Chapter Thirteen Stellen
Chapter Thirteen
Stellen
Icreep along the shadowy path through the Alak-Teah, fighting the need to move fast in a forest where a single wrong choice could get us killed.
Thyra’s need for warmth drives me onward, a yearning my frozen heart can’t deny.
As quickly and as quietly as I can, I steal along the path between the purple trees, choosing where to place my feet, keeping my footfalls stealthy.
The lightness of a snowflake is in my bones, an icy precision I’ve honed for decades.
With every step, I’m aware of Thyra. Her wide, pale-blue eyes. Her lips pressed together.
How quiet she is now.
Her breathing barely makes a sound as if, without me asking, she senses the need for silence.
Up ahead, a thick mist beckons, wafting between the trees, droplets of fog glistening in the dark.
I’ve come to the Alak-Teah only once before, and that was when I was a boy.
Mother brought me and my sister, telling us we were safe because our hearts were innocent, and so the creatures who dwell here could have no quarrel with us.
She told us this forest is called the Alak-Teah and that the creatures who live here are also called the Alak-Teah because they are one and the same. It made little sense to me at the time and still doesn’t.
I’ve never seen one of them. Like vampyrs, those who meet the Alak-Teah do not return to speak of it.
But I remember Mother’s lesson well. She showed us the path I’m stealing along now, pointed to the mist, and with her Lethian Voice, she gave a rare command: “Never step foot through that mist. What lies behind the mist is not for you.”
But it must be for Thyra.
Only because of her will I break my vow never to return to this place.
The calming sound of swirling water reaches my ears, a source of warmth that will give Thyra what she needs.
Only here within the Alak-Teah do the hot springs that run beneath the Frost Kingdom naturally reach the surface. Everywhere else, we must tap into their heat, drilling down to harness the steam, but here, the springs run free.
I can hear them, rushing and bubbling, both soothing and agitating.
They could just as easily spell death.
As I approach the mist, I step even more lightly, ensuring my footfalls are quieter than whispers.
With my next step, my boot lands on rock instead of earth, signaling how near we are to the fabled rock pools.
Moments later, we reach the mist, and without hesitation, I step into it.
The mist envelops us.
Warm mist.
Thyra stiffens in my arms, jolting against my chest, her lips brushing my neck, her gasp smothered against my throat. Soft. But dangerously loud in this fraught environment.
I move faster, step after step through the thick fog, seeking the other side.
As I walk, an earthy scent reaches me, accompanied by distant scuffles that any other fae would miss.
According to myth, the Alak-Teah are nearly completely silent when they hunt their prey, but I hear them. Just as I’ve detected every assassin who has ever come after me.
Soft clicks. Softer hisses.
I don’t pause, aware of the impact of the warmth on Thyra—her next moan not so smothered against my neck while her clawed grip against my heart eases.
The warmer air will begin reviving her frozen limbs, but she needs a lot more of its heat. The stark reality is that it’s only warm by comparison to the freezing temperatures outside the Alak-Teah.
She needs the water itself if she’s to survive.
As the mist becomes heavier, turning into a weight around us, pressing back against our progress, the distant scuffling sounds intensify.
Turning my left shoulder, I push through the final step, bracing for imminent attack.
We enter clear air, coming upon a large, circular clearing surrounded by the foggy barrier we passed through.
It’s calm and still.
At the back of the clearing, a wall of stone rises into the haze, water streaming gently down its surface, flowing into three large ponds.
All three pools are connected but divided by stone lips over which the water pours. The ponds appear shallow enough that the water would only reach waist height if I were to stand in it.
Steam wafts gently around the clearing, rising from the ponds.
Pausing for an excruciating moment, fully aware of how badly Thyra needs the warmth, I seek the scuffling that will tell me how close the Alak-Teah have come to us now.
The sounds of movement have stopped.
I don’t fool myself for a second that the creatures have retreated.
They’ll bide their time and attack when they think we’re at our most vulnerable.
After all, these hot springs are where they feast.
Thyra’s eyes have widened even further. Droplets of water now glisten across her face, neck, and right arm, where the Lethian armor doesn’t cover her, and the snow that had gathered between us is melting.
Glistening liquid slides down the side of the black runes of the blood bind where she presses her arm to my chest. It’s far too late to avoid touching them.
Without another pause, I hurry forward, but I halt Thyra’s attempt to turn her head toward the rock pools, clamping my hand tighter across the side of her face.
Better that she doesn’t see the decomposed bodies and gleaming ivory bones littering the rocky ground.
Any animal or fae trying to escape the cold is easy prey for the Alak-Teah.
Although I’m gratified that the three fae bodies I make out are not of my generation—I can tell by the cut of the fur coats clinging to their bones, the style worn when my father was king.
After I took power, I ensured that every Frost Fae had a home to retreat into at night, and I applied severe punishments for any fae refusing to shelter those under their care. Gone are the days when my father would pit his followers against each other.
My actions do not come from kindness, which I’m incapable of feeling, but from necessity.
I will not waste soldiers by losing them to the cold.
Besides, there’s no point in testing my people’s loyalty when I know I’m hated.
Now, a glance at the bodies tells me that the deceased fae’s clothing could be very useful to me. No fur is thick enough to insulate against the nighttime blizzards in my kingdom, but I can wrap Thyra in the furs before we leave, which, ideally, will be at sunrise when the storm abates.
Five hours away.
Long hours during which we’ll have to survive the Alak-Teah.
Despite my hand across the side of her face, Thyra strains away from me, and I’m certain her survival instincts must be drawing her toward the warm water.
Not yet.
“Wait,” I whisper, my voice barely louder than an exhalation as I hurry to reach the water’s edge. “Wait.”
She whimpers, a sound I’m certain would wrench at my heart if it weren’t an empty void in my chest.
Her wordless plea only makes me more determined to control her entry into the water. The warmth radiating out from the water is gentle, but there’s a very real danger that it could be too much for her if she immerses herself in it too quickly.
Thyra’s frozen fingers and toes are visibly bloodless.
It’s clear her body’s barely functioning. I forced her back from death to a frame drained of blood, limbs frozen and threatening to blacken in places, and pain beyond any that a fae should ever face.
Even gentle heat could feel to her like she’s being burned.
Quickly, I scan the rock pools, seeking a place where the stone might jut out beneath the surface and enable me to gradually submerge her, bit by bit, do it slowly, while I help the blood back into her limbs…
A spot where she can access fluids, too. She needs clear and clean water…
As my thoughts churn, my focus lands on a section of rock near the waterfall at the back of the clearing.
Perfect. That water will be clean and fresh, and multiple sections of rock appear to create ledges that will enable me to step down into the warmth without shocking her body.
I veer to the right, around the front two pools, deftly evading the bones littering the ground.
We’re only a step away from the rear pond when my instincts prickle, and my back stiffens.
A shadow moves within the fog to my right. Quick. Furtive. But silent.
Damn. I was certain I’d hear the Alak-Teah before they got too close to us.
Soft clicks sound through the mist behind us. Then answering hisses come from the other side of the pool.
I count the differing tones of the clicks and hisses, identifying individual voices coming from three locations—
No, make that five. Six. Seven…
I stop counting.
The mist suddenly swirls as dark forms dart within it, their movement too quick and the fog too opaque for me to make out their exact shape.
Coming from every direction, their now-angry tap-tapping jars my senses.
Fuck. Thyra’s so close to the water. But entering it now would only make us more vulnerable to attack. And any wayward use of my power could destroy the very warmth she needs.
A snarl rises to my throat, fully throated.
No point in being quiet now.
As the shadows push toward the front of the mist, coming from every direction, seconds away from bursting out at us, I adjust my hold on Thyra to free up my right hand.
Steel rings sharply in the air as I pluck both blades from their scabbards at my back. At the same time, my icy power streams around my hand, the frost solidifying and keeping the two hilts encased in my fist. A deadly double-bladed extension of my arm once more.
But just as I step toward the danger, Thyra’s weight drops, her legs slipping away from my hips, her head heavier where I try to cradle it.
Plummeting to a knee so I don’t drop her, balancing her on my bent leg, I risk a glance at her face.
Her eyes have glazed over.
Fuck! Her mind must have drifted. And I fucking missed it.
A roar rises in my throat, dangerously loud. A perilously messy note thrums through my vocal cords, spearing out around us, becoming a command. “Thyra. Come back.”
But I’m out of time.
The shadowy, undefined forms tear through the mist, a blur of sharp edges and twisting limbs, an indescribable mass streaking toward us.
Hunched over Thyra like a feral wolf protecting its food, I have mere heartbeats to rage into the oncoming storm. “If you’re hungry, come feast on my blades!”