Chapter 34 Stellen
Chapter Thirty-Four
Stellen
Ican’t lose Thyra.
Not when I’ve risked so much already.
Not when she’s finally mine.
Burning ice rages through me, and I convince myself I can shatter Fable without breaking Thyra into pieces, too.
I tell myself I can stop the inevitable.
A fucking illusion as my feet fly and my power burns so fucking uselessly, and then—
Thyra’s scream slices through the fraught air as powerfully as blades.
“Growls and shrieks!” she screams, her voice rising above the pounding beats of my heart. “Breath of beasts! Feathered fur, fly west, not east.”
Nothing could have prepared me to hear her voice during an Oracle vision. Last night, when she had an Oracle vision in the Alak-Teah, she only spoke after the vision had ended.
But now, she’s clearly enthralled.
Never could I have imagined the breathtaking force in every soft vowel and sharp consonant or the impact on my Lethian hearing.
My ears, attuned to catching and holding the power in sounds, are now tormented by the purity of her scream.
It’s the same power that knocked me to the ground the very first time I heard her voice when I was standing on that coastal beach, before I had even laid eyes on her.
I had crashed to my knees, waves of emotion rushing through me. Love and hate and grief and happiness and warmth and hope and, above all, a terrifying need to claim her.
Now, her scream delivers a punch that throws me sideways into the snow, my ice blasting wildly wide of Fable, raking across the air and down to the ground, blasting such a deep turret that dirt sprays around me.
Closer to Thyra, Nara throws herself backward, yelping as she dives to the side, nearly crashing into Lilis, who launches herself out of Nara’s path.
Brunkil roars, a cry of pain, his fists flying to his ears, beating them over and over as if he would rather crush his eardrums than endure Thyra’s Oracle voice again.
And Fable…
She stumbles back from Thyra but only for two paces, her hands flying toward her ears but not over them, her palms hovering on either side of her head. “What did you say?”
Unlike Thyra’s voice, Fable’s is scratchy. Rasping like she rarely speaks.
“Fly west, not east,” Thyra says. Her body appears frozen, still paralyzed, but even at a murmur, her voice packs power. “Never east.”
I push against the force rippling through the air with every breath she exhales.
Nearby, Brunkil hunches down to the snow, becoming a mound of scars and fur. Shapeshifting won’t help him. I’m certain his wolfish ears will only be more sensitive to the breathtaking force of Thyra’s cries.
Fable’s question is barely louder than a breath. “How do you know about that?”
Thyra remains transfixed, her focus remaining far away. “I saw your mother give you the feather.”
Fable’s left hand flies to her right wrist, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what feather Thyra’s talking about. Fable certainly isn’t holding one. I can’t see a feather anywhere.
Fable gasps as she stumbles back another step. “I didn’t imagine it. It really happened.”
And then she half-turns, a snarl on her lips, and I’m confronted by her dark gaze, furious and accusing, as it sweeps across me and stops on Brunkil.
His head is still lowered and shoulders hunched, so I’m not sure he sees the way Fable bares her teeth at him.
Her growl abruptly cuts short when Thyra speaks again.
“I’ve seen your death.”
Once again, Thyra’s voice crashes across the air, rife with power, pushing me down, but this time, I’m prepared for the impact, digging my heels in and remaining upright. Somewhat. Barely.
Her declaration strikes a chill through my heart, but a glance tells me she isn’t speaking to me. Or to Brunkil. Her focus is locked on Fable. “Strike me now, and your death is assured.”
Fable trembles.
For another moment, she remains where she is.
Then, slowly, she backs away, her footfalls at first heavy and then becoming light. A moment later, she shapeshifts into her wolf form and retreats from Thyra, backing farther away from Lilis, who has rolled back up to a crouch, and even farther away from Brunkil.
His hands finally leave his ears, his growls speaking to his anger as he unfurls from his self-protective crouch.
“So it’s true,” he says, his dark gaze fixed on Thyra. “The female Oracle has been found at last. And she brings dire warnings, it seems.”
Thyra’s gaze snaps back into focus, pinpointed on Brunkil, and I’m not sure what to make of the suddenly sharp pounding of her heart or the intensifying wariness in her eyes.
“I do not fear your foretelling, Oracle.” A slow grin grows on Brunkil’s face as he sweeps his coat off the ground and around his shoulders, tugging the fur closed while he rises upright.
I also return to my feet, keeping both Brunkil and Fable in my sights, ready for any sudden moves.
So, it seems, are both Nara and Lilis. Nara inches back toward Thyra while Lilis crouches low, her body language telling me she’s ready to punch upward if she needs to. Although in Lilis’s case, I’m certain she won’t care if Thyra is collateral damage in any such attack.
Power crackles across my hands, a warning, but Brunkil raises his hands and backs away. “Make use of the Oracle while you can, King of Frost,” he says. “She will not be with you for long.”
He may be retreating, but the smart thing would be to shatter him while I can.
I haven’t stayed alive by being merciful, and I’m certain he’s ready for my attack. It wouldn’t be underhanded.
An attack he deserves.
Just as ice builds across my palms and I prepare to strike, the white crow soars back to Brunkil. I’m not sure where the bird went or even what direction it came from before it settles once more onto his right shoulder.
With a soft caw, it brings the cry of voices long lost, the echo of sorrow long past.
My hesitation is all Brunkil needs to break into a run, his voice floating back to me across the frosty air. “Feathered fur. Fucking shrieks. Go east. Go west. But which is best?”
Within moments, he and Fable and the white crow have disappeared into the snowy landscape.
Across the way, Thyra’s shoulders slump.
Nara reaches her first, seeming to know what Thyra needs by dropping to the snow beside her and supporting her weight.
I take a step toward them, every instinct in my body telling me to return to Thyra’s side, but nearby, Lilis rises to her feet, a sneer on her lips.
The last time Lilis encountered Thyra, Lilis’s orders had been to capture and subdue Thyra, a task at which she failed. She won’t have forgotten that defeat. She will find ways to hurt Thyra because of it.
My need to return to Thyra and ask about her Oracle vision must now wait.
Deliberately remaining where I am, I pause for the second it takes Lilis to make a move in Thyra’s direction, and then I whisper, “Lilis. Come here.”
My command is snatched away by the breeze, but Lilis has trained herself to listen for my voice above all other sounds.
She stiffens mid-step, her footfall landing as her focus snaps to me.
Her gaze flickers to the gruesome scene behind me, and then, as I suspected she might, she hesitates.
Her pause speaks volumes.
Behind me lie six dead Frost Fae.
All men. All fearsome warriors.
But none of them were my warriors. None of them were soldiers in my army over which Lilis holds command.
When Brunkil pointed out the gruesome carnage, telling me he wanted my head removed from my body, he couldn’t have realized the impact of drawing my attention to the faces of these six men. All were badly torn apart to the extent I might not have otherwise registered their identities.
Across the distance between us, Lilis pales, the draining of color from her cheeks turning her complexion from porcelain to gray.
I give her a cold smile, triggering her heart to pound harder.
The longer she delays, the worse it will be for her, and she knows it.
She can’t hide the truth from me.
A truth that could mean Thyra is in even greater danger than I thought she would be.