CHAPTER 4

Hunched over the earth, I caught my reflection in the sheet of ice spreading out beneath me. Wide eyes, my mouth parted in a silent scream, hair tousled by frozen winds. Magic belonged solely to the fey, but never me.

The fey were naturally stronger, faster, with senses heightened to a point that hearing conversations they weren't a part of was not uncommon.

But only the ruling bloodlines could bring forth storms, alter their bodies into different forms and conjure elements from nothingness. Four families whose magic and power meant more than simply being good listeners or standing taller than the average person.

Although I knew little of my mother, at least I trusted that she was likely nobody special in her realm. As ordinary to those who ruled above her as the humans I was brought up among were.

The pointed tips of my ears seemed to be the only curse of my heritage. I wasn't blessed with the other gifts even the mundane fey possessed. I was privy to the backlash that came with my ears that never stayed hidden within the curls of my dark hair. But magic, no. Never magic.

I'd often wondered that the snide remarks and frowned gazes would've meant less if I had access to magic like the ruling courts. It might've made the years of torment worth it. Not knowing that I was powerful, but being able to burn those who spoke negatively towards me to ash. Yes, that would have been rather wonderful.

Magic was not a human trait, and it also shouldn't have been mine.

But with each exhale, clouds of thick white mist rolled forward, drowning out all sound. It washed across the ground like an angry, living wave. It devoured everything before me. Beneath my palms, the power poured freely, uncontrolled, leaving a diamond layer of ice which formed mountains of pointed spears and peaks.

I followed its progression, with wide, unblinking eyes. The power was unstoppable. And yet, deep down, I knew I could stop it if I wanted to. Ice concealed the two scuffed boots of the executioner, spreading freely up their legs. Craning my neck upwards, I watched the ice turn flesh to crystallised stone.

It was their cry of agonised pain that stopped me. The shock dragged me from the strange, dark pit of my mind and slammed the open box in my chest closed. In a beat of my heart, the magic simply… stopped.

There was no pressure keeping me on the stump anymore. Taking advantage, I pushed myself up, but my hands stung beneath the sudden, breath-taking cold. I looked down to where my fingers had been splayed, only to find the outline of two handprints left upon the ground, surrounded by winter on all sides.

I scrambled backwards, slipping, as I pushed myself away from the wailing figure of the executioner.

My heart dropped like a stone in my chest. A boulder. The man, with the axe raised in the air, released a keening cry. His swollen, toothless face twisted in pain. From the ground to his waist, he was coated in silver shards of ice. Fingers of mist curled from the frosty layers as the midday sun beat down upon it.

I couldn't believe what I saw, the shock so terrible that my mind didn't link that it was I who'd done this, even though all points of logic suggested so.

All I could do was watch as he shrieked, veins bulging in his neck and face. Then his sounds of terror morphed into a gurgled breath. I hadn't heard the whizz of air as the arrow sliced through it, burying itself through the man's mouth.

He coughed, eyes wide, splattering blood over his paling lips. Droplets of deep ruby splashed across the white, ice-covered ground. I cringed as some splattered over me. I blinked, feeling the dreadful warmth along my face as the man's blood dribbled down my cheek and neck.

Another arrow joined the first. This time I heard it slice through the air. With sure and confident aim, it embedded itself into the man's large forehead. If the first hadn't killed him, this surely did.

He dropped the axe, eyes rolling into the back of his head. My bones felt as though they shattered when the metal fell onto the ice that coated his legs. Then he snapped, his heavy body breaking at the waist, his torso separating from his legs. Half of him hit the ground with a sickening thud. The other half stayed in place, legs frozen still with rivulets of blood and gore dribbling down them.

Bile burned up my throat, gagging me.

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to still the thundering of my heart. My stomach spasmed as another wave of sickness threatened to claw itself up and out of my throat.

I hardly registered when the ground began to tremble beneath me. If it wasn't for the acute instinct to keep myself alive, I might never have taken my eyes off the dead man before me.

Tearing my focus from the corpse, I turned my head in time to watch a miracle. It was a scene pulled directly from the textbooks that I'd devoured as a child.

Fey, a horde of them in gleaming brass armour, exploded into camp. They rode on large stags whose antlers created a shield of interwoven bone. The Hunters stood no chance as they broke beneath the heavy hooves of the creatures. Blades of silver swung freely at the sides of the stags, cutting down any lucky Hunter who hadn't been crushed beneath their weight.

Hunters fell, overwhelmed by thrice the number of warriors. And all without the fey needing to dismount.

I watched as more fey warriors broke free from the distant shadows of the Wychwood boundary, dust clouds blurring the path behind them as they rode with great speed towards us. By the time the final one met the camp, not a single Hunter was left breathing. Bodies littered the camp, blood feeding the earth, so that when the fey finally dismounted, I could hear the boots squelch in gore

Every single fey warrior focused their attention on freeing those in the cages. I watched as those with cloaks, the shape and colouring of autumn leaves, unlocked doors, allowing the streams of captured to flood out into the open.

All the while, I didn't move. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My body was as frozen as the severed corpse of the executioner, just without the ice coating my skin. But it was inside me, uncurling like a serpent, poised and ready.

Kayia and Lia joined the crowds. Free. They were free.

And I was left alone, surrounded by the explosion of ice with the body of a human still bleeding behind me.

A broad form stepped before me, gleaming like molten gold.

"Are you hurt?" the deep voice asked. The fluttering in my chest exploded as the sudden presence cast a shadow across me. I felt the trickling of calming cold spread across my skin as the lid of that box within me began to creep open once again.

Looking up from my perch on the ground, I raised a hand to block out the glare of light that danced over the deep, brass armour of the figure. Up close, I could see it was more golden, with hues of honey and cedar. Squinting against the light, I made some sense of who this person before me was.

His face was covered mostly by the sharp-edged helmet, but there was no denying his eyes. They shone like twin diamonds, so bright they matched the silver of the sword he held up, pointed at me.

"I am going to need you to use your words," he said, kneeling down so the glare of light settled, and I caught my first glimpse of his face. "Are you hurt?"

"Not yet…" I replied, gaze snapping to the sharp point of his weapon. "Unless you plan to use that against me?"

"Precautions, that is all."

"So you don't have a habit of asking such questions, before dealing a deathly blow?" I asked, my father's sarcasm rising to the surface as the shield it always had been.

Slowly the fey warrior lowered the tip of the sword, pressing the end into the ground. I couldn't deny the relief that pooled within me. I watched warily as he leaned on it as though it was a staff or walking stick. "From what I can see, you will deal far greater damage than I could." He offered a hand, the cream material of the glove flexing beneath the tug of his long fingers. "Now, it is not befitting for you to stay on the ground. Stand."

"From what I can see, you are the dangerous one." I hesitated, fingers digging into the dirt at my side. "You killed them all."

Them being the Hunters, but clearly this fey warrior didn't need me to explain myself.

"It may sound like an odd request, but I am going to ask you to trust me."

"I don't even know you."

His fingers flexed, impatient as he waited for me to take them. "I have come to save you. Well, not you personally, but all of those who've been captured by these Hunters. And if you are worried about the Hunters, don't be. They would've done far worse if given a chance. And we did not kill them all. You helped with one of them…"

He turned his head, the shape of his helmet emphasising the line of his jaw. I followed his gaze and looked back at the severed body of the executioner. Ice melted beneath the warm blood, which still hissed as it dribbled down the frozen stumps of his legs.

"I… I… didn't mean to." I couldn't explain it. What had happened, what I'd done. None of it made sense. It seemed my mind couldn't even begin to piece the puzzle together.

"This is no conversation to have with you still being on the floor." He looked back to me, eyes a raging storm of silver. " You do not belong on the floor. Not ever, not again."

I couldn't ignore the air of respect that softened the edges of his tone. How he kept his gaze upon mine, his hand outstretched, as though I was something important. Delicate, almost. Which normally I'd be the first to say I wasn't, but beneath his gaze, I felt exactly that.

"My arm is beginning to ache," he said. "Please do me the favour of taking it."

There wasn't any point hiding my hesitation. "What if I hurt you?" Looking back at the frozen corpse, I felt dangerous. My touch capable of something I wasn't prepared to justify.

"Then I am going to be in tremendous amounts of discomfort. For my sake, control yourself and take my hand."

If his face was visible, I was certain I would've seen the quirk of a lip.

Slowly, I took his hand. He was warm to the touch, his fingers wasting no time in capturing my wrist and pulling me upwards. With one strong tug, my arse was off the floor, and I was standing before him. The warrior was far taller than me, and I wasn't exactly short by any means. My line of sight stared right into the base of his neck, with the overlapping brass-metal folded on itself in intricate patterns of vine and leaf.

Reluctantly I looked up, not wanting to reveal my unease. "Is this when I thank you for saving me?"

"I wouldn't stop you." He released my hand, flexing his fingers at his sides. For a moment I thought I'd hurt him, but I saw no frost or ice. "However, I am merely finishing the job you started. Perhaps I should thank you."

Strapped over his armoured shoulder was a quiver full of arrows, the feathered ends identical to those that were buried through the mouth and head of the executioner.

"Well, thanks. But I should really go," I added quickly, realising I actually had no idea where I was in comparison to home. There were a few of the Hunter's horses left. I could take one and find the nearest village or town, someone would point me in the right direction.

"So soon?" he questioned, his eyes never leaving me. There was something about his touch that'd grounded me, and without it, I found the serpent inside me coil in discomfort. "Pray tell, where do you have to go in such a rush?"

"Home," I said, aware that the crowds of fey behind him had all been removed from their cages. This was new chaos. A lighter, hopeful atmosphere, as the armoured fey helped the hordes and comforted them.

"And where is home for you?" The man's gaze dulled as though I was a puzzle that he could not piece together.

"Grove."

"Hm. Interesting." To my surprise, he reached out and took my arm in his hand. The grip was gentle, yet firm. "As much as I would care to aid you on your return, I am afraid I cannot allow that."

The whirling panic returned in an instant. Snatching my hand from his, I stumbled backwards, putting space between us. "And who are you to tell me what I can or can't do?"

"My name is Erix, and I am a friend."

"Well, Erix." My face scrunched in confusion. "Do you hold swords to your friends, and prevent them from leaving when they want to?"

"Depends on the situation. And since you now know my name, may I ask yours?" Erix questioned calmly, the camp behind him bustling with noise.

Names were powerful, he was a fool to give his up so freely. "What would it matter?"

"How about I propose you a deal. Tell me your name, and in exchange, I will assist with returning you home myself."

I hardly believed he'd change his tune that easily. But it was worth a shot. I huffed, lip curling upwards in frustration over this stranger. Erix. "I don't believe you're in any position to be making a trade."

"Am I not?"

"No!" I spluttered, aware that he had not stopped looking into my eyes this entire time. "You're not."

"I trust you likely do not know where you are and where your home is in relation to this camp. I saw you look at those horses, the hint of stress in your eyes. Unless you have a map stuffed in that… rather interesting choice of sleeping attire, then I think you will need my help returning back to your home. So, give me your name, and I will keep my word."

His persistence was infuriating. Perhaps it wouldn't have bothered me if I wasn't exhausted. Even now, my knees quivered, wanting to give out, and my head throbbed from lack of sleep or energy, it was hard to distinguish.

Reading my body language, Erix reached to his belt. I thought he was going to withdraw another blade, but it was a skin of what had to be water, he offered. "To sweeten the deal, drink this. And no, before you ask, it's not poisoned."

My brow inched up. "I didn't think it would be, but now I am."

I was many things, but a fool wasn't one of them. Well, most of the time. If I wanted to make it back to Grove, I'd need energy. And water would help. So, I took it. Uncorking the skin and downing the contents into my mouth.

As the cool, fresh water rushed down my dried throat, the feeling was close to euphoric. I must've moaned, because as I came back gasping for air, Erix was grinning from ear to pointed ear.

"Thanks," I said, clearing dribbles from the side of my mouth.

"Name?" he persisted, his warm fingers brushing my knuckles as he took back the water skin.

"Robin," I said, giving in to the idea of assistance. "My name is Robin."

Erix pondered me for a moment, head tilting slightly to the side. He pulled his sword free from the ground, then slipped it back into the leather sheath at his side, all without a word.

What he did next surprised me far greater than any interactions that had come before. He knelt, hands pulling the helmet from his head and resting it on the ground before my feet. Erix bowed, flashing the top of his closely shaven head beneath me. Part of me longed to tell him to look at me, so I could see what he'd hid beneath the helmet. Instead, I drank in the features I could see. Sun-kissed skin glowed, his hair so short and fair that I knew it would tickle my palm if I reached out and touched him.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, noticing that a lot of people were watching. Embarrassment crept over my face, staining my neck and cheeks crimson.

Erix loosed a breath, armour singing as he shifted his weight and looked up at me. Thick, dark lashes surrounded his bright, silver eyes, making them stand out like snow amongst coal. Matching the colouring of his hair, his jaw was covered in the light stubble of a beard, his cheekbones so strong that they carved sharp lines into his face.

I'd learned about the fey and their ethereal stature. But Erix, he was far more deserving than being described as ethereal. He was –

Smiling at me. His full, pink lips turned upwards at each side. The vision snatched any ability to think from my grasp.

"It would be my honour to return you home, for it's been a long time since it was even believed possible that your home would ever be reclaimed. But here you are… unknowing of what you mean to those behind me." I looked over his shoulder again, unaware that everything had gone quiet. Across the camp, every fey who watched on, knelt. With their heads bowed to the ground, not a single one was left standing. I scanned the crowd of downturned heads, unable to truly understand what I witnessed.

"You're not making any sense," I spluttered, almost laughing from deep embarrassment at what happened before me. Waving at him with a forced smile, I commanded, "Are you taking the piss out of me? Stand up!"

"I am most certainly not." Erix stood slowly, his stare latched onto mine as he pushed himself from the ground. There wasn't an ounce of emotion that took away from his serious gaze. "I would not, Robin."

I nodded, fixing my eyes on him so I didn't have to look at the kneeling crowd. "Take me home, as you promised."

"I will. It would be my honour."

"As you've already said." I nodded, conjuring an image of my father and Winston. "I suppose the guidance would help."

Even now, the crowd looked to me, then to the layering of dwindling ice that I still refused to admit I'd caused.

Erix straightened, offered the crook of his arm and said, "Then let us not waste another moment… little bird. "