Chapter 20
They are on a ridge at the very edge of the plains.
Whether they’re here deliberately or it’s simply where the fight took them, I can’t tell.
And as for Ranveeg’s assessment that the entire city is terrified?
It’s hard to believe, given the crowd that has gathered to watch, which includes dozens, if not hundreds, of children, all chattering among themselves as they watch the lightning strikes, oohing and aahing as if it were a lovely display.
As I weave my way through the throng, I realise this is the largest number of gathered Issen I’ve seen since we arrived. Right at the front, mingling among the spectators, I find Benny and Ruben.
‘Why am I not surprised to see you here?’ Benny asks rhetorically. ‘Every time he has his shirt off, there you are.’
‘Not every time,’ I reply, only to shake the answer off. ‘Okay, almost every time.’
‘Don’t mind Ben. He’s just busy admiring the view and drooling,’ Ruben says with a smirk.
‘I was not,’ Benny protests too much. ‘I was merely studying Kyor’s fighting tactics.’
‘Sure,’ Ruben laughs.
I focus my attention on the fight and can’t blame Benny for drooling. Kyor looks magnificent. As well as being shirtless, he’s also barefoot in the snow. The man has a secret aversion to clothing.
I’m sure that for normal people, fighting in such a manner, without shoes and grip, must be insane, but not for Kyor. It helps him feel the earth, feel the static charge rippling between his feet. It gives him a sense of control he can’t get any other way.
It may also give him frostbite.
Oh my Gods, his control is something to watch, and something I can only dream of. Each strike lands barely a foot away from the target, directing them into the exact position he wants before he strikes again, causing the mixture of Morathkian and Issen fighters to jump back.
The children are right to treat it as a display, I realise. Kyor wants them all to know how deadly he could be if he so chose.
As for the others? They’re certainly putting up a fight.
One of them has a similar power to Magnus’s, swirling darkness around Kyor, trying to distract him, while Uzra is casting illusions.
Stefan is there too – one of the few Issen men in the group and also shirtless.
There’s no denying that the way the lace pattern ripples over his chest and abs is mesmerising.
It’s as though he’s made of a mixture of air and light, camouflaging him upon the ice.
I can see why Stefan thought my tackling the jotunn directly was meant as a display.
He doesn’t get anywhere close to sword-striking distance to the prince, but he’s moving non-stop, firing shards of ice spears – everything he’s got – straight at Kyor.
But Kyor is blocking them all effortlessly, using the wind to blow them off course before they even reach him.
Several of the fighters he faces are women. Their skin is unmarred by the lacy patterns, yet I can’t help but feel they have slightly more power than the men. Maybe that’s what they get in exchange for not having the marks? It’s definitely a question I want to ask Toren when I next see him.
‘It is sacrilege. Disgusting.’
I turn to see Ranveeg scowling behind me. She’s standing next to Magnus, whose expression is his standard: utterly unfazed.
‘It is making our men better fighters,’ he says. ‘None seem to be injured, and I believe they are actually quite enjoying themselves. I see nothing wrong here.’
‘But the ice!’ she protests.
‘You’re worried the ice will melt?’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘We will just refreeze it.’
The general growls slightly, and I turn my gaze back to the crowd. Even more people have gathered now, including Caz and Thessa. They’re holding hands, and the sight lifts my lips into a smile. After everything Caz has been through, she deserves a little happiness. We all do.
I turn back to Benny and Ruben and sigh at the sight of them. They’re about as far from holding hands as they can get.
‘A very impressive display, thank you.’
I twist back around as Magnus steps forward, his voice echoing louder than should be possible.
Every person in the crowd falls silent, and all magic immediately stops.
Not so much as a snowflake falls. For a split second, Kyor’s eyes widen before he, too, understands what the king’s words mean.
Even the faintest whisper of a thundercloud disappears.
With the fighting officially over, Magnus continues forward onto the training ground. ‘Thank you, Prince Kyor. You have provided much entertainment for our people.’
‘Thank you for the opportunity.’ He looks at Uzra and the other Issen his bolts sent skidding across the ice only minutes ago.
‘Thank you all,’ he says politely. There’s no smirk, no triumphant glee etched on his face.
Instead, his body glistening with sweat, he bends down, picks up his shirt, and strides towards Magnus as the crowd disperses.
‘Do you know how many of our men he has killed? How many children’s lives he has destroyed?’ Ranveeg hisses at Magnus when he returns with Kyor.
‘And do you know how many of ours have done the same to him and his people?’ Magnus replies evenly.
‘He is a warrior. I will not judge his actions on the battlefield, just as I will not judge him for his father’s actions.
I will judge him for who he is and that alone.
Here, in my home, he is a guest. If you have a problem with that, then we may have an issue, General. ’
I’m torn between respect and utter disbelief at Magnus’s words. For him to be so magnanimous to Kyor, his enemy’s son…
‘You look tired,’ I say to Kyor with a smile.
‘Oh, I can always find more energy for you.’ He smirks back. ‘What were you hoping for?’
I roll my eyes. The fact that he would make such a remark in front of the king – my grandfather – should make me reel with embarrassment, but it doesn’t.
‘Can I chaperone you back to the palace, Princess?’ Toren offers, having appeared beside me. ‘I believe General Uzra was hoping to have a word with the king?’
As he looks at Magnus, the king nods.
‘Rose, I will see you soon,’ he says before turning to Kyor. ‘It really was an impressive display.’
‘I might actually put some real power behind it next time,’ Kyor replies cockily, and I could swear something close to a smile flickers on Magnus’s face. Or maybe it’s a grimace. It’s hard to tell with him.
While Toren is technically chaperoning us, he’s not the only one. Another Issen whom I recognise from the pyrrhic is walking a fair distance ahead of our group, and two Morathkians follow behind.
‘Fuck off back to Korvane!’ someone shouts from the second floor of a building.
Kyor grips my hand tighter.
‘Fuck the weak monarchy!’ someone else calls.
‘Morathkian scum!’
‘You’ll get what’s coming to you!’
‘I’m sorry. The people in this area of the city are particularly vocal about their disdain for your grandfather.
’ Toren’s jaw ticks as he speaks. ‘Not that there is any reason for them to be, other than they believe the lies fed to them by General Ranveeg and other members of the court who only care about their own power and don’t give a damn about the people.
But they can’t see that. Can’t or won’t. ’
He has barely finished speaking when an ice spear hurtles through the air, striking the ground only a few feet in front of us and shattering into a thousand shards.
For the first time since I saw Ylva sitting in her reading chair at the end of our corridor, I wonder whether she’s there to stop us wandering the palace unaccompanied or for something else entirely…
Toren curses, disperses the remains of the spear, and hustles us faster through this quarter.
There are no more ice spears, though the shouts continue – at a lesser rate – until they’re replaced with the more welcoming cries of ‘Lost princess!’, at which point the Morathkian defectors protecting us disappear.
As we approach the centre of the city, where the bellows stop almost entirely and the aroma of incense rises from the temples, Toren finally shifts from our side, offering Kyor and me some much-needed privacy.
‘I had a vision this afternoon,’ I say quietly to him. ‘In front of Magnus.’
‘You did? Where did you go? And how did he react to that?’
‘He was surprisingly okay about it,’ I answer his last question first. ‘In fact, he might even have been pleased. It’s difficult to tell.’
‘Was it them again?’ Kyor asks, lowering his voice.
‘No.’ I allow a smile to flicker onto my lips. ‘It wasn’t the Rottings. It was the High Hold. I saw Kay and Jonas.’
‘How were they?’ Kyor asks.
‘She looked happy. I’m not sure—’
‘Princess Rose!’ a child calls out a little way ahead, stealing the rest of my words. As I take in her wide, bright-eyed smile, I’m not sure how I should react.
‘You should go speak to her,’ Kyor says.
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ he insists with a smile, and I wonder at it. It’s not like Kyor has ever been a prince of the people, swanning around the outer rings, rubbing shoulders with common folk.
That’s not a fair assessment, I realise slowly. He is a prince of the common people. He’s one of the commanders of the armies and regularly moves among soldiers and knights alike. He knows his people, albeit in a different way than I do.
With a deep breath in, I drop his hand and move alone towards the girl.
Somehow, heading over to the small child is as nerve-racking as any time I’ve spent alone with Magnus, especially as I can see her mother standing in a doorway, watching over the exchange.
As if she fears I might attack. No, I realise.
Her eyes are wary but not fearful. She does not think that I might hurt her child, but perhaps she worries that I will disappoint her.
You and me both, lady.
‘Princess Rose, this is my niece, Linnea,’ Toren says proudly.
‘Princess,’ the little girl says solemnly, ‘I made this for you.’