Frostbound Throne: Court of Sin Book Three: Song of Heaven and Ice

by Sage, May

  The hows of getting into the Court of Crystal weren't clear, but once they were inside, Devi's mission was to lure, or drag, or even seduce Rook into heading to the throne room. Vale would do the same with his other brother, Aurelius. There also was a child of Aurelius to think about. Devi hated that a newborn had to be part of the war effort, even as she knew there was no other choice. Without all heirs present, the throne wouldn't activate—Gaer, her father's best scientist, had said as much.

  Once all four males were in the throne room, they'd start the coronation ceremony, at long last forcing the throne to pick a new overking.

  And hope against all hope that its choice wasn't Rook.

  Devi knew Vale wanted his brother to be chosen. If Aurelius was overking, he could beg for mercy, then return to his land, and they'd have harmony for another thousand years.

  Assuming Rook didn't kill Aurelius and start this mess all over again.

  Devi didn't think the same way. Vale needed to take the crown. Not because she wanted him to be overking. Far from it. Her mate, becoming lord of a foreign land he didn't know or care for, ruling over his enemies because a divine device said so? It was a recipe for disaster.

  It needed to happen regardless. They wouldn't be safe otherwise. She knew Rook too well to think differently.

  "Blood," she whispered. "You're linked to Rook by blood. It might just be your father’s; you're still brothers, however different you are otherwise. That means we could find him through your blood. Same for Aurelius, and even the child. We'd need someone specialized in tracking spells with us."

  "Smart. So, a tracker—plus someone who can operate the throne to start the selection, and the two of us."

  A group of four was ideal. Small enough to fail to garner attention. Four friends touring the world was a common occurrence.

  Devi bit her lip. Before their trip in the Court of Starlight, she would have said that was all they needed. The two of them, and two specific individuals to carry out the tasks. Now, her priorities had shifted. The mission still mattered. Nothing mattered more. But as well as doing what they could for the Isle, she wanted to survive. She wanted both of them to come out of this upheaval in one piece.

  "And a healer." Devi had learned the basics. She could take care of flesh wounds and some minor ailments, but someone actually versed in the art of healing would have been invaluable in the first leg of their journey. She'd been uncomfortable riding for days on end. Both she and Vale had grown weak at one point or another. Good specialist healers could brew potions out of herbs—natural draughts that could affect even their kind.

  Scions such as she and Vale could not be addled by fae curses, spells, or hexes, although natural ingredients worked well enough. She wasn't versed in the art of potions, and there was no time for her to learn now.

  Vale smiled at her. "A healer," he acquiesced. "Now come here. We won't have a chance to rest safely for some time."

  He tugged on her hand. The moment their skin touched, her anxiety dissolved in a cloud of mist, giving way to something very different.

  She grinned back at him. "Rest?" she echoed, palm on his chest. She looked into his violet eyes. "Is that what we should do now, old man?"

  Devi knew they should sleep. Their travels had taught her just how valuable a good night of sleep in a bed was. But right now, nothing felt quite as important as taking her mate's mouth. So, she did just that.

  Vale wrapped his arm around her waist and practically flew them to their bedroom, moving so fast he was a blur. He pinned her on the soft feather mattress and peeled his shirt off his delectable chest.

  "Fine. We'll rest when we're dead."

  Eight

  Earth of Sea

  It had been some time since Kallan had boarded a ship. He didn't enjoy it, albeit his dislike of sailing was nothing compared to that of the fae who wielded earth magic. To them, the sea wasn't just uncomfortable—it was also a punishment.

  At all times on firm ground, they could feel their connection to the earth, even in great halls of marble—they only had to reach down to get to the roots of their power. On the sea, there was another element blocking their path, muddling their access. Fire and water mages might be used to it, but there was nothing more unnatural to an earth mage.

  Or so he was told. Kallan had no magics to speak of. Unlike the little girl with her head between her knees, reeling each time a wave hit the vessel.

  He laughed. That kid was tough. Krea, one of the few orphans of Carvenstone. Orphans were everyone's kids, everyone's responsibility. Seeing her so vulnerable wasn't usual.

  He was still angry when he remembered seeing her alone at the back of the procession heading out of the tunnels. He got that she wasn't the kind of kid to ask for help—she'd probably hidden the fact that she needed anyone. Someone should have noticed her all the same.

  She was here, safe among the survivors. That was all that mattered.

  All of this group had made it out of the caves in one piece. Kallan hadn't received word from the procession heading to Fairfolds, or the one going to the mountains, yet he was hopeful. He'd remained in the caves until all civilians had been evacuated, and he'd helped seal their path with rocks.

  Kal wasn't deluded. He knew that would only hinder a thing like the one who'd come after them for moments.

  Moments were all they'd needed to protect their people.

  Kal didn't think he'd ever forget this day. He'd wanted to remain with the guards who'd volunteered to stay at the doors. He'd wanted to remain with Kira.

  All had told him to go, for the sake of their people.

  Their screams would be forever branded in his mind, haunting his every nightmare.

  It should have been him. He should have died with them.

  He hadn't, because there was no other lord of Carvenstone. No one else their people would turn to. No one who could fight for them.

  There were warriors among them, like Nyx and the dragons. They could defend them, and would do so to their last breath.

  But none were thinkers. None were leaders.

  It wasn't Kal's place to lead anyone. Oh, he knew how. He'd shadowed Valerius for long enough to know what it took. Kallan only had to think for one instant, and he could practically hear Vale speaking next to him. Telling him what to do next.

  He'd separated their people for a reason: in the event one of their three groups was trailed, the two others would survive. And if all three groups made it to their destinations, they would be surrounding their enemy on all fronts. They'd observe Carvenstone from the sea, plains, and forests, and when the time was right, they'd take back their lands.

  One person couldn't hold Carvenstone forever, mighty as he might have seemed to be. Eventually, the monster would leave.

  Kal walked down to the cabin in the belly of the ship. They were in The White Wings, Vale's vessel. While their lord had only used it once, to inaugurate it right after the ship had been built, Kallan had ensured that the prince's cabin remained well stocked.

  He went to the study and found a small red chest next to the desk and a captain's chair stuck to the polished wooden floor.

  Kal opened it and smiled. It was stocked with herbs, as he'd instructed. He opened identical square pots, checking their contents. A blackfire stone, several healing charms, roots of midnight lilies and crushed bluclydes. He'd almost given up when he found what he was looking for: plain old ginger.

  Kallan headed to the kitchens next and troubled the self-assigned cook for a pot and some fresh water.

  The male in charge, Tulor, didn't appreciate the intrusion—Kallan caught several nasty looks as he infused some water.

  "I'm not cooking my own food, Tul. Any idiot would die for your seabroth." The cook's expression morphed into a much friendlier one after Kal had appeased him.

  "What are you up to, then, my lord?"

  Kal borrowed a ladle and scooped the drink into a ceramic mug.

  "Making a sweet ginger infusion. My mother used to take
it when she felt sick."

  The cook's eyes widened, and Kallan could guess why. High fae females seldom were sick.

  "She was common fae," he clarified. "Do you mind if I borrow the ladle?"

  Tulor snorted. "You're in charge."

  Kallan paused.

  His entire life, he'd envied Valerius. He hadn't resented his friend for his birthright, despite wondering what it would be like. To have his orders carried out without question. Not having to answer to anyone in the land—just a distant queen who sent no directives.

  Now, he had his answer. It was terrifying. Every instant, he wondered if his decisions were right. If his people fell, it would be because of his ineptitude.

  The fact that seasoned warriors laid down their lives so that he made it, in order to ensure that the folks of Carvenstone had one lord left, made it exponentially worse.

  The responsibility for so many lives was a burden like no other.

  But he'd shoulder it. He'd shoulder it, and no complaint would cross his lips. For the fallen.

  Kal wondered about Kira. The monster had clearly stated that he wanted to keep her alive as a hostage, so there was hope she'd made it.

  He closed his eyes. The girl was tough. If anyone could survive the black-winged demon, it was she.

  "Thank you, Tulor. For your support."

  "We're behind you, you know. All of us. Wherever you lead. If you say we must return home and fight the invaders, we will."

  Kal shook his head. He hadn't gotten them out of Carvenstone to send them to their death the next day.

  "We'll see that our people are safe first. Then, there's only one war that matters."

  The monster who'd taken their home could only have been sent from Corantius. Alone, the soldiers Kallan had wouldn't make a difference, but they could join Vale, where their actions might tip the scale.

  It was time for Carvenstone to make a stand.

  He emerged from below stairs and headed right to Krea. Kal hated seeing the girl so defeated.

  "Here, drink this."

  She lifted her pale head from between her knees. Her eyes were unfocused.

  Kal laughed. "You're green."

  "Being on the sea is unnatural," she grumbled, reaching out for the mug and sipping it without question. Krea moaned appreciatively. "It's nice. Thank you."

  "It might help with the sickness. Maybe."

  He'd been a child of five when his parents had been killed in an orc raid, so his memory of that time wasn't clear. He might have messed up the amount of ginger or honey—maybe there had been other ingredients. Still, it did smell nice.

  "Cheer up, Krea. You’ll be climbing the mast in no time."

  She snorted as he walked away to share the drink with the rest of the kids on the ship. By the time he'd made the rounds, Krea looked decidedly less indisposed, standing on her two feet.

  Kal returned to the kitchen to infuse another pot.

  One thousand soldiers had died today. Thanks to their sacrifice, five hundred thousand Carvenstone folks had been given a chance. Kallan's group was composed of a third of them, sailing aboard a hundred ships.

  Ninety percent of them were earth folks.

  He was going to need a bigger pot.

  Nine

  Insanity

  Kira was starting to regret her recent life choices.

  She should have returned home as soon as she'd dropped Kallan off to Carvenstone, as planned. Then she wouldn't have been dragged into this mess.

  To say that the monster was pissed about her burning his wings was an understatement. He'd held his punches earlier; as soon as he emerged out of the lake, he used his immaterial hold to crush her ribs one by one, and made her head burn, her skin freeze.

  She'd believed that she was going to die, that it was the end for her. After an interminable moment she couldn't even begin to measure or quantify, he let go, freezing her body in place again, before following Kallan through the waterfall.

  Kira heard him punch and kick his way through spells that couldn't, shouldn't have been destroyed by brute force. He did it all the same.

  Then there were screams. Screams of agony and torment as he tortured his way through the guards of the peaceful community. He tore down a utopia. Hearing without seeing it was worse. Kira tried to gather her strength again, break out of the magical binding, but she was spent.

  The monster walked back to her, blood marring his features and clothing.

  "Well, now that that's over with, we can go."

  She couldn't believe her ears. Just like that? He'd killed hundreds of thousands, just like that?

  "You're a demon."

  He smiled as though she'd paid him a compliment. "And here I thought you were going to applaud my restraint. Aren't you glad I didn't pursue the little children, or your pretty lord?"

  Kira blinked. Then she realized she could blink now. He'd released her.

  She knew better to think that she was free. One move, and he'd freeze her again. Or worse.

  "What I heard suggests otherwise."

  "What cause could I possibly have to lie to you?"

  A fair point, even if Kira felt like he was the type of male who lied simply because he could.

  "True, I disposed of the soldiers. The civilians, I spared. I don't care one way or another what becomes of them. It is the land I need. I claimed it, they took it back, I'm claiming it again. Next time they push me, I may not be so kind."

  Finally, the penny dropped. It was him. He'd sent the scion army. Everything that had happened since the destruction of Asra was his fault.

  Kira wanted to lash out, as was her way.

  At her best, she wouldn't have won against him. And she was as far from her best as she'd ever been. So instead of calling to her fire, she asked, "Why? Why are you doing this? Taking Carvenstone, attacking the unseelie realm."

  "A complicated question. One I don't have time to discuss now. This can go two ways. Am I carrying you home and finding you a nice room to stay in, or shall I tie you by the ankles and drag you to a dungeon? Your call."

  Her fists tightened at her sides. Everything about him infuriated her. He wanted her to submit voluntarily. That was his demand, his meaning barely hidden beneath pretty words. She was either going to be a good little prisoner who heeled well, and get thrown a bone when her master was pleased with her, or she could retain her self-respect.

  The man underestimated her. She was a lady of Elvendale, a princess of the Graywoods, not some bitch.

  "Drag me then."

  The monster grinned. She regretted her impulse almost immediately. He liked this. He liked the challenge. "Oh, you're definitely related."

  He was speaking about Devi again. How did he know her sister?

  "Sister," he echoed, plucking the information out of her brain, no doubt.

  Kira was too tired to maintain efficient mental shields.

  "Devi's my twin. What's it to you?"

  The monster grinned. "Why, she's my future bride."

  Kira grimaced. Great. She was stuck with a monster, and he was clearly deluded. Just what she needed. "Sorry to break it to you, we Star Rivers like our males sane." She looked at him, taking him in from head to toe. "And attractive."

  He actually was handsome, but hell if she admitted that out loud.

  Kira expected a blow, or another mental attack, when he strode to her and lifted his hand. Instead, she immediately fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  When she woke up inside a red and gold room, tucked into a bed with soft pillows and a velvety comforter, she realized with horror that the monster always got what he wanted. One way or another.

  Ten

  Great Houses

  Devin could practically feel Jiya's glare as he climbed up the dyrmount assigned to him. She hadn't been awarded one, unsurprisingly—there were only a few, and Shea had ensured they went to her general, her consort, her best healer. And him, of course. He may not have many skills compared to her entourage, but he was seelie
king, and they were entering his realm.

  Devin sighed in relief as he got off his boots. "Good boy, that's it. Turn around, Wysted."

  The horse didn't need much direction, responding to the slightest tug along his reins. He trotted to the river where Jiya was still sitting, waiting for the company to resume their walk.

  "Are you going to gloat?" She glared at him, arms crossed over her front.

  Devin grinned, leaning forward and extending a hand wordlessly.

  She looked up from his palm to his face. "Really?"

  "You saved my life," he reminded her. "I can save your feet from blisters for a few days."

  A second rider would have slowed him down in most circumstances, except the bulk of their company was on foot, so they weren't likely to ride fast. Besides, the fae was light enough to not be a burden for his beast.

  She didn't make him repeat his offer, taking his hand and hopping up behind his back.

  The east border of the Graywoods was two days’ ride away from Elderdale on horseback—a two-week walk with everyone, young and old.

  Two weeks and he'd be back home. On his throne.

  And he had questions.

  The late winter air was kind under the shed of the woods, but as soon as they left the borders of the elven realm, they returned to the sweltering heat of the South.

  “Is your country always so hot?” Jiya asked as she sipped from her water skin.

  “Seasons mean little here. It’s either hot and wet, hot and dry, or hot and…hotter?”

  The protector-in-training grunted. “And you aren’t bothered?”

  “The men of the South are used to the South.” Devin tilted his head, admitting, “In this case, it may have something to do with elemental magic. Take your friend, Rivers. I’d wager she is rarely cold.”

  “Devi?” Jiya snorted. “Yeah, that female could literally bathe in a frozen lake’s pool.”