Chapter 13
Sylvin
Snow thickens around us as I coax the storm higher, fingers flexing at my sides as I walk the ridgeline above the human road.
Wind whips at my hair and cloak, tugging the white-blond strands free until they lash across my vision.
The Fae Courts have always loved an extravagant display of power, and if there were ever an audience I intend to strike fear into, it’s the one cowering behind those walls.
For keeping what’s mine.
“Subtle,” Azyric says flatly from my left. “Why not just drop an iceberg on the city while you’re at it?”
“I considered it,” I reply, eyes on the dark line of the human walls in the distance disappearing as my storm grips it. “But then we’d have nowhere to retrieve Wren from. I know you’re a bit daft, Azyric, but do try to keep up with the strategy.”
I can’t keep the annoyance from bleeding into my tone, still not understanding why he insisted on coming, considering his disposition about Wren.
The heaviness of his gaze settles on the side of my face and I force myself to pull my charming facade to the surface, blowing him a kiss, despite wanting to lift a blade of ice to his throat.
For so long I’ve hidden behind the dramatics and jokes, but since Wren stripped it away and saw the truth of me, I’ve found it increasingly harder to remain that aloof king.
She didn’t run from the flawed soul I bore for her to see, and something changed in me that day.
Without her it feels like I’m trying to shove myself into a life and version of me that no longer fits.
But amongst the other kings, it still feels second nature not to let them see anything that’s real.
Emotions are a weakness that can be twisted and used, and while we are allies in this war against humans, all of that comes to an end when it's done.
Azyric lets out an annoyed huff, grumbling under his breath about wasting time and I allow my facade to drop with his attention landing on the shifter king.
Torryn stands a little ways off, near the edge of the tree line, his broad shoulders tense, golden eyes fixed on the distant wall.
He hasn’t said much since we decided to come here, and he’s said even less when Wren’s name is mentioned, a complete shell of the shifter he was.
As he glances over his shoulder at me, I give him a single nod of confirmation to begin.
He rolls his neck once, joints cracking, and in the next breath his body shimmers with the familiar pull of magic.
Bones lengthen and muscles reorganize as skin gives way to scales.
The air around him distorts in a ripple and a second later, a dragon stands in his place, massive and quite glorious.
While a part of me fears the power this form gives him against the rest of the supernaturals, I can’t help the begrudging respect for such an elaborate display of magic.
Smoke curls from his nostrils as he exhales, hot enough to turn the snow at his feet into a brief hiss of steam before my cold reclaims it and turns it to ice.
Torryn turns his head toward us, one golden eye pinning each of us in turn. Even in this form, I can read him easily. Let’s begin.
His muscles bunch together before launching into the air, massive wings beating once and blasting us with a wall of air. My hood flies back and I track him until he’s just a dot in the air, pulling the storm clouds closer to the city to help disguise the color of him amongst the snow.
Every beat of his wings sends a faint tremor through my magic threaded in the air.
He’s keeping low, close to the cover I provide, scouting the approach while we remain a fair distance back.
Rational and careful. Exactly what we agreed upon for him: Find the weak spot, expose it, and distract while we get Wren.
While it would be so easy to just slaughter the entire city between the four of us, when the option came up in our discussions, each of us hesitated beside Azyric. Without even saying it aloud, it was clear three of us were worried about what Wren would think if we took the path of violence.
“I didn’t realize she was so adorably na?ve she thought she could just…walk away from us and never see us again.” I say conversationally as we wait for Torryn’s signal.
“She didn’t walk,” Azyric mutters, his breath a cloud that curls into the air. “She ran. Straight to the humans she loves so dearly.”
His shadows curl at his boots, restless in the white of my snow as Riven steps past him to my other side, eyes tracking the distant city, red gaze narrowed and unblinking.
“Careful, Azyric. You don’t want to rile me up right now, that I promise,” he murmurs, the edge of violence in his tone as clear as the crystals of ice gathering around my boots.
The black tendrils surge around Azyric as he turns to face us. “I never thought I’d see the day where the fearsome kings so readily let a woman beguile them into walking into the enemy’s hands.”
“I slipped into her room a week ago,” Riven snaps, refusing to glance over at Azyric.
“She thought it was a dream because her mind needed it to be one, but it was real enough for me.” His throat bobs, the memory clearly not a comfortable one.
“She slept in a narrow, hard bed like they don’t think she deserves to take up space, in a house and room guarded at all times. ”
My jaw tightens and I can’t hide the way my hands clench. She deserves the world and yet these humans reduce her to a single corner of a rundown home. She should be in my court, dressed in the finest silks, sleeping in satin sheets, and waited on at all times.
“If she were on their side,” Riven continues, voice gaining in animosity with each word, “she wouldn’t be locked in a room with guards posted at her door.”
“And yet,” Azyric says tersely, “she still ran right into their city, leaving us in the middle of a battle with no goodbye.”
My jaw clenches and my teeth grind as I fight the urge to escalate to violence.
It’s exhausting, listening to him drone on and on, when it’s clear his issue with Wren started long before she left us that day.
It started the day we found her on that first battlefield and she chose the name he suggested before going with him to his castle.
He’s never known what to do with that.
“Yes she did,” I say breezily, before Riven decides to punch him and we waste the last of our patience on each other instead of the humans.
“And yes, they locked her up. Both things can be true and that’s the mess of it, isn’t it?
She keeps doing things that make us all want to shake her and kiss her in equal measure. ”
The red of Riven’s eyes flare, twin embers fixed on the city Wren hasn’t left in a week. That fact remains heavy in my mind and heart.
“Azyric may be insufferable in his desire to fight his affections for Wren,” I say lightly, “but he does have a point about one thing in her willingly being there. It is unlike her to remain in a place that doesn’t actively serve her purpose.
We’ve seen the strength of her powers before, so is she allowing herself to remain captive? ”
“What if it does serve her purpose?” Azyric counters, turning those silver eyes on me. “What if she’s decided this is her purpose? Helping humans and not us.”
The storm above us dips lower, the clouds sagging with the weight of my thoughts. Snowflakes sharpen into needles briefly before I smooth them, easing them back into softer shapes.
“She’s been very clear about her needs to learn about both sides,” I argue. “But that doesn’t mean Wren has simply decided they are worth more than we are in the span of a week.”
Azyric’s shadows flare out, restless and echoing the tension that never quite left his frame since the battlefield. He hasn’t forgiven her for leaving us there. I know that without needing to ask, no matter what he says aloud.
“None of that matters now,” Riven murmurs, taking a step toward the city. “We know where she is, and we aren’t leaving until she realizes exactly what side she belongs to.”
The thought I’ve been pushing away for days now rises to the surface with his words: What if she won’t come with us?
“Mmm, yes,” I hum, pushing the storm a fraction colder, a fraction denser, just to give my unease something to focus on instead of my thoughts. “Let’s not gloss over how grateful you all should be for my forethought of the tracker spell.”
Azyric’s silver eyes snap to me, narrowed slits of annoyance. “You mean how you spelled all of us without telling us.”
I barely restrain the smirk of satisfaction at how much they’ve always underestimated the fae.
I press a hand over my heart in mock affront. “Such an ugly way of putting it. I prefer ‘proactively ensured we wouldn’t lose each other in the middle of a war.’”
“Tell me, Sylvin,” Riven says, a hint of forced calm in his tone as our gazes lock, “why you placed a tracking spell on your own allies.”
“It was a reasonable precaution,” I say, feigning innocence as my shoulders shrug. “Distrust runs deep between our factions, and I had no intention of being blindsided by an attack inside my own territory. It doesn’t let me see everything, only positions on the map. A safety measure, if you will.”
“And you didn’t think to tell us,” Azyric mutters dryly.
“Of course not,” I say, chuckling at the thought. “You’d have thrown a fit and it would have ruined the whole point of it.”
They don’t answer, turning their focus back to the frozen tundra in front of us.
Underneath the banter, the true thoughts take over. I wish that she’d simply decide to come home with me and end all of this the second she finds out I’m here. Just Wren in my court where she belongs, far away from any of this mess and the humans that cage her.