A Journey of Black and Red

When Cadiz finally comes to, I politely request to drink his tears as the lure is simply too strong. Unfortunately, he flatly refuses.

“We do not know each other. You have no right to ask me. Have the Devourers forgotten all propriety?”

I do not react to the cheap jab, mostly because he is right, but partly because I am forced to jump on Sern, our guide, as he tries to scamper away. The Winter fae has shown his ability to survive against all odds, and only an idiot would fail to see that we sympathized with his obvious enemy.

“Just so we are clear, I am not attacking my kin. I have no reason to, and it would be suicide,” I inform my allies.

“You speak their tongue? Good,” Cadiz says.

While we talk, Khadras kneels and takes a curious pen out of a slot in his armor. The seeker focuses on the ground and begins tracing strange signs on the marsh’s wet loam. His explanation only comes when he realizes we are all staring.

“If we do not have to be concerned about the Beast of Ingmir, we can prepare for the inevitable battle. I will provide support and stop him from erasing us from each other’s memory while you two fight him off. Can we count on your brethren’s help, Ariane?”

“Can we?” I ask the interested man.

“That depends. Tell me of our world. Tell me what the old horror is planning.”

I sigh and sit by his side. It will take a while.

I highly suspect that Cadiz is not on Nirari’s side, given his choice of words. I also suspect that he might be less friendly than he appears for now. After determining that he left the planet a century before my human birth, I give him a brief recounting of recent historical development. The cruel fate of the Spanish empire upsets him greatly, though my reports on the success of his clan seems to ease his mind. He takes my compliments on Jimena’s character with jaded indifference.

“Naturally the Cadiz are honorable and perfectionist. I expect nothing less from my offspring, and if they had failed to accomplish even this, I would have had to treat them like the White God treated Sodom and Gomorrah.”

I flinch at the mention, causing him to smirk knowingly.

“Your sire dislikes him as well. It irks him to no end that empathy and love could create a force that even he cannot contend with. Enough of this, what are your plans concerning him?”

“My plans?”

Claws grab me by the collar, dragging me forward until we are quite close. They would be on my neck if I were not clad in the protective embrace of the Aurora. Nevertheless, the message is clear.

Or it would be, but a naked blade comes to rest under Cadiz’ neck.

“Keep your distance,” Sinead states calmly.

“You do not want to face me,” Cadiz replies.

The Progenitor’s understanding of child fae is less than my own. I expect he never received a formal education. I also expect he has little interest in mastering it, or he would have. Cadiz can focus on a goal with more intensity than anyone else, thus making them adept at learning new disciplines.

I lower the tip of Sinead’s blade and push Cadiz away, gently. He allows it.

“Let us stay calm. Thank you for your help Sinead, I appreciate it. And you, do not raise your hand on me unless you intend to fight. I ask for the same basic respect you expect from me.”

Cadiz glares. I do not relent. Eventually, his expression softens.

“Good. You have a spine, even when you know you cannot stand against me. This bodes well for the future.”

“So, will you help us?”

“No.”

I am flabbergasted by the immediate answer.

“Duke Gnash is dangerous. Do you not wish to see him gone, then leave this dreaded place?” I ask.

“You misunderstand two things. First, I came to Winter of my own accord and, so far, it has delivered exactly what I expected of it. Secondly, I do not fear Gnash. He fears me.”

I look down at his tattered appearance.

“I expected difficulty and that is what I got, child. Not all of us crave comfort.”

“He does want you dead.”

“He wishes me dead, but he will not get it. I have already fended off all his attempts against me, though I suspect foul play since some of the fights I remember seem not to have occured, or at least, I can no longer find the bodies.”

“Who did you slay?”

“His son.”

I must exert some self-control at the realization. Did Gnash remove his son from the memory of everyone else, including his daughter? What a dreadful proposition. Unaware of my horror, Cadiz continues his tale.

“I have come here to perfect my understanding of the blade, child of the Devourer. When I stepped through that portal, I did so because I heard the echoes of battle. Battle I found here, and plenty of it. There were more masters of the arts of war on that field than across Christendom over its entire history. I fought them, and I learned much. But I found a mountain I could not climb.”

“The Sovereigns?”

“Even before them, their children stood before me. They wear part of the mantle. Some wear more than most. Some, in turn, have weaved their own with the concepts they hold most dear. This is a rich land, child, ripe with revels and bloodshed. One could battle a millennium and still find oneself surprised by an opponent. I once fought a fishman who used a conch as a weapon. He almost killed me.”

The pale man tilts his artist’s head, hooded eyes dreamy from the reminiscence.

“I lacked power to contend with the strongest of them, because a blade does not suffice when an opponent wields the world around themselves. And so I have grown, and learned. I came here to fight beasts, the cold, and isolation, and I did. Duke Gnash hired me to rid his winter fields of the Beast of Ingmir, a fearsome frost drake as large as an elephant. He sent his son with me. We fought the creature and bled it to death. Its blood smelled sweet, though I could not consume it.”

He leans forward.

“Obviously, they betrayed me to avoid payment. I slew the son in single combat. I think. The memory is hazy now, like a barely remembered dream. I slew him and his entourage. I left their bodies where they had fallen. In a clearing. I returned there and it was as if he had never been, yet I remember the taste of his blood and the intensity of the fight when our blades net. I killed him and then he never was. I do not understand how I was robbed of this fight.”

I relay Cadiz’ words to Kharas, who nods.

“This explains much. I do not believe Duke Gnash ever suffered such a meaningful humiliation. To be defeated and lose one’s heir on their own land is a terrible blow to his power, and thus, his person as well. Perhaps it would be enough to lead to a coup. He would not be the first to succumb to the temptation, and call the dark court to his help.”

“This does not explain why you will not fight,” I argue. His refusal frustrates me, not because I fear Gnash, but because I feel like I am being used.

“Why did you come here?” Cadiz asks me.

“I am on a mission for the Seekers of Stolen Memories.”

He waves my words away, annoyed.

“No. Do not pretend to be obtuse, child. If I ask you where you are, you will not answer ‘on mud-soaked grass’, will you? Why are you truly here?”

I glare. He does not seem impressed, but he indulges me anyway.

“I did not come here to take on beasts. My goal is not to defeat Sovereigns. It is to touch upon divinity through the pursuit of martial perfection. I do these things I mentioned and many more. I train and practice until my mind numbs from repetition for a purpose. My purpose is perfection, as unattainable as the stars, which is why it suits me to have all of eternity to pursue it or die trying. I asked for time this coughing, shivering body of mine did not have and I was granted it by our friend above because I had this purpose. I live for the moment a weapon whistles a hair away from my neck, or when I plunge my blade in the heart of one who thought themselves immortal, because I am just a little closer to an infinitely distant goal. Do you understand?”

“I think I do.”

“Then tell me, what is your purpose?”

Should I tell him? No one ever asked, but I do not think I mind him knowing. Not considering his aversion for my sire.

“I want to prevent my sire from ascending to godhood and plunging earth into an eternal war against the spheres it has no hope of ever winning.”

“And? Have you worked tirelessly, year after year, to fulfill that goal? Has it occupied your every night?”

I do not reply, but Cadiz still draws the conclusion.

“You are complacent. You have worked hard and faced difficulties, I can tell, or you would not be a lady. You would bear scars if our bodies could. But you do not understand what it means to pursue a purpose with unerring focus. The Cadiz essence you stole gave you the tools but not the mentality. You are just a passenger cruising on the waters of destiny, hoping to one day float across a solution to save you from the falls at the end. You will never succeed, at least not without my help.”

“You assume much.”

“I am old, child of the Devourer. Older than any of us save the first, thanks to the way time acts here. You understand it in your mind but not in your essence. I can smell the fresh-faced accidental immortal in even the way you tolerate those Likaeans to give you orders. You smell of uncertainty and doubt. There is no clear vision in you, only a vague, ultimate goal you tell yourself when you search for meaning. You are a dull blade.”

“Are you quite done?”

“And you are here for dragon blood.”

I glare. He speaks too much.

“Even I cannot face your sire,” he says.

“Even after this training?”

Cadiz smirks and extends his arms.

“Power is a fleeting, situational thing. Mastery of the blade is another. The first of us does not even need technique, though he has it. His Magna Arqa is truly a wonder designed to kill us, and it perfectly reflects his personality as well.”

I lean forward, unable to maske the excitement blooming in my chest.

“What is it? We have no records. Can you tell me?”

“You have no records because I am the only one who ever survived it. Why would I waste a minute of my time explaining it to a dead spawn walking.”

I would argue that he already wasted more than that flooding my ears with his verbal incontinence, but judge it might be counterproductive to point it out.

“Unless Svyatoslav’s personality has changed drastically, and he comes here, you have the best chance of facing him and livinglive out of everyone else in the world. The dragon blood you seek will not be enough to bridge the gap, however. You will eternally be playing catch up unless you can make your time more valuable than his time by a large margin.”

“I have spent years in training before.”

“With classes and several professors and a strict schedule?”

“It counts as training,” I grumble.

“It certainly is efficient in churning out dozens of unimaginative, doctrinal fighters. I will grant you that, child.”

“My name is Ariane.”

“You have no name until I have decided.”

“Hssss. If you will not help and if you have nothing to contribute, at least contribute by your silence.”

“Foolish child. I am explaining what I expect from you as my disciple.”

My surprise must be obvious.

“You are the only valid candidate I have had in eons. Surely you do not expect me to let you go to die a useless death, dooming our world in the process? You cannot be this foolish.”

“I have not agreed to anything.”

“Whatever you say, child. As a starting practice, you will defeat Duke Gnash while your allies keep his minions occupied. Both kinds.”

“What do you mean, both kinds?”

“He will be here in five minutes. Do not disappoint me.”

And with this, Cadiz disappears, the only traces of his passage footprints upon the water. I have no idea how he managed that.

“Charming. Is he one of your kin?” Khadras asked as he finishes drawing.

“He says he won’t help. And that Gnash is coming with two different kinds of servants.”

“It would not surprise me if Darkness Court renegades had come with him. They would not waste an opportunity to slaughter an isolated seeker. I can handle them.”

“So the Shadow Court disapproves of the practice?” I ask, suddenly curious.

“Those that survived the purge have forsworn it. Now is not the time to explore their lore, however,” Khadras gently chastises. “They are coming.”

The two princes draw their blades while I take point. The fog covering the marshes writhes, caught between the modest heat of decay and the cold of the Winter Sphere. The temperature drops slightly. The snow gains in intensity, the thick, cottony flakes dancing in hypnotic patterns. Silence descends upon the glade, as even the most clueless beasts must have sensed the bloodshed to come.

I decide to release my Magna Arqa, aware of my previous decision to use it more so I can improve my control — and not because Cadiz must be watching. My improvement is my own duty. The sphere expands. Immediately, the weather loses its meaning, now just one more aspect of my domain. I sense the presence of Khadras behind me as an unyielding crystal pillar that only death can shake. He is restraining himself not to hurt me.

Gnash is coming. The world speaks to me of his passage. It recognizes him as its master — for now — and us as intruders. It stills.

A massive shadow emerges from the fog wall, then the vaporous curtain parts before the fur-clad, armored form of Duke Gnash of the Winter Court. His dark iron armor shines ominously under the dim light of the setting sun, while he holds in his slender hands a vicious axe carved with a wolf head. His retinue follows. Hollow-eyed retainers advance, their step certain yet lacking the predatory grace of their court. Their silvery scale armors look tarnished even from this far away. I feel slight disturbances in my sphere, but it is Khadras who reveals our hidden foes with a flick of his hand. I suddenly perceive them, not in a way that they were invisible and now revealed. I had forgotten them while Khadras had not.

Their ability reminds me of Mr. Elusive, the sharp-eared and pointy-nosed whose assistance had been useful during the Dvor fortress heist. While he had been meek, hunched, and spindly, those are muscular and predatory beings, clad in tanned skins. They only want to be forgotten so they can better stab me. Their grins reveal yellow fangs and an eagerness to inflict pain I have seen in the most damned of rogues. They are not my targets, however. Mine swings the axe casually on his back. The circlet bearing a stone on his head reminds everyone who rules on these lands.

“So you knew. I suppose it saves me the pain of tracking you down.”

“You should have known better. How the memory thieves always manage to fool more people is a mystery I shall never understand,” Khadras spits in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. “I would have expected a duke to be less short-sighted. Look at your men! They are husks. Is this what you wish to rule over?”

His face twists into a rictus of disgust. Duke Gnash merely shrugs.

“You are strangers here, so I shall explain for my own entertainment. Rules. Domains. Reputation. Those are all shiny layers of civilization we put on to play with this other sphere. There is only one truth to winter.”

His mouth widens impossibly, the jaw opening to his ears to reveal grasping fangs while his eyes shine a cold, sapphire light.

“I HUNGER. I EAT. I DESIRE. I TAKE. I ANGER. I KILL.”

And he attacks.

I rush to meet him, Rose brandished against his monstrous axe. I angle it to deflect the downward blow and am pushed back, sliding over the muddy grown. Roots rise from the earth to stabilize me against the second blow, which comes immediately after. My counter hits the aft, the next the blade. I strike fast to overwhelm him and prevent him from using the much heavier weapon. At this close range, I actually have the advantage by denying him the opportunity to strike. Even then, it is difficult. He is fast. Perhaps even slightly faster than me. While I finally pushing him back, a blue light shines from the blade.

“Shred.”

“AWAKEN.”

My spell hits the head of the axe as it roars and teeth appear on the blade. An arc of cold energy arches out, freezing everything in its way. Gnash takes a step back, out of balance, and stumbles on a root. Others lash at his back, grinding against the armor with a shriek of tortured metal, but Gnash shines and the appendages freeze solid. Ugh, why do all strong combatants have a way to dispose of my precious roots. Frustrating.

Incensed, I charge, only to leap back when his axe slams into the ground. The blade turns the earth into shining permafrost. I cast Promethean and Constantine’s chains wrap around the handle, pulling Gnash off balance. More roots lash at him. While he struggles, I lunge, Rose slicing against his thick chest plate and damaging it.

Gnash roars and I disperse the spell before he can pull me in, then raise a wall of thorns to block an expanding ball of chilling energy. He strikes through the frozen roots and my turn comes to be pushed back, until more roots grab me, then help me slide against the follow-up. I carve a deep groove in his knee’s armor as I pass him by, but he has already turned when I attempt to press my advantage.

Our exchange continues for a while and I let myself sink in the pleasure of battle. Gnash is such a strong fighter, cunning and aggressive, just like me. Our dance is a breathless tango on a rope above the abyss, each strike vicious and decisive, each parry performed to allow for a faster counter. Finally, I manage to wound him by striking his shoulder where the armor had been weakened by a previous strike, but the return sweep sends me rolling on the ground. His attack pierced right through the Aurora, to my mounting horror. He hit my flank. The blood has already frozen, and I can feel a numbing chill seeping into my essence. I must combat it. More importantly, I cannot be hit by that thing again.

“Cold take you,” Gnash hisses with his distended jaw.

In answer, I lick the blood on Rose and smile. His essence is so very concentrated, and so… relatable. The cold in my vein fades away, stepping back to let the two of us contend for supremacy. Such is the way of the winter sphere. Gnash smiles and charges again. He is in his element.

And even faster?

No, I am slower. The more time passes and the colder this place grows. Frost appears on my roots and even they become sluggish. A quick look at my mind palace shows frost-kissed white flowers and icicle-covered statues. I intended to keep them as a hidden ace, seeing how fast and destructive Gnash is, but it appears they will be too slow to even be that.

“You found out,” Gnash whispers.

The words carry through the din of battle, even as the two princes contend against their foes. The mist rises and becomes a powdery diamond, thick and freezing. They chill my essence as the sphere around me contracts in pain.

“You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. You come to winter expecting a battle, but you find a freezing hunt, and an empty, hungry world. You understand cold, but you do not understand winter. I smell your craving for life from here, little moth seeking the light. You still have bonds and friends and other useless things to drag you down. You have come with others but you will die alone. You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. Your flesh will nourish us for one season.”

“You talk too much,” I retort, but only an empty chuckle is left behind like the ghost of a traitor\'s kiss.

Winter gathers around Gnash. He is right. He is right, and I cannot face him the way I would face a lord back home. The world is with him unless I can reverse the narrative.

The sphere of my Magna Arqa retracts again, punished on all sides by the howling blizzard. Gnash stalks me, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He will strike as I am the weakest, but just before the princes come to help.

The sound of battle has gone.

I realize it for the first time. Silence has replaced the clash of blades and the roars of magic. Only the howling wind breaks the hush now. Another trick of the world. That is fine.

I know how to face him.

As strange as it is, his words in Likaean carried power and the world became what he envisioned because he spoke them. I am different. I am not a Likaean. My power comes from another source, and yet, Winter will not care. Whatever works for him will work for me, if I can formulate it properly. I do not need grand declamation since, again, Winter will not care. The shorter the better. The clearer the better.

Gnash claimed the title of wolf.

I will claim the title of hunter.

After all, it is what I am.

I whistle, and the distant woods shake with the thunder of familiar hooves. The world’s most noble charger canters by my side. She neighs, and I mount her smoothly.

“Nu Sarrehin.”

Ghostly light spreads around to illuminate the diamond powder, but only to my eyes. No one else needs to see.

“You hide, because you are prey. You run, because you are prey. You talk, because you are prey. I will ride after you under the Watcher’s gaze. I will find you. I will eat you. I have no need for Likaean tricks. I am what I am, and what I am is a huntress. I. Am. Coming.”

It works. Yesssssss. The roots break the frozen earth and crawl after the tracks we see, the scent he left behind. We move in a wave as unyielding as the turn of the seasons. My hungry lights flicker after the running beast. I wish I had Sivaya’s spear. What am I talking about? Of course, I have Sivaya’s spear. Am I not a huntress? And here it is, silver blade lit by purple radiance. The fog parts when the roots tear it apart, searching, tearing. Winter is in balance. There is a hunter, and there is a deadly prey. The roles may switch at any moment but it matters not. Gnash no longer controls the story.

And we find him.

Metis gallops after him. She is considerably faster and more powerful here. I think she may have even grown a bit. We charge him and stab down, the fast spear catches Gnash in the smallest gap between blade and aft.

I smirk.

The power of the spear activates, sliding through his armor like butter and digging into his flesh. I smell rich blood in the air. Before he can free himself, I lift him above my head. Droplets of blood fall on my face. He smells so delicious. He winces in agony while Metis rears, the hunt concluded. Or at least, that is what I hoped for. Instead, clawed, hairy hands grab for the shaft and break it, despite the enchantments. Gnash collapses on the ground behind us and coughs blood. His maw has grown even more monstrous.

“That is Winter,” he growls, “victory at any cost.”

I charge again, this time with Rose. His armor cracks and pops and Sivaya’s spear tip is pushed out by newly grown, wiry muscle. His shoulder expands ever so slightly, and I realize what I thought was a cloak of fur was, in fact, his skin. What is it with insane foes and abandoning the human form? Ugh. I hope I can still EAT HIM.

We begin another type of dance, one where his flexibility and ferocity oppose our teamwork. Metis and I are used to each other. We understand each other. He figures it out the first time he attacks from behind and gets a faceful of hooves. I hear the crunch of shattered bones, but when I look, the duke now has a deformed maw instead of a normal face, so there is little improvement for us.

The duke grows larger the more wounds I inflict, which makes him more cumbersome, more awkward, as his mind struggles with its new form. Some of the movements are too jerky to be natural, and he soon loses the ability to wield his axe. The problem is that he grows immensely stronger to the point where the roots struggle to keep him in place, even as the cold makes them more brittle. I am struggling against an enemy that grows stronger the more I hurt him, and shows no signs of exhaustion. It forges after me through a maze of shredding roots and grasping limbs, tearing itself on it. I flit like a ghost through covered alleys and harry him but am I grinding him down or forging him into something stronger? Even the essence I take from him seems infinite. He is closer to a standing werewolf than a human now.

I wish I could jump on his back and bite him, but his thick coat and fast reflexes make this a daunting prospect. My magic is useless as well, except to deceive him.

“It is useless. He draws from the land,” a voice says from behind.

Khadras emerges from the darkness with his halberd bloodied. He inspects the torn battlefield with calm.

“Our only hope is to keep him here and let him exhaust the local essence. Then, we can wear him down.”

“This feels like a poor plan,” I complain.

“Feel free to share a better one.”

Gnash heard our voices. He shakes himself or roots and charges, tearing through the defenses I have set. His sapphire glare meets my eyes and I find an opportunity.

“Khadras, can he still erase us from memories?”

“Not in this state.”

“Then let me use mental magic, please.”

“As you wish.”

I slam the duke hard enough to lobotomize a Gabrielite. He reels, and we jump on the occasion. I slam Rose into his chest but fail to penetrate to the heart. The werewolf and Loth statues materialize, tearing into him with little result. Khadras stabs him in the nose and dances away from a ferocious swipe, ducking under a quickly forming wall. Gnash roars and a blue bubble forms around him, and then summer comes.

A flash of golden light falls upon the forming attack, dissipating him. Sinead lunges and carves a bloody groove across the duke’s leg, hamstringing him. We pile on and retreat immediately while he heals and explodes in a whirlwind of fang and claw.

A curious exchange happens, with me taking more of a support role and protecting the two princes as they demonstrate their martial prowess. Our efforts are not in vain. Wounds accumulate on his body, the regeneration slowing down. Suddenly, he stops and makes a run for it.

I try everything. I fight with all I have. Sinead and Khadras pierce him with a thousand blows. It is of no use. His maddened form crashes through everything we have like a boulder through a toolshed. His paws freeze the waters of the marsh on his way to the nearby edge of the trees and we cannot stop him. Finally, he turns around.

“I am as infinite… as the cold.”

He roars and… nothing happens. His wounds barely close.

While the expression of fury turns into a growl of frustration, I charge. A shimmer on the ground attracts my attention and I lean to the side and grab Sivaya’s spear tip, its blade still stained with blood. Khadras throws his halberd and Sinead his blade in a desperate gambit. I jump at the height of Metis’ sprint and land on Gnash’s monstrous chest, stabbing him deeply.

The sphere of my Magna Arqa expands, fuelled by my determination and the story as it slips from the duke’s grasp. Tendrils emerge from everywhere, the air itself. They lift his massive carcass in the air and deprive him of the contact he needs. He is mine now, he is outside of Winter and inside my domain. His struggles are the death throes of the vanquished. I grab his deformed neck and bite down.

He tastes of frantic battle, of…

Of a mouthful of hair?

What?

I hiss when I realize I am holding a wolf’s pelt. A naked Gnash crawls away and jumps when he realizes I have seen him. Seriously?

“HOW MANY TRICKS DO YOU HAVE, PREY?” I complain, spitting hair. Ugh, I have some stuck to my tongue. The horror. The Likaeanity. He is a dead fae.

Gnash grabs his axe between naked hands while I charge, the princes busy recovering their discarded weapons.

Gnash stands to fight. He is back in human form, which I find extremely unfair though mentioning it aloud would be too hypocritical for me to contemplate. He raises the weapon and gasps.

A blueish spear tip emerges from between his muscular ribs, then withdraws. Red blood gushes out. He falls.

A woman in full armor stands behind him, an expression of utter vindication on her thin traits. I recognize the princess who had been, ahem, entertaining Gnash while he received us. His daughter. It appears we can add patricide to the long list of Winter’s sins, though to be fair, I understand her. After all, I am trying to do the same.

“Claim complete, pig,” she spits.

Still, the arrogance.

“That was my prey! HOW DARE YOU!”

I trample the ground on my way to skin that little minx raw, but she stops me by bowing her head, exposing her neck to me. My steps falter.

“Grace, milady,” Sern says as he kneels by her side. Our guide seems to have made it, somehow.

Khadras and Sinead stop by my side. The hare prince cleans his halberd disinterestedly.

“My task in this world is over. I wash my hands of this.”

“You are the offended party, Ariane” Sinead assures me. “Make sure to get your due. Winter does not know mercy.”

“What do you wish, supplicant?” I ask.

“For you to leave the duchy and me for ten years.”

I grab her by the neck until our eyes are level. I see the ruthlessness in her cruel traits, the same her father exhibited. Anger fills my heart.

“A supplicant speaks plainly, or they are no longer a supplicant. This is your last chance.”

“I ask for forgiveness for my transgression.”

“You interrupted a hunt. You robbed me of my kill through deception.”

“I helped you!” she claims.

Seeing my doubt, she explains with more calm than I thought her capable of.

“I knew he was hiding something. We had one room too many in the keep, and I found missing gaps in my paintings, in my notes. I found… gifts. From a man. My brother. I am sure of it.”

I see pain in her unshaking glare.

“His memories were stolen. I will never know if we fought or if we loved. I will never find out why I am the way I am, because my most defining memories have faded. How can I understand what I have become? That filthy swine took my dignity in more ways than I ever thought possible. So I challenged him during the fight by claiming the castle, and you… completed the task. It is acceptable to Winter.”

“But not to me.”

“What do you wish in return for your forgiveness?”

“Blood was taken, so blood must be provided. Willingly.”

Sern lifts his head.

“Would mine suffice?”

“No.”

“Will I survive the experience?”

“You may.”

“Blood offered willingly against your departures, and…”

Her eyes swivel to the pelt, so I break two of her fingers.

“I will compensate you for it, of course,” she replies with calm.

Sweat pearls on her brow, the only sign of discomfort despite the fragmented knuckles I hold between thumb and index, the claw poised to snap.

“How?”

“If I may?”

I let her go. She searches the marshes for a few moments, but soon finds the discarded circlet that protected Gnash from Khadras’ assault. She picks the gem and approaches me, then places it against the Aurora’s chestplate.

The gem disappears through the obsidian surface. I see it sink into depth I know for sure do not exist. Before I can protest, the armor comes to life. It contracts with a ghastly creak. All the imperfect and slightly barbaric details melt away to reveal only the sharpest, most perfectly designed scales of blue. The Aurora is now the cobalt blue of a night sky with flashes of distant green fire deep under the polished surface. It is much closer to me and denser at the same time. I can move perfectly freely. More importantly, the aura of cold that hurt my allies falls dormant until I need to call it. Its power has increased as well.

“Now your armor is that of a Likaean princess. Do you find this satisfactory?”

She dares to give me a mocking smile, knowing I will be forced to admit this is a royal gift. So I give her a fanged smile.

“We have a deal.”

I reveal her neck and bite down.

Cold.

Hunger.

Betrayal.

The strong do not survive, and the weak do not perish. This is an illusion the survivors tell themselves to justify their victory, but I know the truth. I see the eyes and the backs against the wall. It is treachery and ruthlessness that govern here, not strength. Not individual might. Not even talent. Guile, plain and simple.

I used to have a brother. He is lost. Perhaps I hated him, and perhaps I did not. The memories are gone as surely as Winter will wax again, not long after those strangers are gone. I hate it here. And I know I will still stay.

Sern helped me.

There are others, as well.

Winter can be huddling together around a campfire, sharing what little warmth there is. My people have forgotten that, and the beauty of the distant mountains. I have not, at least, not yet.

I pull back, surprised. I will have time to explore what progress I have made, but that can wait. We can depart now.

Hmmm.

I feel as if I had forgotten something important?

Metis bumps against me, her large form strong enough to push me to the side, as it used to so many years ago. She neighs softly.

“Ah, yes, my dear. That is to say. I… do not have my bag with me. Sorry.”

Her red eyes widen at the gall, the sheer audacity I displayed when I called her to battle without providing a well-deserved snack afterward. She ignores my hands raised in supplication and monches on the hair near my neck, dragging me by the roots.

“Ow ow ow, Metis, stop this instant! You are embarrassing me in front of the cute guys.”

Alas, my pleas fall on uncaring ears. She ruins my hair then disappears in a huff. Ugh, this is going to cost me one month of profit in bison herb and caramelized pig ears when I return to earth.

“You have acquitted yourself of this task quite well,” Khadras admits after a moment of confused silence..

Sinead remains inexplicably silent, while I expected him to exchange more barbs with the prince. He seems resigned for some reason.

“We have worked well together and fulfilled our purposes.”

“Are you really congratulating us?” I ask.

His unfeeling pink eyes inspect me with unusual intensity. I find his focus unsettling.

“Is it working? I am told the more emotional courts enjoy flattery.”

“You get points for trying.”

“I detect sarcasm. I will assume you are ecstatic and move on to the next step. We simply have to make our way back to the portal.”

We easily find our way out of the marshes. At the edge, we find a rock and on this rock, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on balled fists, we find Cadiz. His eyes are closed.

“We have a significant amount of work ahead of us, if we are to turn you into the blade that slays Nirari,” he says.