The Winged Assassin

by Gwynn White

  “Stasha!” Averin’s voice boomed.

  “I’m here!” Body and scalp aching, she clambered to her quivering knees and then stood.

  Averin sprang across the rocks to her. He was soaked from head to toe, and his dark hair curled into his eyes. He scooped her into a crushing hug but only held her for a moment before pulling away to grab her shoulders. “How in all the darkness did you crack the ice like that?”

  Her stomach clenched. She tried for a casual shrug. “I used my fire magic to melt it. Sorry I got the distance wrong.”

  A frown blighted his features. “Yes, but you also cracked it open like an egg. What did you do?”

  “We don’t have time to quibble over details,” she snapped. “Are the others safe? How’s your magic? Ready to spirit?”

  His frown deepened, but he nodded. “We’re in Zephyr. Next stop, Ilyseryph. I’ll have no trouble spiriting everyone.”

  She gave a curt nod. “Then let’s find the others. I want to make sure everyone is—”

  “Everyone is safe. They never went into the water.” He tossed back his head. “They’re down the bank.”

  “Then let’s go.” She forced her frozen legs to hop from rock to rock.

  Averin hesitated, then followed. Somehow, she had to make him believe that her fire had done the impossible.

  The rumble of voices came from behind a huge bolder. She rounded it, and her heart soared to see Klaus perched on Trystaen’s back. Everyone else seemed no worse off for their high-speed escape. She guessed the fae had carried the humans.

  Averin stopped next to her and held out his arm. “Come. We’re getting out of here before the surviving Pyreack make their way out of the water.” His puzzled frown was still firmly in place.

  Everyone but her and Ivan obeyed. “But the Pyreack will be in Zephyr,” Ivan spluttered, looking around fearfully.

  “Not for long.” Averin’s face matched the rock they stood on. “My patrols will round them up before they get too far.” He frowned at her and Ivan. “We’re waiting.”

  Ivan latched onto Averin’s arm. Dreading the upcoming conversation, Stasha followed. The world spun.

  Next stop Zephyr. How was she going to hide her secrets now?

  Stasha’s stomach didn’t even whimper as Averin jumped them into a star-shaped hall built from facetted purple stone. Even a five-pointed purple roof vaulted high above her. Interspersed at regular intervals along the flagstones—also purple— silver staffs topped with hand-sized white crystals glowed. Their eerie light shone on five arched cloisters running the length of each star arm. Each archway had a sign above it in silver lettering. The fancy calligraphy was way beyond her limited reading skills.

  Her nose twitched. Despite the hall’s cold beauty, the heavy reek of bird hung in the air. It took her straight back to the Martka’s chicken coop. During the dark year after Tarik’s death when she’d stopped going to the fighting pit, she and Klaus had supplemented their meagre scraps with occasional chickens filched from the coop. She’d know the smell of bird anywhere.

  Klaus and Trystaen landed beside her. The big fae had carried Klaus to soften his fall. He set Klaus down gently next to her. Klaus grabbed her arm, shrieking with laughter. “We made it.” Head thrown back, he yelled, “Better luck next time, Darien.”

  “Don’t challenge him,” Ivan breathed. “He might hear you.”

  “No chance of that here,” Averin said, brushing a hand down his wet tunic. He may have been a prince, but anyone looking at his ragged, hand-me-down clothes, scuffed boots, and grimy face and hands would be excused for thinking him nothing more than a common laborer. One with a savagely beautiful face and endlessly blue eyes. “You’re in Ilyseryph, capital of Zephyr. The safest bastion against Pyreack encroachment.” His canines glittered. “Darien can dream about taking Zephyr, but it’ll never happen.” He shot her an enigmatic look she couldn’t decipher.

  She opened her mouth to challenge him, then snapped it closed. The last thing she wanted was to break his jubilant mood. It might prompt him to ask how she’d cracked the ice. She went for a light tone. “Pity Zephyr stinks.” Her lips twitched. If ever there was a sentence designed to provoke.... Her years growing up under the Martka hadn’t been wasted.

  “I’m considering taking umbrage at that, pit princess.” Averin wore his usual “I’m-wounded” expression, but his voice was playful. “Zephyr does not stink.”

  Darkness curse her. Had she lost her touch? She made a show of flaring her nostrils. “Oh, yes it does. Birds. Lots of them. Did you land us at the livestock market?”

  “The livestock market?” Averin looked around like he’d never seen the hall before. “That’s what you think this is? You do have some rather strange ideas, pit princess.” For all that he looked a mess, Averin was clearly relaxed and glad to be home. For once, he wasn’t hurrying them along.

  Pity the feeling wasn’t mutual. She’d have to think up some clever excuse to keep his inevitable questions at bay.

  Feral Fox scratched behind his ear. “Easy mistake to make,” he muttered. “Those birds sure do smell something powerful.”

  Averin shoved his hands lazily into his pockets. “I concede. There are birds near here.”

  “Ha.” She waved her arms for emphasis. “Told you so.”

  Averin shrugged. “I’m so used to the smell; I barely notice it anymore.” He shot her an I-dare-you-to-challenge-me look. “I could say they remind me of home, but you’ll take that out of context to mock me.”

  She grinned “And that would be a bad thing?”

  “It would force me to retaliate.” The stars in his blue eyes sparkled. “And who knows where that would end.”

  “Let me help you—with you on your ass.” She laughed, mostly to cover up the tension seeping through her. Her next stop was the palace, where Averin’s family waited for her. Once there, would Averin’s mood slip permanently into businesslike coolness, or would he still share cherished jokes with her?

  Averin bumped her shoulder, then, with all trace of humor gone, looked away at everyone else. “All in one piece? No vomit on the flagstones?”

  The flagstones gleamed so pristinely, she doubted anyone would dare vomit on them.

  “All good here,” Vlad muttered, looking a pale shade of green. It contrasted nicely with the purple hall. As usual, Trystaen, Eliezar, and Suren didn’t have a hair out of place.

  “It’s getting easier.” Ivan sighed, holding his stomach. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be a fan.”

  “Good. Eliezar, send a message to Azura headquarters about the Pyreack while Stasha and I dry off.” While Eliezar stepped away, Averin waved his hand briskly. A warm wind whipped around her and him. Dried in an instant, her clothes rustled like parchment against her skin. Averin smiled. “Let’s find one of your birds.” He headed for the star arm closest to them.

  “What about Eliezar?” Feral Fox asked, trotting behind Averin. “Is he joining us?”

  “He’ll catch up,” Averin said.

  Fae glided through the arched cloisters on both sides of them as they made their way to the star tip. Some were dressed in fine silks. Others, while not so opulently attired, exuded confidence that could only come from rank. Noses stuck up in the air, they all looked mighty haughty, just like they thought the sun shone straight out of their behinds. She frowned.

  All that superiority meant nothing as they looked through her and the rest of the team as if they didn’t exist.

  “You’ve glamoured us?” she whispered to Averin. Despite their earlier banter, talking out loud now seemed like a very bad idea.

  “Last thing we need is for word to reach the palace that we’ve arrived,” Averin whispered. “These fae won’t see or hear us, so no tongues will wag. Gossip spreads like dust on the wind around here.”

  So much for Averin being relaxed and happy to be home. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t yet quizzed her about the ice.

  Her chest tightened. “That bad, huh?” She peeke
d at her magic. A curl of fire embraced a tiny wave. Ostensibly asleep after their big display, they were poised to strike if needed. She wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a comfort.

  “What is this place?” Klaus whispered.

  “Its official name is the Infinity Crossing, but everyone just calls it the Crossing.” Averin spoke softly, pausing when fae passed them, even though he’d said no one would hear them. “You can hire a bird to take you anywhere in Zephyr.”

  “Transport for fae who can’t spirit?” she asked.

  “Exactly that. An eagle named Ildrim will transport us to the palace. He takes pride in his work, so expect a good trip.”

  “We can’t spirit in?”

  “My father is the only fae who can spirit into the palace. He has wards up to prevent anyone else from doing so.” Averin waved her through an archway with an unreadable silver sign. She guessed it marked the way to the palace. It opened onto a twisting flight of stairs made from the same violet stone.

  Averin’s fingers flicked. “No need for a glamour in here.” He took the stairs first.

  Still carrying Klaus, Trystaen went next. “A week or two with a good healer and that pesky leg will be as good as new.” He took the stairs three at a time.

  Two weeks. Hopefully, that would be enough time for her to learn to control her magic to fulfill her bargain with the tree. Thereafter? Who knew if she and Klaus would stay in Zephyr or if they’d go back to Boa with Suren. Or maybe they’d go somewhere else entirely.

  Coaxed by a murmur from Eliezar, she shuffled onto the steps. Above her, turn after turn of translucent stone loomed. This wasn’t going to be fun. She gritted her teeth and started to climb. She was halfway up when the stitch in her side jabbed. She massaged it with cold fingers and tried to keep her pace. At least her nose was exceptional, even if her body constantly let her down. Every breath she sucked in reeked of chickens. There must’ve been hundreds of birds waiting at the top for fae to hire. The novelty of it made her smile.

  Just when she was sure her jelly legs would collapse under her, they reached the top. Short of breath, she stepped out onto a purple stone platform. Easily the size of the dining hall at the Sturgeon’s Roe, it was dwarfed by an eagle so huge, she had to drop her head back to take it all in.

  It had to be Ildrim. He turned his enormous head in her direction and glared down at her with the fiercest blue eyes. Her insides quailed. She shoved her shoulders back and made a show of looking at him the way he watched her.

  From the tip of his head to the final curl of his talons, Ildrim was as white as a snowdrift. Those talons, as long as her forearms, clawed into deep gouges in the rock. To have caused that much damage, this monstrous creature, or others like it, must have spent a lot of time on this platform. Yet not one streak of smelly bird dropping flecked the floor. The wind that turned her fingers blue and made her nose drip had swept the flagstones clean. She could only assume that other unseen birds in the Crossing weren’t as privileged and were the ones she could smell.

  Ildrim’s head flicked away from her to Averin. His wickedly sharp, ivory beak opened to release a guttural sound that vibrated Stasha’s bones. His vast alabaster-colored wings lifted in greeting and blasted cold air across her face and filthy clothes. A crown of white feathers swept the flagstones.

  Eyes soft and dewy, Averin stood in front of Ildrim, both hands held out. “Ildrim,” he crooned. “Greatest of all birds and guardian of the Trysael palace, accept your prince’s gift.” He blew across his cupped palms. Silvery dust puffed up into the air. Ildrim breathed it in with a hiss.

  A white sleigh, bright with silver trim, appeared out of nothing. It drifted down slowly until it was perfectly lined up behind Ildrim. He lifted his tail to allow two white leather harnesses to encircle his tree-stump-sized legs. The straps slipped unaided through gleaming silver buckles. With no tugging or pulling, they tightened around each leg. The sleigh hovered a couple of feet off the platform. Ildrim and the sleigh glowed like the brightest stars in the firmament. She almost cooed at the sight, just stopping before the sound escaped.

  As guardian of the palace, Ildrim clearly had enormous status. With her own place in Averin’s world so uncertain, it wouldn’t serve her to come across as a sappy girl wowed by magic. It was enough that her insides quivered with excitement in anticipation of flying on a sleigh pulled by a magical bird.

  Hand on one hip, she looked expectantly at Averin. No doubt he’d climb on first and take one of the front seats. Lucky him. He’d have the best view.

  Averin opened a low door on the sleigh and waved her forward. “My lady, you first.”

  Despite needing to look like a kick-ass warrior, she skipped to Ildrim, then stopped as Averin’s words sunk in. “My lady? Really?” She chuckled.

  No smile broke Averin’s regal expression. She snarled at him, but her lips twitched, spoiling the effect. Ildrim hissed, a low, terrifying sound that froze her to the spot. His piercing blue eyes seared her, much like lightning would.

  She gulped. “No offence meant. Averin is—” A deeper hiss locked her tongue. So much for the ass-kicking warrior image she’d been going for. It didn’t help that everyone was watching her get her butt handed to her by a bird.

  “I suggest you take the offered seat,” Trystaen leaned in to whisper. “Not even you will win this standoff.” The waves of indignation pouring off Ildrim backed up Trystaen’s advice.

  Determined not to appear cowed by an overgrown bird, she stepped up into the sleigh and plunked down onto a plush white seat. Her scuffed red boots instantly flaked dried mud onto the pristine white carpet. She shrugged; the person who’d decided on white needed to get their decorating skills sorted out. Or maybe other fae didn’t shed dirt as they moved the way she did.

  Suren shifted away from Ildrim to the edge of the platform. “By all the gods!” he moaned. “I’ve lived to see the Trysael palace vortex. It’s incredible.” He gaped at a cloud of circling blue-and-silver butterflies. As pretty as they were, they didn’t explain his bulging eyes, or the croak in his voice. He looked and sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

  She craned out of the sleigh for a better view. A million butterflies—maybe even more—swirled in the sky. Through their glittering mass, she glimpsed the jagged, snow-clad Zephyr mountains in the distance. The butterflies billowed up, higher even than the tallest peak. She almost fell out of the sleigh as she leaned out to track their flight.

  Upward they went until finally stopping beneath a thick bank of clouds that stretched across the sky like a cloth-covered table. Given the stupendous amount of magic pulsing off the clouds, she guessed they hid the Trysael palace.

  Her own magic buzzed like a swarm of bees come to feast at honey pots on that table. It set her entire body vibrating. She tensed every muscle, but it didn’t stop the unpleasant grinding in her bones. Not even in the glow of the magical tree in the temple had her magic reacted so sharply to an outside challenge. Collectively, she had little doubt that her fire and water were stronger than the air magic spilling off that cloud. Just her white heat could cause a serious dent in that vortex, if not bring it down altogether. But without her white heat, her fire or water magic.…

  Truth surged a chill through her.

  If she should lose access to one of her powers, the odds of her walking away unscathed from a battle with King Seph of Zephyr were not great. She rocked back into her bench and had to fight to keep from gasping audibly.

  Her water magic spluttered derisively. She ignored it. Fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on her knee, she stared at the vortex. As incredible as it was, something about it didn’t make sense.

  Then it hit her. If King Seph was powerful enough to sustain a pretty power play in the sky, he could have turned all his magic on Angharad when his daughter had been captured. His magic combined with Averin’s and Boa’s would have been enough to rescue Lena and conquer the gold mine sixty decades before Stasha’s birth. With King Darien’s source of wealth to fuel hi
s armies gone, the war could have been history, albeit a painful one.

  So why hadn’t he?

  Was a pretty show of butterflies more important than his daughter’s life? If so, what value would he place on her life? After all, to most fae, she was nothing more than a weapon with a bit of sass and a sharp tongue.

  Almost unconsciously, she stopped tapping to pick at her leggings. Forget about just arguing with Averin’s mother. She best brace herself to have all her wants and desires stomped on in her so-called new home.

  Fire shot to her right hand and crackled beneath her skin while icy shafts pushed against the fingernails of her left hand. Both begged to be released. She stopped clawing at her leggings and clenched her fists to rein them in. Grumbling, they withdrew.

  Suren’s voice broke into her thoughts. “King Darien offered a reward of five hundred gold coins to the first Pyreack fae to reach the vortex. And a thousand to the fae who cuts the magic to the vortex and brings the palace down.”

  Ildrim hissed low in his throat.

  The threat was unmistakable—if Suren so much as thought about touching the palace, Ildrim would rip his head off his shoulders.

  Almost unnecessarily, Averin bared his canines. “I hope you don’t plan on collecting that bounty. Trust me; you won’t survive to spend it.” His whole body was taut. The panther ready to pounce.

  Suren’s head jerked around to Averin. “You still don’t know whose side I’m on?” He threw his hands up. “What more do you want from me?”

  “In Zephyr, I’m Prince Averin to you.” Back arrow straight, Averin waved at Klaus. “Trystaen, help him up.”

  How dare he? As much as she wanted Klaus safe in the sleigh, she couldn’t let Averin speak to Suren like that. “Hold on!” She jerked a grimy finger at Averin. “His family died to protect you. And you still haven’t even thanked him. Not really.”

  Suren muttered something under his breath. Probably telling her to shut up. She clenched her jaw.

  Averin glared at her like she was the one in the wrong. “The Trysael palace vortex is as sacred to Zephyr fae as the temple is to Boa. No one disrespects it.”