CHAPTER 3

Conception of this plan started three nights ago, which so happened to be the last time I’d killed a Hunter.

Even as the one I held onto in the present time, skin turning to diamond glass before he could do so much as scream, I still felt the remnants of blood from my last victim across my hands. No matter how many times I scrubbed at them, the feeling of sickly warmth refused to leave.

After tonight, I would need to bathe in the ocean for an eternity to rid myself of the feeling death left in its wake.

Unlike the nameless Hunter, whose body shattered into thousands of star-like pieces across the courtyard before Lockinge Castle, the one I’d murdered those nights ago had a name. One I refused myself the peace to forget, even though the dirty pig deserved it.

Peter Torr. He was a stout human man with black hair thick with grease. When he ran his hand through it, his fingers looked wet. He bore the symbol of his master, the Hand, across his chest, wearing it with pride. His stained tunic had wrinkled when he sat down in the dirtied tavern in the Cage. I imagined Peter simply expected that the mark upon his tunic would’ve benefited him a night of free drinks and free sex with any of the tavern’s patrons he so wished.

It was Seraphine who had provided insight into his whereabouts that night. And she had been right. Peter sat upon one of the rickety barstools, its legs screaming with protest at his unwanted weight. Big meaty hands slapped upon the bar as he demanded the attention of the young barmaid who pulled pints of ale for those who had the money to pay for them.

I sat and watched him in the darkened corner of the stale-smelling tavern, hood drawn over my head to hide the points of my ears from view. Before the Hunter had entered, I felt a thrill of being out in public after days holed up with Duncan, Althea and Kayne in the dwelling that had become much more a prison than a home. That bubble of excitement for being free popped the moment Peter barrelled in with his slurred yet demanding voice.

“Fill it all the way,” he spat across the bar, making the young barmaid wince. From fear or disgust, I was at too much of a distance to be sure of which. I determined it was likely both. “Bet you’re good at that, girl, aren’t you? Getting filled up… and I can certainly do that for you.”

I couldn’t hear what she mumbled in reply. But I did witness the wash of red pass across her face, and how she moved quicker to give the Hunter what he wanted just so she could get away from him.

Peter drank and drank. The more time passed, the more I convinced myself just how easy this would be. I still couldn’t touch a single drop of the amber-hued liquid in my tankard for fear I’d vomit or grow hazy, when all I needed to do was focus.

Seraphine, as I learned to trust, was right about a lot. Perhaps that was what being an Asp was, more so than hidden blades and sleight of hand. Information. Knowledge.

Four drinks. That was all Peter handled before he dug his cumbersome hand into the pocket of his trousers and produced the very thing I’d come here for.

Keys.

I found my lips turning upward as he did what Seraphine had warned he would do. Men. Predictable creatures. Not all, but most from what I learned.

From his pocket, with swollen hands, Peter pulled free the large metal hoop and upon it, three slim keys hung. I recognised them instantly from the night in the cage when Duncan had allowed Althea, Gyah and me to free ourselves of the iron collars that strangled our throats.

For the first time since ordering the ale, I gripped it and brought it to my lips. Over the lip-worn rim of the tankard, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Starving, I felt my desperate want for the keys constrict like a serpent deep in my stomach.

I needed them, and I’d do anything to get them in my hands.

Peter swung the keys around as though they were a trophy. A sign of dominance that he was a Hunter and everyone around him was lesser than. My heart gave a leap of hope that the surrounding humans viewed Peter with equal disgust. Then I remembered it was because of his state and persona and likely nothing to do with the fact he hunted, captured and killed fey for simply existing.

I itched to throw myself at him. Take the keys from his hand and leave. Or take his hand with them, for it would stop him from doing whatever he contemplated when he glanced toward the barmaid as she passed.

But I waited. Patiently, as I had every day since returning to Lockinge. My end goal was more important than rushing, and I had prepared far too long to waste this moment and ruin it.

Peter left the tavern after his sixth tankard of ale. His sloppy feet stumbled over one another as he moved onto the street. Like a shadow, I followed. He was singing when I stepped up behind him, close enough to taste the sweat that oozed from his hunched, round form. He awkwardly fumbled over his words. In his drunken state he could hardly pronounce the lyrics clearly. He would never have known I was there. Peter didn’t stop his slurred song until my blade pressed to his throat. It was impossible to discern if he gargled from the shock of the dagger slipping across his neck or if that was an ale-induced hiccup.

Peter Torr bled out into the night, unable to sing or scream as I tore away the hoop of keys he held defiantly on to. His wide eyes had stayed open as gargling sounds erupted from the dark slice across his throat. Blood-slick hands grasped at the gash as though he could pinch it together to still the bleeding.

His efforts were wasted; the damage was done.

Peter watched me as I sauntered toward Duncan, who had lingered in the shadows of the tavern’s back alley. I felt no remorse as I lifted my red-stained fingers to display the keys to him. There was no praise waiting for me in that alleyway. Not that I required any.

Now, three nights later, as I swiftly threw out my hands toward another Hunter who ran at me with his sword held high, I discovered the guilt. It had been hiding this entire time.

It had buried itself in my gut like a barbed knife. If I reached for it to pull it free, I would have suffered more pain and discomfort. So, instead, I pushed the guilt deeper and deeper with every life I took. But the weight of the keys in my breast pocket helped dampen the feeling, if only slightly.

It’s for a greater cause , I reminded myself.

Wild, frigid wind conjured around me and burst forward with a gesture of a hand. It ripped across the ground, encouraging jagged shards of ice to race and burst up from the cobbled streets. The Hunter wasn’t prepared as my ice devoured his feet and lower legs. It was so sudden his bones snapped through his skin as his momentum was ruined.

My attacker folded in on himself, dropping his sword, which skirted to a stop beneath my boot.

“You will only be remembered for being on the wrong side of history,” I said, breath fogging beyond my lips. Then I blew out, forcing as much breath as I could muster to cover the Hunter’s face until his skin hardened and lungs turned to shards of cold stone.

Two down, countless more to go.

Althea was a tempest of fire. Her flames hissed like snakes as they met the skin of those foolish enough to choose her as their victim. In contrast to the cold surrounding my body like a shield, I recognised Althea’s power pressing against me with demanding force.

I winced against her heat, as bright as a dying star. A vortex of boiling flames that danced to her bidding. They took the Hunters and left them as husks of blistered skin and charred bone.

Althea truly was an unstoppable force. The wicked smile that glowed across her face told stories of just how desperate she had been to do this. Like a bird finally released from an iron cage, she was free to unleash her magic and send a message to those who opposed her.

My distraction in the raging inferno meant a Hunter got too close to me. A blast of air sliced the side of my face as she swept a blade down toward me. I side-stepped, gasping at the sudden presence. I slipped across the ice-slick ground and lost my footing. If I hadn’t, the blade would have found itself buried in the soft skin where my neck met my shoulder.

Duncan must’ve heard my sharp intake of breath. Such a small sound beneath the thundering of death and chaos, but he heard it, because he was on me in seconds, parting from the darkness with his long sword swinging with precise aim.

Unlike the Hunter, Duncan didn’t miss his target.

Her head tumbled from her shoulders, dark blood spurting skyward from severed veins. There was so much blood. It spilled and flowed as though Duncan had opened a river and let it flood across her corpse. She stood, animated, before crumpling to the ground where her body joined the others that had fallen to our attack.

“Did she hurt you?” he asked, jade eyes wide with terror. I felt them search every inch of me for a sign that the Hunter had touched me.

I shook my head, unable to form words, as Duncan’s frantic worry mutated into a wild fury. My stomach jolted just watching him as his mind sped through the different circumstances in which those last moments could have ended.

“Good,” Duncan exhaled, face pale. Then I noticed the droplets of blood that trailed down his face like rain. There was no knowing if it was his or that of the woman he had felled. “Stay together now. I don’t want you straying too far from me again.”

I raised my chin, ice crackling around my fingers and tracing my wrist like the bracelet that Duncan wore to keep his new power contained. “It was a moment of distraction. Not weakness. Let the bodies behind me be the proof that I do not need someone to fight for me.”

“I fight for you because I care that you live, not because I don’t think you are capable.”

Another Hunter had appeared like a phantom beyond Duncan’s shoulder. He had not noticed, succumbing to the same distraction that had almost cost me my life. Before the blood-covered dagger could plunge into his back, I threw myself into Duncan’s unexpecting arms, shot my hand out over his shoulder and took the Hunter by the chin.

“He,” I hissed through gritted teeth, “is mine.”

Human skin turned grey beneath my fingers as I forced my freezing power across it. Into it. Soon enough, I could tighten my grip, and my fingers dug into glass-like skin. I tugged, and the lower part of the Hunter’s face came away in my hand with little effort.

He stumbled back, eyes wide and bleeding red. Then he fell – dead.

“What were you saying about staying together?” I whispered into Duncan’s ear before drawing back, half a face still in my hand. Each tooth fell away from the mass of frozen flesh. They pattered across the street like hail, thudding mutely across the blood-soaked cobbles.

“My point proven,” Duncan replied. His torso stiffened beneath mine, which pressed into him. I revelled in the feeling, allowing myself only a moment of enjoyment during such an event.

Then we were apart. Without another word, we threw ourselves back into the fray of battle, this time not straying far from one another.

It was impossible to find Seraphine among the small but deadly crowd of Asps that had exposed themselves. The assassins were deep in the courtyard, focusing on the wall of Kingsmen that had taken the rear of the fight, whereas the Hunters were left to us to pick off one by one.

Lucari shrieked, blood dripping from her beak as she dove and sliced down upon the heads, faces and necks of the Hunters she could reach. I still knew little of the bond between a Tracker and their hawk, but Kayne had explained that the tips of the hawk’s claws had been painted with liquid iron and left to dry. Its purpose, not that he needed to elaborate, was to weaken the fey the hawk found and to allow time for the Tracker and their group of Hunters to catch up with them.

There was something poetic about Lucari turning her sharp metal claws back onto the very humans she had once served.

Aldrick had to be far away from Lockinge for my plan to work. But I almost wished he could see us now. Tearing through his misled followers. When he heard of this, I hoped he felt the blow. If I focused too much on the death left in my wake, the kindling of guilt would’ve hindered me. Instead, I focused on the fey I was doing this for.

It was not long until every Hunter, who didn’t have the sense to flee into the burning city, died. Breathless, I stepped over the corpse of a silver-clad Kingsman whose face had been shredded; by a knife or claws, I could not determine. Bile burned the back of my throat, but this was not the moment to show regret.

I had a group to lead. Then, in the dark of a room where no eyes were on me, I would grieve the lives lost – enemies or no, death was a hard thing to deal out.

“Is that all of them?” I muttered, unable to even comprehend the blood that flowed from the bodies into the grooves of the cobbled streets, where it ran like rivers between each stone.

“For now.” Seraphine’s cool voice set my nerves on edge as she peeled away from the wraith-like bodies that patrolled the dead, digging swords into hearts or necks just to make sure they had died. “There is over three times the number of Hunters we have just dealt with currently sleeping throughout the castle’s corridors. We need to be long gone before the drug wears out of their systems. Before sunrise.”

“And you are confident the dose is strong enough?” Althea asked, skin still sizzling from her expenditure of power.

“Princess,” Seraphine began, eyeing Althea with well-earned caution. Her dark hair was tucked into the hood of her cloak, allowing only her eyes and bright features to be exposed to the night. If one were to illustrate an assassin without ever seeing one in the flesh, they would have painted a detailed portrait of the woman standing before us.

“‘Althea’ will do just fine, assassin ,” Althea replied, lips curling.

“The dose is strong enough to put the giants of old tales into the deepest of sleep. So, yes.” Seraphine bowed her head slightly, not drawing her eyes away. “Althea.”

“Then we move on to the next step,” I added, desperate to keep going.

The assassin smirked. Her beady eyes traced me from face to foot and back again. “On your request, we move, my king.”

I was her current employer, not her king. No matter how I had tried to express my desire for the Asps to work alongside me, not for me, Seraphine still treated me like her boss.

There would be a time I would truly express how uncomfortable that made me feel, but now was not it.

“Enough time has been wasted,” I said, eyes drifting toward the gleaming gate that would lead us upward through the interconnecting courtyard and toward the entrance to the prison. “Kayne, send a signal to our ships. I need them aware of every failure and success until our very heartbeats are in sync.”

The whistle Kayne conjured, as his teeth bit down on his lower lip, was no different to a nod in agreement. Lucari dropped from the sky, landing on the leather band around his forearm. Kayne replied, “See that you all make it out alive.”

“Suddenly care for the fey’s wellbeing?” Althea questioned.

My skin prickled in reaction to Althea’s backhanded question.

“How about I please you with an answer when you return?” Kayne bowed, stiff and forced, but still a sign of respect.

Althea’s head tipped in some form of acceptance.

I couldn’t fathom that we had made it this far. I had hoped for success, but standing amid the dead with mere moments until we reached the prisoners, I could hardly contain myself. Part of me longed to release a cry of victory until every star could hear what I had done. My bones trembled with anxious energy which wouldn’t calm until I unlocked every iron collar and saw every captive fey on the Cedarfall ships.

As if reading my nervous energy, Duncan reached out a hand and gripped my shoulder. “We are almost there, Robin. You’ve done incredibly so far.”

We . Such a beautiful and frightening statement, but I was pleased to hear it. Either way, I needed them all. This would have been impossible without my unlikely band of allies. Each of whom looked at me expectedly amidst the sea of bodies.

I was a king, and it was time I faced the responsibilities that came with that title.

I didn’t wear the Icethorn crown but I felt the burden of its weight upon me. A constant reminder which ensured each foot stepped ahead of the other. Deep in my mind, there was another face. I had thought of her every day. Jesibel .

Duncan, Kayne, Althea and even Seraphine knew of the fey woman I’d met within the prison. Her face represented all those captive. It was always at the forefront of my mind, as this plan had materialised out of a single idea.

Free them. Save them.

“In and out,” I said to our group. My features hardened into a mask of determination. As I had before, I conjured an image of Jesibel in my mind, as if I included her behind the intention of my words. “Our people have been kept from their homes, their loved ones, for long enough. It’s time we set them free. As they should be.”

Althea bounced between one foot and the other. “It’s prison break time.”

“About fucking time as well,” I exhaled, brows heavy with worry but lips quirking into a grin. “Remember, stick to the plan. And take as many Hunters down as you can.”