Chapter 2
‘Well, I’ve learned my first bit of Issen terminology,’ Benny says as we sit with our backs against the cold stone.
Fengsel, we’ve discovered, is the Issen word for ‘cell’ … or maybe it’s ‘prison’ or ‘dungeon’. Whatever the nuance, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re locked up, and have been for hours now, shivering against walls that leech the warmth from our bodies.
Rather than heading into the city, Ranveeg led us along the base of the mountains and shoved us into an unlit cave, secured by a gate of ice that doesn’t appear to melt no matter how much you breathe on or rub at it.
It was the general herself who slammed the barred door shut on us before barking that we were to await further instructions. And something tells me if the general gets her way, it will be execution that awaits us next time that door opens.
A metallic tang of petrichor fills the air, and the icy dampness that surrounds us is a stark reminder that they haven’t left us with so much as a flask of water.
‘So quiet,’ Loch suddenly murmurs into the silence with wide eyes. ‘So quiet.’ He turns to Benny, a tear trickling down his cheek. ‘So peaceful.’
Thessa puts a protective arm around him. ‘All is well.’
‘It is,’ Loch says in wonder. ‘I can’t hear!’ And for the first time in as long as I can remember, he slowly stops his ever-present rocking.
‘There must be a siphon nearby,’ Kyor says with a frown. ‘My magic isn’t working either. Yet I don’t know how that’s possible. That’s Morathkian magic.’ His forehead creases in consternation as he yet again flicks out his hand to no avail.
Ruben’s magic is out of action too, I realise, as he’s shivering. He’s not complaining, but that might be because Benny has his arms wrapped around him, Ruben finally experiencing what it’s like to be on the receiving end of a warming hug.
Caz and Benny have voiced the same issue as the others, so it’s safe to assume that no one’s magic is working, but with no plants for me to test my own powers on, I can’t be sure. Of course, I could test my ice powers… Too bad I have zero control over them.
Thankfully, my bond with Fen is still going strong. I feel his hunger almost as acutely as my own, and I wonder how many days it would take for the wolves to snap and turn on us.
I’d never eat you! Fen’s voice is outraged, but a moment later wry humour creeps in. Benny, however… If only to make him silent.
I can’t help but snicker a little at that, and when I feel Fen’s satisfaction, I know that’s what he’d intended.
‘Maybe it’s something in the walls,’ Ruben suggests. ‘Blocking out magic.’
‘Magic is innate; it comes from within us,’ Kyor snaps back. ‘It cannot be blocked by the damned mountain. It has to be a siphon. But it doesn’t make sense. The Issen don’t have siphons. They would have used them against me on the battlefield if they did.’
‘So it can’t be the mountain, but it also can’t be the Issen?’ Benny questions, raising an eyebrow. ‘And yet … here we are, with no magic. How do you explain it, Kyor?’
Kyor’s lips purse as he swallows back whatever retort he was going to give.
‘How long do you think we’ve been in here?’ Ruben questions a short while later.
‘Hours,’ Caz replies with certainty. ‘It’s been ages since my eyes adjusted to the light. That means hours.’
She’s right. When we were first locked away down here, the cave was nothing but a black abyss, but then shapes and shadows emerged from the darkness. Now I can make out the different colours in the wolves’ furs and see the slightest shimmer of light that comes through the bars of our cell door.
‘We survived the Retterheld, Rottings, a Myrkr, and the v?tte,’ Benny huffs, ‘and it turns out the deadliest thing we encountered was our travel itinerary. We strolled straight into the belly of our enemies and are stuck in a cell awaiting death.’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Caz says.
‘No, perhaps they merely dragged us down here to admire the décor,’ Benny says, gesturing at the damp stone walls. ‘I have to admit that the mould is lovely this time of year.’
‘I’ve always wondered what they do with their dead,’ Kyor says, ignoring Benny’s quip. ‘They remove them from the battleground afterwards.’
‘So,’ Benny says dryly, ‘you don’t know whether we’re going to be buried or burned?’
‘Or maybe we’ll be fed to the local jotnar,’ Ruben says. ‘They come from Issen lands, right?’
‘Wonderful,’ Benny sighs. ‘After everything, we finally achieve our destiny as a giant’s light snack.’
‘I did not believe this was the Issen way,’ Thessa says, cutting through their banter as her jaw chatters against the icy temperatures. ‘We have done nothing wrong.’
‘We have trespassed – in their eyes, anyway,’ Caz replies, rubbing her hands up and down the Sanning’s arms to try to warm her.
‘And we’re Morathkian,’ Benny adds. ‘Can’t really blame them for throwing us in a cell, what with us waging centuries of war against them. It’s more civilised than our side would be.’
Kyor sucks in a sharp breath, and I assume he’s about to bite back at Benny’s comment, but instead he remains silent, distractedly rubbing his shoulder.
The cold is likely aggravating his injury, and once again I wish that I’d had time to find another solution after he was stabbed, rather than being forced to trust a slum healer.
I consider trying to heal him myself, to ease a little more of the pain, but I don’t want to risk making matters worse.
Especially not when there might still be another healer’s magic working its way out of his veins. No, it’s best if I leave it for now.
‘Have you still got the tonic?’ I ask, my back pressing into his chest. I savour his heat as he holds me close.
I may not have wanted the Issen to know about our relationship when we were up on the cliff edge, but if I’m going to freeze to death, I’d rather it happen in his arms. Although I’ll probably sink into Fen’s fur shortly, just as soon as he’s done warming up Loch.
That’s another reason to suspect Kyor’s right about the siphon – this is the first time since we found him that I’ve seen Loch sleep soundly. He’s curled up against my dire wolf as if he’s an oversized teddy.
‘I’m fine,’ Kyor replies. ‘I don’t need the tonic. I’ll be better when we’re out of here.’ He drops his voice and mutters, ‘And then I can put a fucking lightning bolt through that damn general’s heart for shoving us in here.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Benny murmurs, almost to himself. ‘I’ve read every book in the Eastern Isles library, and none of them mention an Issen city. Not a single one.’
‘Any chance you’re just not as good at that scan-reading trick as you think you are?’ Ruben teases.
‘Oh, I’m just as good at everything as I think I am.
’ Benny smirks, raising one eyebrow. His voice drops lower, becoming more gravelly, and I only just catch him whisper, ‘Maybe one day I’ll prove it to you.
’ With that, he shifts his body tighter against Ruben, and I don’t miss the way Ruben’s lips part in a soft gasp.
I feel a sudden need to look away, my cheeks heating.
‘So what do you think, Rosey?’ Ruben breaks the silence that has once again formed. ‘Are you the missing princess?’
‘Toren certainly believes it,’ Caz replies before I can. ‘So did quite a few of the other guards.’
‘But not all of them?’ I question.
‘There was definitely something funny going on,’ Benny responds. ‘Did you see the way some of them shifted towards Ranveeg? While others drew away?’
I didn’t, but then why would I? I’m not the one with Benny’s powers of observation.
‘Division within the enemy,’ Benny muses. ‘It can only be a good thing. Something we can exploit.’
‘Only we don’t want them to be the enemy, remember?’ I remind him. ‘After all, I’m one of them.’
Before Benny can reply, Loch sits bolt upright. His eyes are wide as he moves his head from side to side. ‘Footsteps. Footsteps. Closer and closer. Footsteps.’
I twist around to Kyor, who immediately tries to produce static with his fingers, only to frown in frustration.
‘I can hear them too,’ Caz whispers urgently, straightening. ‘Listen.’
She’s right. Footsteps are echoing in the distance, and from the subtle crescendo, they’re getting closer.
‘They are in here.’ Ranveeg’s strident voice causes a prickle at the base of my neck.
‘You instructed the young woman my men believe to be the lost princess to be taken to the fengsel, Greta?’ a man’s resonant tone responds to the general, disapproval threaded through his words, even while his tone remains even. ‘If she is who they say she is, you may regret that decision.’
‘If she is who they believe, we have bigger matters to contend with. We will know the truth of it soon enough.’
We are all on our feet when the shadows materialise in front of the ice-barred door.
Two figures. One is clearly Ranveeg, but the other…
I struggle to believe it is the king. Not because he lacks stature or presence – his height is close to Kyor’s, though his shoulders are less broad – but because of his humble attire.
Even in the dim light, I can see the wear on his furs and leather, while his thick boots are coated in mud and silt, as if he’s been wading in a river.
And yet, as I assess him, I can’t help but notice a stateliness to his stance, a confidence in his posture that commands – no, demands – attention.
The cell door melts away as he steps forward, and his eyes scan the group, pausing slightly on Thessa before finally halting on me.
Pressure tightens around my ribs as his gaze locks on mine, his lips parting in a silent gasp that is lost in the air around us. My pulse thrums as a lump fills my throat.
‘Your Majesty.’ I dip my head, still unsure who I’m addressing, but better to err on the side of regality.
‘Please, call me Magnus. So you are the one they believe is my grandchild. You have caused quite a commotion here in Isthyr. Finding your way through the pyrrhic… That is quite some feat. Tell me, how did you manage it?’