Chapter 8
Zadriel
Snow clung to Zadriel’s dark leather boots, freezing the laces and threatening to spill over the lip.
It fell from a mass of dark clouds, the ominous storm claiming the heavens and blotting out the setting sun.
He squinted, a barrage of white mixing with the cloak of a shadow sprite to invade his vision.
In the distance, he could just make out the royal blue carriage jostling as horses pulled it along.
A salty brine mixed with the crisp winter air, the crash of waves against the shore slipping through the trees while Eldenna watched from across the Northwrenn Strait.
Zadriel frowned. They moved too slowly, the path no place for a carriage—at this rate, they’d freeze before they reached Port Darford.
Not that he’d mind avoiding the stench of the fish markets. Zadriel detested fish. Their strong flavor enveloped your mouth, tiny bones slipping down your throat. His stomach churned at the thought. An unfortunate thing when one lived on an island and rarely had a say in their meals.
It would also be difficult to pull Aedlin away if she made it to the docks.
He had yet to speak with her, too slow to leave the castle.
He couldn’t regret it. There was an ache in Zadriel’s heart, the warmth of the delicate bond he shared with the Little Witch pulsing out of rhythm.
It thrashed against the pull of Brennan’s curse, two forces at war.
Peeking over his shoulder, he stared at the gray towers crowning Castle Berwick, the structures watching him through the storm.
They were barely visible, their stone walls blotted out by wisps of darkness and snowflakes sticking to his lashes.
Was Mora still there, breaking from the loss of too many things?
Trapped in a spell Cillian never should have woven.
His dark gaze lingered a moment too long. A branch swooped down, pushing at Zadriel’s lower back before he slammed into its trunk. He stumbled, feet sinking into a snowdrift. It soaked into his breeches, cold clinging to his calves with voracious claws.
“Damn it,” he hissed, tugging himself free and dusting the powder off.
The carriage was further down the path, the blizzard making quick work of burying its tracks. Were the Gods on the queen’s side?
As if they laughed in answer, the breeze shifted, curling in an unnatural loop as something whooshed past him.
A horse screamed, the piercing noise so jarring Zadriel flinched.
The carriage crashed on its side, wood splintering as it slid over frozen earth and slammed into the thick trunk of a yellow birch.
The tree groaned, its naked branches swaying from the impact—he prayed to the Mother it would not fall.
Then, the babe wailed.
Zadriel didn’t think. He ran. Frigid air twisted through his lungs, his breathing quickening while his feet carried him as swiftly as his long legs allowed.
Still, he pressed harder. Begged the Mother to help him through.
Roots and branches shifted out of his way, the scraggly end of a maple twig catching on his hood and pulling it free.
Ivory peppering his tousled black hair. Zadriel tugged it back into place, covering his pointed ears without thought.
The rhythmic patter of galloping hooves joined the whistling winds, a woman’s haunting laugh twirling between them.
How long had they been following?
He cursed himself for not noticing.
They rushed past, one of their stallions snorting as they zeroed in on the carriage driver. He moaned, reins clutched in his left hand. Blood soaked his short, gray hair, drops trickling over his forehead.
The intruders slowed to a stop. Red saddles sat atop their horses’ gleaming black coats, the color so bright it stung Zadriel’s eyes, despite the shadow sprite’s efforts to shield him.
“Where do you think you’re going, traitor?” a man rasped as he slid off his horse. He was burly, with sculpted muscles pulling at the clasps holding his leather chest piece in place. A thick, gray pelt hung from his shoulders. Likely once the fur of a great wolf, Zadriel thought.
The carriage driver trembled, reins slipping from his hand. “I’m no t-traitor,” he stuttered, inching back as the attacker loomed over him.
Two heavy round stones attached by a long cord swayed in the burly man’s grip. The air moved strangely around the weighted ends, barely visible wisps of wind braided with a stream of sanguine spinning around them in an endless dance. Bolas—the perfect weapon for ensnaring one’s quarry.
Was that what hit the horse? Zadriel slowed, moving carefully with a grace only a Fae could manage. He made no sound as he inched around the carriage, wishing he had a weapon instead of a simple paring knife packed away with his things.
The shadow sprite quivered, its shudder visible from within its cloak. Zadriel reached up to swirl his finger through the darkness, offering what little comfort he could. Hating that he was using the little creature.
What had it so spooked?
“You’re almost free, little one,” he said so quietly he wondered if it heard.
“Silas,” a feminine voice called. She was swathed in bright red fabric, black fur lining the hood.
The material slipped off her horse like liquid, a fine silk serving no purpose other than show—it must have been lined well, or winter would have stolen her soul already.
It dragged behind her like the train of a gown, and all Zadriel could think of was blood.
“Subdue him for me, and I’ll take it from there. ”
The beast of a man—Silas—nodded, his slow grin haunting. “Would you like to run?” he asked the carriage driver, pushing his long, chestnut-brown hair away from his face, his fair skin reddened in places. Kissed by the storm.
The injured man gulped, trembling as he shook his head.
“Hmmm.” Silas swung his weapon idly, excitement glinting in his dark, navy eyes.
“That’s disappointing. I prefer when my prey is running.
” With a sigh, he let the cord slip free from his grip.
It spun, the breeze shifting around it as if it answered the call of an Elementalist, before hitting the queen’s driver with a loud crack, the poor man grunting in pain while it weaved around his legs.
Tethered by the hands of an errant gust.
“W-what do you want?”
“Tell us your name,” the woman demanded, her gloved hand caressing Silas’s thick bicep.
Zadriel ran his hand along the carriage’s royal blue exterior, his jaw tense. He needed to bide his time. To open the door when they were distracted. Though he had no idea how to convince Aedlin to leave with him.
The babe’s cries settled, the queen whispering quietly that he would be all right.
May the Mother keep them safe.
“Silas,” the woman whined, tugging on his arm.
Her companion cracked his knuckles. “Answer my lady, or I’ll make you.”
The carriage driver’s face turned ashen, his focus darting between Silas and his partner. “I’m Jonah.”
“Thank you, Jonah. I’m Elodie,” the woman cooed, pulling down her hood.
She had eyes like ice, the palest blue, but for the hints of gray skirting their edges, her pink-tinged, porcelain skin dusted with the lightest freckles.
As if she rarely exposed herself to the sun.
“What’s waiting for me in that fancy carriage of yours?
” She knelt by his side, resting her palm against one of the weights snared around his legs.
“Are you another decoy? I’m looking for a crown and I’m not fond of wasted time. ”
Silas moved to flank her, absentmindedly playing with her short, strawberry blonde hair. “Nothing to say?”
The blizzard howled, loud enough Zadriel climbed up the overturned carriage. It jostled slightly, stuck on uneven ground. The queen gasped within the cabin, followed by the squawk of Dother’s son.
“Oh, Jonah,” Elodie sighed, removing her gloves. “I hoped we could be friends. I’ve had so few, but I’ve been kind to them all. Shall I tell you about my most useful one?”
Silas unsheathed a dagger from his belt and placed it in Elodie’s waiting palm, a wistful smile softening her face when she curled her fingers around the blade.
“He wasn’t the kind of man you toyed with.
A schemer. Brilliant and charming when it suited him.
I’m not sure friend is the correct term.
” She pursed her lips. “Obligatory mentor may be better? Regardless, he taught me many things.” Elodie squeezed the blade, hissing as it sliced into her palm.
Blood seeping from the wound. “I think it would be best if I showed you.”
Zadriel averted his gaze, guilt punching through him.
He knew what came next for Jonah—he should have recognized the blood magic in the bolas’ enchantment, power stolen from a poor air Elementalist bound to the weapon.
There was nothing he could do. Not if it meant abandoning Dother’s son to an unknown fate.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the twist in his stomach when Jonah groaned in pain.
The carriage door was well-oiled—there was no sound when he flung it open.
Aedlin clutched her child to her chest, an ember burning in her amber eyes as she glared up toward him, though she frowned when she saw no one there.
“Shh...” She hushed her son, tears staining his rosy cheeks.
Trapped between the benches with little room for movement, Aedlin’s back pressed against the carriage’s roof. A single white knapsack sat tucked between her legs, her common clothing nothing one would expect on a royal.
She fiddled with the ties on her bag, tension draining from her face. He hated himself for what he had to do next.
Zadriel leaned closer until his fingers brushed over Aedlin’s head, pushing the shadow sprite to envelop her and the child. Onyx curled around them, delicate wisps gliding over their skin.
The queen startled, her lips parting.
“Don’t scream,” he pleaded in a hushed voice. “I’m Zadriel, Cillian’s brother, and I’ve come to take you somewhere safe.”
“Me or Darius?” she asked, a sharpness to her tone. She lifted her chin and splayed her hand over Darius’s light brown hair. The same color as his father’s.
He squirmed in his mother’s arms, his eyes shining, even in the low light, one the brightest azure and the other a honeyed amber that made him think of Cillian’s claim on her.
A sharp pang radiated in Zadriel’s chest, the growing tightness squeezing his lungs until he felt he couldn’t breathe.
Cillian was gone.
Mora would never be his.
And Arcadia felt so far away.
Zadriel had nothing left. No home. No family. No one who loved him. He would never subject Darius to a similar fate—Aedlin would be protected and brought safely to Eden. Surely, Brennan would see value in keeping an heir to the throne. He had his plans, after all.
“I would never separate a child from their mother.”
He offered his hand, ready to pull her free so they could escape before Elodie and Silas found them. The queen’s upper lip twitched as she stared at it, but she made no efforts to move.
“Who are you?” she demanded. More an order than a question.
Zadriel huffed a quiet laugh, his shoulders slumping. Of course this couldn’t be easy. “Your life is on the line, yet you make demands?”
“Did you expect complacency?” she snapped, though Zadriel noted the slight quiver in her voice. “I’m not a fool; this could be a ruse to get me out of the carriage. How do I know you aren’t one of them?”
“Because you’re still alive.”
Aedlin gave him a look as if to say, that’s all you have to offer?
Elodie chattered to Jonah about Mother knew what, but it wouldn’t last much longer.
They needed to leave. Now. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he begged whatever Gods listened to give him strength—he was too tired for tact, and they had little time.
“The people want you dead, Aedlin.” The words came out harsher than he intended.
The queen squeezed her eyes shut, the pink flush draining from her fair cheeks.
“You can wait here and damn yourself and your child, or you can come with me.”
Zadriel didn’t wait for her to speak. Instead, he offered his hand once more, hoping this time she’d take it.