half-hearted pulse of dimming pain, a reminder and a warning.
“A handful of loud fools,” said Imogen.
Avette’s glowing gaze snapped to her, the movement of her slicked head so reptilian that even Kai jerked back. Imogen did not falter.
“Your Majesty, you are beloved. Think of how many citizens walked away with their hearts lighter, just from being in your presence.”
The pendant’s glow drained from Avette’s eyes, but it remained pulsing above her heart. She took a deep breath that flared her nostrils, and Kai was once more reminded of a reptile, a serpent coiling back.
“You’re the Sorceress,” Imogen went on. “The Saviour. All they wanted was to see you with their own eyes and walk away with something to believe in.”
“I’m afraid very few have walked away at all,” said Doran dryly, and not without a glimmer of delight in that steely gaze.
“Those who were not frozen or otherwise debilitated have been held in the reception hall. Four dozen of them, give or take. We must decide, Your Majesty, what to do with the traitors.”
Rage twitched over Avette’s features, and she swayed where she stood a moment, then reached for the back of her frozen seat for balance.
“The only true traitor has been taken care of,” said Imogen.
The syrupy sweetness of her voice did as much to underline her irritation as the glare she flicked at the Captain, but then she turned a soft and fawning look on the queen.
“So bravely struck down by Her Majesty to protect us all. The rest, of course, are our guests.”
“Our guests,” Avette echoed. Not a question—to lower herself would be to credit Imogen with whatever plan was brewing.
“Guests to your wedding,” said Imogen. “An invitation extended to thank them for their faith in you. To give them exactly what they came here for: something to believe in.”
“They believe in the fairytale,” Avette said slowly.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Imogen said, with a simpering dip of her head. “They do.”
“Then we shall bring them the fairytale they desire,” said the queen. She paused then, to round her seat and lower herself delicately to the table, both hands folded primly in her lap.
And when Avette smiled, Kai felt his blood curdle in his veins.
“I shall wed the Drowned Prince—within the fortnight.”