Chapter 9
Jotnar.
A wave of cold sweeps through me as I look at Benny and Kyor, and from their grim expressions and Benny’s borderline green complexion, I can tell they’re thinking the same thing.
The jotnar were our first trial in the Retterheld.
We were taken to the beach where they were held in place by the priestesses’ magic.
And when the timer began, we had to do whatever it took to survive.
That was all that was required for us to get through to the next stage: stay alive while angry giants attacked from every angle.
Closing my eyes is all it takes to see the image of Estel’s body flying through the air and landing lifeless in the sand. The Wrohelm Rettling didn’t even make it through the first trial.
I can’t remember how many others we lost that first day, but I know I only survived because of Benny, Jonas, and Llinos.
Llinos, who saved my life with a gale of wind so that my body didn’t join Estel’s.
Fuck.
The sound of running feet brings me back to the moment, as every Issen – and Uzra – rushes from the room.
Despite my fear, I cannot remain here in relative warmth and safety while others fight and die. I faced down a jotunn before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I survived. And if these people are my people, if Magnus is my family, then the least I can do is fight alongside them.
I might not have control over my ice magic, but I still have my mother’s dagger and a sword. I can fight, just like in the trials. After all, I didn’t have magic then either; just my wit, my ability to climb, and my blade.
But this time, I have Kyor too. He didn’t need anyone’s help to survive that trial. He brought down a jotunn with his lightning alone. Together, we can help.
I meet Kyor’s blazing blue eyes.
‘Shall we?’ he murmurs, as if asking me to a dance.
I grin. ‘Let’s.’
We start towards the door, and the anticipation of a coming battle thrums in my veins, apprehension washed away as adrenaline rises.
‘Thessa and I will look after Loch!’ Caz promises as we head out of the dining hall, Ruben and Benny on our heels.
A moment later, we’ve been swept out onto the street by a throng of people running towards the danger, including many men who do not bear face markings, their dire wolves at their sides.
I slide a glance at Kyor, and by the grim set of his mouth, it’s clear that he sees the defectors too. The sheer volume of them takes me by surprise, and I can only guess at how he feels about that.
Fen! Where are you? I call out to my own wolf.
Making sure you don’t do anything foolish, Little Raven. His voice is warm in my mind, with a closeness that tells me he’s nearby.
I twist my head around, and sure enough, he’s there behind me with Kyor’s dire wolf Elska, her bi-coloured eyes twinkling with anticipation of blood about to be spilled.
‘It was the western perimeter alarm!’ Stefan calls out. ‘We’ve still got time before they reach the outer streets!’
‘Your Majesty!’ Uzra shouts to the king over the chaos. ‘You do not need to fight. We can take them.’
‘How can you say that when you don’t know how many there are?
’ Magnus replies sagely between firing out one instruction and then another.
Throughout it all, the volume of his voice is measured, his words sounding more like requests than demands, and every person who receives one flocks to follow his command without a hint of hesitation.
I’ve seen people deal with pressure more times than I can count in my life – life-threatening pressure, in both the slums and the Retterheld – and never have I seen anyone handle it with such calm.
There’s not a hint of panic on his face, as if he believes that even a slight rise in his pulse might affect the clarity of his decisions.
Even the unshakeable Commander Zelle showed a flicker of apprehension at the ball when the Morathkian rebels infiltrated.
‘Uzra, take the northern route,’ Magnus continues. ‘I’ll go west with Greta and the rest of her command. Toren, you go south.’
Orders leave his lips without a single moment’s contemplation, as if by rote or muscle memory. The same way I saw Kyor do when we fought both the Torailians and the Rottings. Magnus is a commander. A soldier. One who has actually fought in wars.
Korvane didn’t so much as lift a sword or flicker a flame when rebels attacked his ball. Instead, King Korvane Knavin let his men fight – and die – for him.
Let Zelle die for him.
Pushing Kyor’s father from my mind, I continue forward. My blood is pumping, my muscles rolling and bunching as Kyor and I run side by side to defend this alien city. His commander’s eyes are darting around as we move through the streets, taking in everything.
Isthyr is far bigger than the High Hold, I know that for certain, but now I’m starting to think it might even be as large as Wrohelm.
Several groups have already splintered off at the king’s command, although Kyor and I remain running behind him and Ranveeg.
Benny and Ruben are no longer in my sight, but I’m confident that they’re close behind, and I have no intention of slowing down to check.
The last thing I want is to get lost or separated from Magnus when I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason Kyor is still alive.
I wouldn’t put it past Ranveeg to shove an ice blade through his heart when Magnus isn’t looking, even if the Issen currently have more urgent matters to worry about than their enemy’s son.
‘There!’ one of the soldiers shouts. ‘Five of them!’
By all the Gods! Five jotnar? I can remember all too clearly the bodies that fell the last time we faced that number. How many Issen will die today defending Isthyr?
I scour the view in front of me, surprised by the sudden appearance of white hills behind the tall, sturdy buildings. The edge of the city is clear-cut, and the houses here are as well built as all the ones we’ve already raced past. There are no signs of slums at this edge of the city.
‘There are a lot of children in those buildings, Thorn.’ Kyor’s low voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
And he’s right. No matter how sturdy their homes, it would take less than a heartbeat for a single jotunn to stride through and bring them all down.
And if more than one gets through, it would be nothing short of utter devastation.
Kyor’s eyes lock on mine, and I know exactly what he’s saying.
We have to defend them. The young, the old, the infirm. Everyone.
‘We can fight with you,’ I say to Ranveeg, hoping that the suggestion is better coming from me than him. ‘Kyor has lightning. He’s brought down a jotunn on his own before.’
She turns sharply, her teeth bared in her usual friendly manner. ‘Yes, and he’s brought down Issen, too. We’re not having his powers unleashed on this land. No doubt it would be a perfect excuse to “accidentally” strike us down.’
‘No. No, he wouldn’t do that,’ I insist.
She scowls at me and gets uncomfortably close to my face.
‘If you two get involved in any way, I will personally see to it that you spend the next month in the screaming caves.’ She looks at two soldiers next to me; both are women.
‘Keep them off the battlefield,’ she orders loudly.
‘The king wants them safe.’ With her permanent sneer in place, she’s already racing away from us.
It’s clear the orders have nothing to do with our safety, but with control.
‘They seem to know what they’re doing,’ Kyor mutters as the guards who have been instructed to keep us in place slide closer to us. ‘They have their systems.’
He’s right.
I watch, desperate to jump into the fray, as the defenders act with perfect precision. It’s not quite the eerie synchronicity of the Torailian pricks, but it’s not far off. The Issen have trained for this. Fought like this repeatedly. Still, my hands are clenching and unclenching as I watch on.
‘There’s another one!’ Benny pants when he reaches us.
It only takes a split second for us, and our guards, to realise he’s right. It’s moving close to the mountains at speed, coming from a different angle than the others, and all eyes are on the other five. Any second now, the newcomer is going to join the fray, and Issen people are going to get hurt.
Our guards shout and call out for help, but the other soldiers are too far away to pay us any heed. Grimly, the two women break into a sprint to battle the jotunn alone.
My gaze shifts to Ranveeg. She told me to stay put, but does she have the authority to do that? She’s a general. I’m royalty. Surely I outrank her?
Fen! I yell out to my wolf in my mind. Ready for a fight?
I thought you’d never ask, Little Raven, he says. I am hungry.
As Fen bares his teeth in a snarl, I turn to Benny and Ruben. ‘If you snuck a dagger into the banquet, I want it now,’ I tell them. ‘Whatever weapons you’ve got on you.’
‘Thorn…’ Kyor says in a warning tone.
Ruben is already unsheathing a dagger from inside his waistband and handing it to me, Benny doing the same. Great to know that they had the same idea about not heading to an Issen dinner party unarmed, even if they are best friends with the newest member of the royal family.
‘I understand the need to fight, to defend, but you won’t do it alone. I’m coming with you,’ Kyor says firmly, palming his own blade, but I shake my head.
‘I won’t do it alone. I’ll have Fen, but you … you need to remain here. The fact that you’re still breathing when they know who you are is a miracle. The last thing I need is you joining me, in the middle of the battle, where one of their ice blades could “accidentally” slip between your ribs.’
‘But you—’ he begins to argue hotly.