Chapter Thirty-Six
Thyra
Stellen has stiffened, but I can’t allow him to evade my question.
Of all the futures I foresaw, I chose the one that prevented my immediate death, but that was not the end of it.
While my scream stopped Fable in her tracks, my mind remained split between the present and the future.
What I saw next…
“Stellen,” I whisper, a soft command. “You will tell me: what is the Winter Strife?”
So far, I’m certain he hasn’t lied to me. He uses the truth to his advantage, but his silences…like his quietness now…are loud.
“I’ll answer all of your questions,” he says. “But first, I want to know about these versions of the future so I understand the context for your question.”
Tugging my cloak closer around me and taking comfort from Nara’s presence at my side, I describe to Stellen what I saw. Each variation, starting from the moment we stepped out from the Alak-Teah to find Brunkil gripping Lilis on her knees.
When I tell him about each vision showing me a different fight with the Northerners, he murmurs, “Options. Always, I consider the options before I act.”
No doubt in the blink of an eye. As quickly as the visions sped through my mind.
Now, he draws a conclusion I wasn’t prepared to speak aloud. “Your visions aligned with my way of thinking.” He gives me a pointed stare. “I’m assuming this sort of thing never happened with your father’s visions.”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Stellen’s flickering smile is smug. “Just as I thought. You can do more than he could.”
“Maybe.” I can’t deny the frightening possibility that my Oracle visions are influenced by Stellen’s nature. Just as they may have been influenced by Antony’s nature.
My Oracle visions in the Iron Kingdom were sharply focused on Antony.
First, I helped us escape the bloodlands, a place closely aligned with his dark secret, carrying us through the hidden tunnel with the ethereal light in it; then I foretold his sister’s safe arrival home.
But soon after, my Oracle power became stilted, and I still don’t know why.
Now, it’s possible my visions are showing me life as Stellen sees it: a series of strategic moves.
“In all but one of my visions, Fable killed me,” I say, keeping my voice flat. “In those visions, as soon as I died, you killed Fable.”
Stellen has stiffened again. “That’s why you told her she’d die if she struck you down.”
“Her death was assured.”
“In all but one vision,” Stellen says, repeating my words. “What made that one different?”
“I saw a memory,” I say. “A moment between Fable and her mother.”
Quickly, I describe to Stellen the memory I saw and the image of the feather forming in white ink on her wrist. “The feather isn’t visible on her arm anymore, so maybe she removed the ink somehow, but the memory is what matters. That’s what I screamed about. And, as you know, it stopped her.”
Stellen’s response is impossibly soft. “Memories have the power to destroy us.”
I raise my eyes to his. “Or remind us of who we are.”
His lips part, as if he would say more. Maybe he wants to disagree with me…but he falls silent.
I let the quiet settle between us, accepting the chill breeze across my face, grateful now for the slap of cold clearing my head.
Turning my face briefly into Nara’s side, I inhale the soft scent of her fur.
Stellen told me to take peace where I find it. Even on a bloodied battlefield.
Peace, right now, is Nara’s steady breathing, the calm rise and fall of her chest.
“Once I chose to scream…to save myself…the future stopped spinning and splitting.” I catch my suddenly constricted breath, trying to calm my heart. “I foresaw something I’ve seen before. But it was in a blade vision, not an Oracle vision.”
Stellen’s eyes widen. “A blade vision merging with an Oracle vision? Tell me.”
It was the blade vision I had when I first met Maxim. A vision of claws and teeth and finally, the crunch of hot sand beneath my feet.
“I need to warn you, blade visions are vague,” I say. “Full of symbols and metaphors. There was only one part of this merged vision that was clear.”
Stellen inclines his head, peering at me between the strands of his long, white hair. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m running as fast as I can,” I say, focusing on regulating my breathing so I don’t succumb to the wash of fear I felt during the vision.
“I don’t know where I am. I can’t see what’s around me, but the air is filled with growls and shrieks, and I can feel the hot breath of beasts at my back.
Whatever’s chasing me, I can’t outrun them. ”
I pause to take a deep, calming breath.
Stellen quietly repeats what I screamed, and I guess it now makes sense to him. “Growls and shrieks. Breath of beasts. Feathered fur, fly west, not east. Fable’s memory and your blade vision collided.”
His hands twitch toward me, but he presses his palms back to his knees. I’m not certain why he’s suddenly avoiding touching me, and I need to ask him about it, but for now, I stay focused.
“What I just described to you is one of the blade visions I had back at the coastal village when I first picked up the Dragonstone Blade. But this time, that wasn’t the end of it.
This time, I also heard a shout. I heard Brunkil’s voice.
I couldn’t see him, but he roared a single phrase over and over until it was like a beat I was running to. ”
“What phrase?” Stellen asks, but the tension in his body tells me he’s ahead of me, given my question before.
“‘I invoke the Winter Strife.’”
A snarl leaves Stellen’s lips. “Now we come back to it.”
His focus swings in the direction that the Northerners disappeared, but he doesn’t hesitate to answer my original question. “The Winter Strife is a challenge for the throne. But it’s nearly impossible to invoke.”
“How so?”
“The challenger must first draw the Frost King’s blood.” Stellen’s attention returns to me, and his stare is hard. “And live long enough to speak the words to invoke the Strife.”
“What constitutes drawing blood?” I ask, my focus flickering to Stellen’s chest, where he said his heart was wounded.
“The Frost King’s blood must hit the ground. That is a difficult condition, given how quickly my blood congeals.” His eyes gleam. “In case you’re wondering, the fae who inflicted this wound no longer walks this world. They certainly didn’t live long enough to invoke the Strife.”
I can only imagine how difficult it would be to get close enough to Stellen to cut his skin and then remain alive for even a heartbeat, let alone enough time to speak a five-word phrase.
“What happens if the Winter Strife is invoked?”
Stellen’s countenance becomes icy cold, a wash of freezing air that causes me to wrap my arms around myself and retreat again to Nara’s side.
“War, Thyra,” he says. “A fae who invokes the Strife must have an army behind them.”
“Then…not a one-on-one battle?”
He shakes his head. “I may be heartless, but it’s illogical to wish for a kingdom at war—or a victory that could come with a significant loss of life.”
I close my eyes. “Who would want war?”
“Who, indeed.”
Stellen’s gaze now sweeps to the bloodied field. A view I’ve avoided looking at. If it weren’t for the snowy landscape and icy air, I’m certain the coppery scent of blood would invade my chest.
“It’s time for us to leave,” Stellen says firmly. “There’s more to speak of, but it can wait. First, I have a dilemma that needs resolving.”
“Oh?”
“All my life, I’ve faced the threat of the Winter Strife. More so than my father and grandfather because I refuse to pander to any of the highborn families. To counter the risk, I’ve made something very clear to my people. Without exception.”
He leans slowly forward, reaching for my chin, cupping his fingers beneath it.
In the distance, Lilis jolts upright. A smile grows on her face. It’s smug and self-assured, and I’m not sure why she is suddenly so pleased.
“You don’t know that you should shrink away from me,” Stellen says. “I’ve carried you, held you, sung to you, and even clothed you. For hours, I’ve framed my world for you in a way that suited me.”
His unearthly eyes consume my view, as pearly gray as stones, his lips form a stern line, and his otherworldly face is so icy that I should feel fear. But instead, a shot of heat pulses to my core.
I tilt my head, daring to lean in to his touch. “What do you wish me to know?”
His thumb lightly brushes my jaw. Slow, tantalizing circles. “I only touch a fae if I intend to kill them.”