Chapter 38

Thirty-Eight

Rhoswyn

I ’m still mulling things over as we trek through the snow the next day. Lost in thoughts of Cedwyn and Hawkith and the battle that awaits us after this final stage in my pilgrimage.

It all seemed so abstract before, and now it looms closer by the day. What do I even do in a battle? Sure, I’ve been helping my Guard take back territory along the coast, but those are still small skirmishes compared to what awaits us in Elfhame.

“You’re quiet.” Drystan observes. “Are you… angry about the engagement necklace?”

His hesitant tone draws me out of my funk, and I chuckle. “I’m not angry. Just surprised, really. You seem to hate everything about your court, but you kept that tradition, and you did it again with the lantern ritual.”

“I don’t hate Winter,” Drystan replies evenly. “I hate Cedwyn’s court and my parents’ constant scheming. The land is in my blood. The people outside of Calimnel have always respected me and my position as the Lord of the Hunt.”

“The fire thing…” I trail off.

“Is a tradition passed down from the founding of the court by Mab’s son. He and his oldest friend had the same gift.”

“Fire?” I murmur.

“Hmm.”

“How does that work?” I ask, confused. “What about ice? And I thought gifts weren’t hereditary.”

“They normally aren’t,” Drystan replies unhelpfully. “There are some, like Cressida and Gryffin, who are fortunate enough to share close relatives, but it’s purely coincidence.”

“So how…?”

No answer. Is that because he doesn’t know, or because he won’t tell me?

“The first Lord of the Wild Hunt was among the first fae Danu created, and the first dullahan.”

“He was,” Mab confirms, popping into existence beside me. “The Goddess made him shortly after my Guard’s creation.”

Drystan offers her an exasperated look, and she meets it levelly. After a few seconds of this awkward standoff, he huffs and turns back to me.

“His line was charged with safely ferrying the souls of the dead to the Otherworld every year. To protect them while they did this sacred task, Danu gifted them with her own cleansing fire. Every direct descendant since then has been able to call on flames or heat to some degree, even if they don’t inherit a dullahan’s abilities… It made the Iceblyds easy to track down during the purge.”

How horrible. Cedwyn just killed everyone with fire magic? I wipe the sympathy from my face when I notice his glower.

“That explains your gift, but not the Froshtyns’.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “Cedwyn’s ancestor—Mab’s eldest son—was given the Winter Court by the Goddess after the War of Seasons.” He pauses, directing Blizzard left as we reach a cairn and checking to make sure the others follow before continuing. “While some under fae were well-equipped for the terrain, the majority weren’t, so his people struggled horribly during the Court’s early days. The Temple stepped in with a lot of aid, and the king and the Lord of the Wild Hunt would spend the year of downtime between hunts travelling between settlements, using their magic to help warm the winter fae by lighting huge communal hearths.”

“There were less of us then,” Mab adds. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“The priests beseeched the Goddess for an answer, and she gave them one. The king’s flames turned to ice, and from then on, every child born of the king’s direct bloodline has had the same power.”

It still doesn’t make sense to me. “Why was ice more helpful than fire?”

“You’ll understand when we reach Calimnel,” Drystan mutters.

“Cedwyn’s palace is nothing like the original homes my son’s people built,” Mab explains. “There was a time when they lived in little more than caves carved out of glaciers and in the mountainside. Ice magic helped create walls to protect them from beasts and the elements.”

Oh, I see. I wonder idly what ritual Cedwyn must have to perform when visiting the villages. If Drystan lights a lantern, does the winter king build a wall?

“Oooh! Ice statue!” Lore calls from behind us, and Mab disappears into the wind. “First one to the top gets to— mmpfh !”

Whatever he might’ve said is cut off as a snowball flies out of nowhere to smack him in the face.

“Oops, my hand slipped.” Caed’s dry tone is completely unrepentant.

Lore’s shock wears off swiftly, replaced with a huge, lethal grin that does funny things to my insides. “Oh, you’re on, Fomorian!”

And then… he disappears.

“Let’s bless the shrine before the redcap calls down an avalanche.” Jaro looks around the slopes of the mountain nervously as he approaches and offers his hand to help me down.

This is a shrine? I examine the strange ice sculpture set into the shelter of a rocky outcropping with interest. It’s a beautifully detailed statue of a Barghest, with pups suckling at her underside and a snarl curling her lips as she stares down the forest beyond. New life and the promise of death in equal measure.

I reach up, tracing the line of one fang as my Guard stands around me protectively.

It lacks the rope and ribbons of the shrines we’ve seen so far; in fact, the few offerings beneath it are a handful of bone carvings and even tiny stone cairns.

I’ve just murmured the blessing when a telltale cackle echoes from above. Turning quickly, my gut clenching with anticipation of whatever Lore is up to now, I take a step back as I try to locate him, almost entirely missing the transformation of the statue from ice into beautiful, marbled amethyst.

Before I can discover the source of the laughter, a snowball the size of a small pony lands on Caed’s head from above. Then another and another.

Jaro’s shield comes around me as more of them rain down from the sky, smashing down like boulders onto the heads of the rest of my Guard. Drystan blasts his with fire, melting the first, but missing the second that Lore launches at him from behind. Gryffin dives on Prae in an attempt to save her, but in the process, he ends up launching them into a snowdrift, much to her fury. Bree raises a single wing in defence, and unwittingly diverts his projectile… straight into Drystan’s furious face.

“LORCAN!” Drystan roars.

He’s entirely engulfed in flame, his body radiating so much heat that I can discern it even through the thick bubble of Jaro’s shield and my own furs. The snow around him has melted entirely, exposing a perfectly clear circle of rock.

“Whoops.” Lore blinks into the bubble beside me, putting my body between him and the angry dullahan. “Hey, pet, how about you calm down the raging fire demon, and I’ll make it up to you with orgasms?”

Drystan is advancing upon us like a living, breathing, snarling volcano. I duck my head into my hands, trying my hardest to smother a chuckle, but of course it escapes, anyway.

Soon, I’m giggling so hard I can barely breathe. Drystan’s fire flickers, then dies, leaving a steaming, glowering fae in its place.

A muffled cry for help echoes from beneath the snow pile on his right, but Drystan simply scoffs, leaving Caed to dig his own way free of his frozen tomb.

The Lord of the Wild Hunt heads for me instead, hand extended.

“Come on. We need to continue if we’re to make it to the next village before nightfall.”

He stares down Jaro’s shield until the wolf shifter lets it dissipate, then drags me away from the redcap with a stony glare.

“I’ll have to up my game,” Lore mutters behind us as I’m lifted back into the saddle. “Not even one death threat. I’m losing my touch.”

“Leave us out of it,” Gryffin grumbles, only to be hit in the back of the head by another snowball—this time courtesy of Prae.

“The trail gets steeper from here,” Drystan says, ignoring him and the shivering blue limbs currently trying to dig their way free of the heaps of snow. “We’ll continue through the hills until we reach the valley of Winter’s Fork. There’s a town there where we can buy the correct gear for the ascent up the mountain.”

“I thought we already have those.” I run my hand over the fur at my wrists, then glance guiltily at Caed again.

He looks miserable, and my chest pangs in sympathy.

Drystan shakes his head, drawing my attention back to him. “No. There are additional charms and enchantments we’ll need to complete the more dangerous parts of the route. The Temple there provides them to travellers for a small donation, on the condition that they’re returned to any other temple in the foothills once used.”

That seems awfully charitable for the fae, but before I can say as much, Jaro rides up beside us.

“Calimnel quietly subsidises the cost. It’s hard to make money from visitors if no one can reach your ice city without falling off a cliff or freezing to death.”

The mention of freezing to death draws my attention back to Caed again, and I straighten my spine as I come to a decision.

My cloak is probably too small for him, but it’s better than nothing. I undo the clasp before Drystan can stop me and hand the fabric bundle to Titania, summoning her and making her solid with a thought.

“Give this to him.”

“Rhoswyn.” Oh, I can practically hear him grinding his teeth together behind me. “The Fomorian?—”

“Gave me a cloak when I was naked, even when we were enemies,” I counter, before he can interrupt. “I’m just returning the favour.”

“Don’t,” Caed says, brushing snow from his shoulders. “It wasn’t some noble gesture. It was just that I didn’t want anyone else seeing you like that. At the time, I put it down to some stupid territorial fae bullshit.”

Something low in my gut trembles and withers, sadness clogging my throat as I look away.

“Be that as it may.” I’m proud of how steady my voice is. “I still don’t want you to be cold.”

Titania holds out the cloak, but Caed doesn’t take it. The standoff lasts for several awkward seconds before Jaro growls under his breath and reaches into a saddlebag.

“Here.” He slams a bundle of furs into Caed’s chest. “I got these for you in Illidwen. I was waiting for you to drop the proud act and ask for them.”

Caed blinks. “Waiting for me to ask?”

Jaro shrugs. “I planned on bargaining for you to shut up for a few hours in exchange, but you seem to have learned when to shut your mouth since you broke out of that camp.”

It’s true. Aside from a few rare moments, Caed has been unusually quiet since then. I put it down to the fact that Gryffin is constantly talking to Prae, taking his main source of conversation away from him, but even his sarcastic quips seem to have dried up.

Trying to ask him if he’s okay with my eyes doesn’t work, because he won’t look at me as Titania returns my cloak and offers me a soft smile.

“Males,” she mouths, as if the rest of the Guard allowing Caed to freeze is just some strange form of masculine banter.

Drystan takes it from her and wraps me in it so tightly that I’m pretty sure he’s at risk of cutting off my air supply.

“When we reach the next village, your ass is going to be so red,” he mutters under his breath. “I told you how important it was to keep your furs on in this Court. Caed can’t die, and if his dick gets frostbite, all the better.”

“I think I’d rather ride with Bree,” I mutter under my breath, sighing as the heat he throws off becomes scorching.

His arms come around me, spurring Blizzard forward before anyone can follow through on my request.

“Don’t take your cloak off for anyone ever again.”

“Why, I think I see a freezing squirrel over there.” I coat my voice with mock horror. “Let me go and offer it my gloves.”

Lore cackles, but the sound cuts off suddenly, turning to a curse. I can’t see behind me, but I know something on his person has probably caught fire.

“You’re even more short-tempered than usual,” I remark, keeping my voice even and quiet enough to be private. “Is it because we’re getting closer to Calimnel?”

Drystan’s hands tighten on the reins, the leather of his gloves crinkling. “That’s a ridiculous question.”

And the fact that he dodged it tells me I’m right.

“Too bad.” I shrug, trying for an unaffected air that I’m not sure I fully succeed with. “Because I would sympathise with that, if it were the case.”

“Sympathy is a weakness they’ll exploit.”

“Perhaps,” I admit. “But I’d take that chance if there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

He’s silent, a long warm breath rushing over the back of my neck as he thinks. “Do as I say. That will make me perfectly content.”

I pause, considering his words, trying to find the logic under the cold ruthlessness he’s coloured it with.

He once told me that being in control in the bedroom allowed him to relax. Does that apply here, too? Is he making rules to give himself the illusion that he has power over our situation?

“If we didn’t have to go,” I whisper. “I wouldn’t ask it of you.”

His body softens around me. There’s a pause, like he’s choosing his words carefully, and then a sigh of defeat. “I know, huntress. But we do, and while I may dislike the citadel, I value our realm’s safety, and yours, above a little discomfort.”

That doesn’t make it better, but I lean back and press a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, anyway. I’m rewarded with only a fractional stiffening of his body this time, before he kisses my temple in return.

“I’m still spanking your ass for that stunt,” he mutters, then his voice drops, becoming husky with desire. “And you’re going to love it.”