Chapter 3
The hooded man stood before her again. In a glint of light, she saw a dagger of bone on his hip.
He leaned down towards her.
Her heart began to race, a mix of panic and longing coursing through her.
Their lips met.
They were familiar, soft and lovely, and—
White hot pain coursed through her, not an ounce of pleasure, as he broke the kiss first.
Ezer looked down in horror.
And found his dagger, buried handle-deep in her chest.
She woke with a gasp, her first instinct to reach for the dagger in her chest. There was nothing there.
The nightmare was familiar, an obnoxious side effect of sleep … but it still rattled her all the same.
Her dreams had often come true, like knowing when a storm was well on its way. Or knowing that Ervos would return home from the tavern with a fresh bruise upon his face.
But when it came to this dream …
It had never come to pass.
Ezer opened her eyes and blinked wearily, groaning as she remembered where she was. The prison wagon had come to a grinding halt. And it was cold, so cold it felt like the very air froze inside her lungs.
Gods, how long had she been out?
Winter’s kiss was heavy on her skin.
‘What’s going on?’ someone groaned.
The last time she’d been awake, they were barreling past another ruined village, smoke thick in the air.
She’d first pressed her eye to the window, desperate to drink it in as they rolled slowly north.
Because though she was not free, it was the most she’d ever seen beyond Rendegard.
The closest she’d ever been to the stories Ervos had always shared with her when she longed to hear more about where she’d come from.
But this was not the world Ervos remembered.
There were no emerald hills or valleys, nor lively villages with laughter and music spilling from beneath worn tavern doors.
Instead, the world was quiet. As if it were only inhabited by ghosts.
‘We’re not moving,’ another prisoner said.
Muffled voices came from outside, and then the back door of the transport wagon was thrown open. Light filtered in as it hit the ground with a booming thunk, sending up a swell of snow.
When it settled, the Sacred Prince Arawn of Lordach stood in its place.
‘Blockage in the road,’ Arawn said by way of greeting. His brows furrowed as if he were already annoyed they hadn’t moved. ‘Daylight is fading. Get out.’
They had yet to trust the prisoners, even if they were soldiers now.
The Redguard had chained them all up, knowing they might take the chance to run before they made it to the warfront and received their stations.
Each was fastened at the waist by chains, and set in two lines, so closely packed together they could shuffle only mere steps at a time as they shakily made their way into the falling snow.
As if they were one body.
Ezer, to her relief, was not chained among them.
Perhaps because she was recruited from a tower instead of a cell.
Trees surrounded the group, mostly thick evergreens as tall as the sky with white weighing heavy upon their lower branches and piled up in drifts at the forest floor.
She couldn’t see their tops, for how tall they towered.
White aspens were mixed in, with ghostly bark and black knots that looked all too much like watching eyes.
She felt dizzy as she followed their ascent. They were far larger than the trees had ever been beyond Rendegard. Like they could stretch to the clouds.
Out in the open, the sheer force of the wind hit her.
This was true winter.
A feeling like knives nipping at Ezer’s skin, like she was made of glass and might shatter.
She still wore her shredded remnants of a cloak from Rendegard. It was clothing meant for a life by the sea, lightweight so she could move about taking care of her birds.
Dragging the chains that she did not miss. Her ankles still ached from the ghost of her shackles.
But the sight of the prisoners wearing them …
She had to look away.
She peered around the wagon and onto the narrow road, her breath a cloud before her. It was no wonder the wagon wouldn’t be able to make it through.
Several enormous trees had been upturned at their roots, their branches already covered up by fresh snow. As if the sheer weight of winter had felled them, though some part of Ezer whispered a warning.
Monsters.
She’d read too many raven scrolls, seen too many names hurriedly scribbled in ink.
‘Well?’ Ezer asked. ‘What happens next?’
Arawn didn’t so much as mutter a grumpy hello as he approached.
His enormous shoulders were now covered in a white cloak lined with fur that was thick enough to keep him warm. There were runes stitched into the lining, like he’d somehow magicked the cloak to ward away the cold.
Now that she knew who he really was, it made sense.
He truly was handsome. Even through his cloak she could see his muscles were so large, she couldn’t help but admire them. Couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like in the heat of battle, his body a deliciously honed weapon.
He’s a prick, she reminded herself, and that only made his appearance all the more frustrating.
Why was it always the heartless ones who looked so damned good on the outside?
She felt like she had daggers in her eyes as she took him in.
His sword was of extremely fine make, and his thickly knotted braid was so elegant it could only have been done by a skilled servant.
It helped to reveal the sharp lines of his perfect face, his full lips …
and the enormous red scar that spanned down his cheek.
Not nearly as hideous as hers, because of course it served to his rugged warrior’s appearance.
It was fresher than she’d initially thought. The skin was still angry at its edges, perhaps only a few months old.
Strange, that an Ehvermage at the Citadel hadn’t healed him.
She thought the Sacred were not fond of scars, especially royals, for it marred them, made them look far less pure to their pillared god.
Arawn’s eyes snapped to hers as he caught her studying him. ‘We’ll have to walk. It’s a mile uphill.’ He glanced down to her ankles as if he could still see the shadow of her old chains. ‘Can you walk, or will you require assistance?’
No, she thought. I’m weaker than I’ve ever been. I survived on stale bread and salt-tinged water for two years, and now I’m thin as bones, freezing to death in this cold. I most certainly cannot walk a mile uphill, you pompous royal.
‘I’m perfectly capable,’ she said instead, ‘Not that you cared to offer me the courtesy of asking before. If this is how you treat your new Minder, I’m not certain I’d like to serve in your north.’
His brows furrowed. ‘You do not strike me, Minder, as someone who wants courtesy.’
‘And you do not strike me, Firemage, as someone who understands anything about what a woman wants.’
His jaw twitched. ‘You speak out of line.’
‘Because you’re a prince?’
She supposed he could have her hung for speaking to him in such a way.
But her anger had replaced her ability to give a damn.
‘You certainly didn’t act like one when you so callously told me my uncle was dead,’ Ezer hissed. ‘Your gods would be ashamed of you.’
His hands balled into fists. ‘Punishment, Minder, is fierce for those who speak ill of the gods.’
‘Go ahead,’ she said, and risked a step closer to him, enough that she had to crane her neck back to look him in the eyes. ‘Punish me.’
‘I wouldn’t dare give you the satisfaction,’ he said.
‘Who said anything about satisfaction?’ She smiled sweetly up at him. And because she knew the ways of the Sacred, how they held themselves back for their perfectly pure, arranged marriages, she added, ‘I don’t need a man for that.’
He squirmed, indeed.
He practically stumbled away.
‘You act like a heathen. A disbeliever.’
She laughed, though every muscle in her body was taut. ‘Oh, I believe, Sacred. I believe that a nomage like me, like my uncle, like all these prisoners who are traveling north to die … we are just pawns for you to use in your losing war.’
‘You know nothing of war,’ he said. His hands curled at his sides. ‘And I can assure you, it’s one we have no intention of losing.’
She blew out a breath as the prince turned away, the tension finally releasing without his eyes upon her.
With a barked order, he sent three Redguard ahead on horseback, urging them to call for reinforcements at the gates.
Why would they need reinforcements just to march the final mile through the woods to the garrison, where thousands of other soldiers were waiting?
There was no danger here, not yet.
Darkness was when the Acolyte attacked, and the battles of the night began.
But the daylight was indeed waning. And the road ahead was thick with untouched snow, deep enough that it would certainly slow their journey.
‘First lesson!’ Arawn called out, finally addressing them all. ‘You’re not in the south anymore. You’re close enough to smell the blood upon the wind. To hear the cry of the brave men and women who fall in war, fighting for the light.’
Ezer’s stomach twinged as she thought of Ervos.
He hadn’t fought in this war.
He’d only minded the ravens.
But it had still claimed him in the end. She didn’t even know how.
‘This is shadow wolf territory, for the Acolyte’s beasts like to circle the ward’s outskirts like moths drawn to a flame. So, unless you wish to find your intestines strung across the snow … you will walk. And you will not utter a single word.’
He held out his sword in signal.
The prisoners began to walk.
Ezer turned to follow, frozen to the bone.
But the sword stopped at her middle.
‘Not you, Minder,’ Arawn said. A spike of fear stabbed her in the gut as those blue eyes narrowed upon her. ‘You’re staying with me.’
The path ahead was far narrower once they passed through the rune-marked trees. It was only a mere six feet across from treeline to treeline. Aspens and pines towered over them, casting everything in deep shadows.
Each glance upwards, Ezer swore the sky was darkening.