Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Stellen
My reckoning has come. As I knew it would.
I knew what I was doing bringing Thyra here, where her father is entombed. I knew it would shatter the shields she’s built around her heart.
Her fists ball against my chest. “Antony was on his knees,” she cries, her head tipped back, the Lethian armor reacting to her voice, silver threads sliding up the side of her neck and into her hair, pinpricks appearing beneath her training suit, threatening to burst outward. “Why did you kill him?”
I could tell her what she already knows: Antony and I were enemies before we were born. That fate was always going to bring us together in a battle to the death.
That if, by some small sliver of chance, he survived the killing blow…
Fate will force us to fight again.
We’re destined to kill each other.
It will never be any different.
To be truly cruel, truly manipulative, I could use this moment to my advantage. I could feign remorse and utter soothing words of sorrow for my actions.
Instead, I answer with the truth. A truth that will hurt her more than my silence ever could.
“Because it was clear to me that he loved you.”
Her lips part, a horrified inhalation before her wail breaks across me, raking through my hearing with all the violence I deserve.
Still, I continue to hurt her. “Only death would keep him from you.”
She shoves herself away from me, struggling out of my hold, stumbling to her feet.
I let her go, remaining where I am on the floor, my arms heavy at my sides.
Furious breaths drag into her chest as she paces opposite me, her gaze scraping across my face with all the loathing I deserve.
The soft sound of tears falling down her cheeks cleaves at my chest.
But already, she’s trying to regulate her breathing. Already, she’s trying to control her emotions. I can hear it in her heartbeats and her inhalations. She’s determined to mend her shields as if they were a cracked door and her tears were the resin that would bind the pieces back together.
I can’t let her do that.
For once, not because I’m heartless, but because there was a time when I wasn’t.
I know the power of grief.
It consumed me and from it came a horror I can never undo.
Thyra’s pain must not thrive. Her grief must not overcome her as mine once did.
She must feel it and release it. Even if she hurts me in the process.
I rise to my feet, harden my features, and fill my voice with unfeeling ice. “If you need to take your rage out on me, Thyra, do it now. If you need to scream, do it now. If you need to hate me, then hate me.”
She takes a step away from me, her heartbeats and breathing and sheer fucking force of will telling me that still, she fights for control.
I prowl toward her, injecting as much cruelty as I can into my snarl. “If I could go back, I’d kill him again. I’d take off his head, cleave him to pieces, and leave his poisoned flesh to rot. I don’t regret it, Thyra. Not for a heartbeat.”
Despite all my omissions, this is the first lie I’ve spoken to her.
But it works.
With a scream, she launches herself at me, her right fist swinging, her jump carrying her upward, her aim breathtakingly perfect. Fast and strong.
Her hand cracks across my cheekbone. Pain bursts through my face and jaw and I flinch to the side, but I don’t defend myself.
Her left fist snaps across my other cheekbone, a quick follow-up strike, before her feet have even touched the ground, another explosion of pain snapping my head in the other direction and knocking me backward.
She drops to the ground, her next scream making my ears ring and my head spin.
“Fight back!”
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.
Her voice… Too much pain…
“Fight back!”
She shoves me, her palms hitting my chest, and again, I’m knocked backward. She follows me, her fists smacking my shoulder, my jaw, my face, again and again.
“Fight me!” she cries over and over. And then, “Fight me like you fought him.”
I snatch hold of her wrist before her next strike can land. “No.”
She doesn’t seem to care that I’ve caught hold of her. Her other palm rams against my chest, shoving me hard. And again. And again. Until my back hits the wall near the door.
She throws another punch, this one wild and uncontrolled, but now I catch hold of her, gripping both of her wrists, and for the first time since she screamed, she tries to pull away.
Tears stream down her cheeks. Her breathing is erratic, harsh. Angry.
“Let me go.”
I open my hands.
Her eyes are wide, her face crumpling before she wrenches away from me and stumbles toward the coffin.
She makes it three steps before she sinks to the ground, her arms heavy at her sides, her shoulders hunched, and there she stays with her back to me, quietly sobbing.
Slowly, I cross the distance to her, taking deep breaths to steady myself, testing my jaw. Not broken but badly bruised.
Lilis’s warning wasn’t without merit.
Thyra is strong.
Even before Lilis said so, I knew it to be true.
Thyra survived three whole days in the Iron Kingdom chained to the side of a vampyr.
She must have endured numerous encounters with Galla Vividari, whose reputation is horrifying even to the cruelest Frost Fae.
Then Thyra lived through the bloodlands, and a snowstorm, and an entire week of training with Lilis, who is one of the unkindest fae in my kingdom.
Thyra has survived me.
She did all of that through force of will.
I lower myself to the floor beside her, studying her carefully, waiting for her to flinch away from me.
She doesn’t.
Between her sobs, she says, “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
Very slowly, I reach for her, drawing her into my arms and onto my lap. Even more slowly, she buries her face against my neck, her cheeks so wet with tears that I fear they’ll turn to ice against my skin.
I take a breath. Swallow. Force myself to speak. “I’m sorry, Thyra. I’m truly…” I squeeze my eyes closed. “If I could go back, I’d leave him alive. Even if he healed enough to threaten you, I could have protected you without killing him.”
Fuck, but this seems to hurt her even more.
Fresh sobs break out of her, and all I can do is let her shed her tears, hold her while she feels it all, even as I’m driven to tell her what I believe to be the truth about Antony.
“He told me to keep you safe,” I whisper as she cries. “He was spiraling. Coming in and out of clarity, but his better self was losing. He knew it. I knew it. He wanted me to protect you—from him.”
Thyra’s tears soak into my tunic, a deep well of them, and all I can do is stroke her back, knowing I can’t give her warmth, but I can try to soothe her.
“We are not good kings,” I say. “None of us.”
Slowly, she tips back her head. Her hand slips up to my face, her fingertips feathering my jaw, brushing across what are no doubt bruises already forming.
For a long time, she studies me.
Such a long silence.
Until her whole body becomes heavy against mine, an exhaustion that can only come with the release of deeply held grief.
Her sadness won’t go away. Sorrow never goes away. But now it’s out in the open between us.
Her lips part, and I wait for her voice to destroy me.
Whatever verdict she wants to deliver upon me, I’m ready to accept it.
“You told me that in this kingdom, even a queen can suffer unbearable pain,” she says.
I give a small nod. “True.”
“Then so can a king.”
So fucking true, but in this context, I’m not sure what she wants from me. “Thyra?”
“Your heart is cold and cruel,” she says, her hand slipping from my jaw to my chest, pressing between us.
Again, I nod.
Without taking her gaze from mine, she says, “For the death of the man who loved me, I demand a retribution that could make you hurt.”
She’s already hurting me.
Every breath she takes from a mouth I don’t have permission to kiss hurts me.
“You are going to believe that there can be goodness in your life.”
I draw back a little.
I’m even more uncertain of her intentions now.
With a quiet voice, she continues. “You’re not going to sleep outside anymore.
Because you don’t have to be alone. You’re not going to force yourself to stay near a place that reminds you of losing your family.
Because you don’t have to bear that pain on my behalf anymore.
” She stops to drag in a breath. “And when I ask for help—because I’m certain there will come a time when I need to ask—you’re going to trust that we will face any consequences together. Because I’m here with you.”
A retribution that could hurt me…
Her retribution threatens to shatter every boundary still between us and heal every crack in my unfeeling soul.
She was right that this retribution could hurt me.
It hurts to believe any fae would stand beside me.
A good hurt, maybe.
I won’t deny what she wants, but my promise comes slowly, because how can a fae like me promise anything good? “I’ll…try.”
She searches my eyes for another long moment before she gives me a nod. “I’ll accept that.”
She shouldn’t. She should demand more. I took love from her and she’s prepared to accept that I will try.
My arms tighten around her and my voice becomes harsh. “No.”
“Stellen?”
“No, I won’t try.” Before disappointment can blossom in her eyes, I say, “I’ll promise.”
Her lips part, a surprised breath.
“I’ll promise you in song,” I say, taking a chance I never would have taken before today.
Reaching for my Lethian power, I find it so damn ready to bind me to my vows.
“I’ll protect you,” I say, every syllable a smooth hum in my throat. “I won’t make you sleep alone. I’ll answer any request for help you might have. I’ll soothe any pain you want soothed. Fight any battle you want fought. And hold your fate more carefully than I hold my own.”
Her eyes widen.
I press my lips together, fighting back the music that pushes to the tip of my tongue, compelling me to speak dangerous thoughts, these unstoppable impulses, but…fuck it…she’s the only fae in Frost who doesn’t fear my Voice.
“I’ll even sing to you when it’s safe to sing.” I pull back a little. “If you want.”
A small smile grows on her lips. “I would like that.” Then she adds, “Only when it’s safe.” She lifts her gaze to the room, barely moving in my arms. “Like now.”
“Like now,” I say, letting my power settle in my throat.
Her focus catches on the coffin and her eyes fill with tears again, but this time, they’re soft. Free. No longer caged and angry.
“I didn’t have the chance to perform the last rites for my father. I didn’t think I’d ever get that chance.” She returns her gaze to mine. “If I say the words, will you honor him by singing them?”
My heart thumps in my chest, a rush of overwhelming warmth filling my heart, a feeling that shouldn’t belong in my body, but I accept it, anyway.
“If that’s what you wish.”
She unfurls within my arms, her hands seeking mine as she rises to her feet, drawing me up with her.
I expect her to deliver the last rites now, but she hesitates, her forehead creasing. “I should bury him first, but I don’t want to bury him in ice.”
“I understand.” Then I take a risk I shouldn’t take, but I’ve already taken many risks today. “If there were a place in my kingdom that wasn’t covered in snow, would you bury him there?”
“Do you mean the Alak-Teah?”
I shake my head. “Not the Alak-Teah.” I swallow back the cold suddenly pushing upward, threatening to destroy the warmth that has remained in my chest. “The place I buried my mother and sister.”
She is suddenly very still. “Are you sure?”
I give her a firm nod. “The location is east of here. A hot spring sits near the surface there, one of the few places other than the Alak-Teah where the water keeps the surface warm. The ground is covered in vines to which my mother once sang. Not to grow them—Lethians don’t have that power—just to acknowledge their fight for survival.
You don’t need to fear that your father’s grave would be desecrated because Frost Fae won’t go there.
” My jaw tightens, but I force myself to continue.
“Since I buried my family there, Frost Fae believe the ground is cursed.”
Thyra’s left hand rises to her right arm, where the Dragonstone Blade’s image is hidden beneath her training suit. She, of all fae, will know the difference between superstition and a real curse.
“If you chose that place for your family, then I will choose it for mine.”
I clear my throat, attempting to settle in to this new peace between us.
“I’ll wrap the coffin in ropes so Nara can pull it.
It will take me a few minutes to secure it.
You should take a look at the scrolls in the other room and choose any you want to take back with us.
Remember, don’t touch them lest you touch the icy shelves.
When I’m finished here, you can point the scrolls out to me and I’ll get them for you. ”
“We won’t come back here?”
“Do you want to?”
She shakes her head. “I’ll take a look at the scrolls, but I’ll also need your help choosing the relevant ones, since you’re more familiar with them.”
I fight not to flinch at the forbidden word.
A small smile tugs at her lips.
I shake the tension from my shoulders. “I will—” I grimace.
“Help me,” she says.
“That.”
She arches her eyebrows at me, and I can’t stop the upward twitch of one corner of my mouth, a smirk she seems to take great delight in.
“Thank you,” she says, her eyes twinkling as she utters the near-insult and steps into the other room, but I don’t miss the way her smile fades as she looks back at her father’s coffin.
It’s astonishing to me that she continues to seek small joys, small moments of connection despite her sadness.
A moment later, I listen to her picking her path through the debris and stopping at the bookshelf on the far wall.
I set to work retrieving the netting of ropes I’ll need to secure the coffin and enable Nara to pull it through the snow. I’ll have to first haul it up the stairs, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.
As I begin positioning the ropes at one end of the coffins, my hands shake, forcing me to pause.
I swore I would never return to the place I buried my mother and sister.
To do so invites danger.
I tell myself that being near their graves won’t alter who I chose to become.
I will remain heartless. I will remain cold.
Chaos will not control me.
Fear will not control me.
Loss will not control me.
No more.
Still, my heart thumps hard in my chest, and I’m reminded of the damage caused by the assassin’s wood-handled dagger that…
Wait.
I cast around for the two blades I’d placed neatly beside the coffin before I went to claim Thyra a week ago. Both daggers have handles of ashen-brown wood with distinctive whorls on their surfaces.
One of those daggers was used to kill Thyra’s father.
The other was used in an attempt to kill me.
Now, both daggers are gone.