by Ana Calin
All Cerys has is me, I am the only one who can save her life. I intercept her in the air, her shoulder slamming into my palm as I press in the opposite direction, hauling her forcefully to the side. She lands on a heap of snow, sinking in it. Pushing her to the side moved me back into the path of Lysander’s sword, and the blade grazes my arm, slicing the leather off of it.
My skin remains intact, but it was close. With Cerys out of the way I can focus on Lysander again but the rage seems to have left him, confusion replacing it. He looks at the pile of snow where Cerys had landed, watching her reemerge with messy hair, a glowing face, and the honey eyes of an angel.
My eyes lock on her as well. She is an angel. And she just risked her life to save mine, which makes the epiphany inevitable—There is no way this woman betrayed me. There must be a secret behind that story, a foul secret.
“Cerys, what in the high realms is happening here,” Lysander demands, watching the black cat Nazarean gracefully climb the mound of snow, pressing his nose lovingly to Cerys’ cheek.
“King Lysander, please,” she says, working her way out of there. “This isn’t what it looks like. It’s not an attack on you, much less on your people. We’re just here to talk.”
Lysander’s eyes wander from her to me with a frown as he holds the sword still firmly in his hand.
“You needed to infiltrate my castle like thieves in order to talk? You needed to creep in through the catacombs, injuring my guards, starting a fire that spreads through my castle like Hell flames?” Suspicion and anger grow in his voice with every word.
“We didn’t have time to go the official route with messengers and preparations,” I say. “Hell portals open up everywhere around the Fire Realm as we speak, and I need your help. How would you have reacted if I’d simply sent this message?”
Lysander stares at me like I’ve lost my mind for a second, then his mouth slowly curls up, and he bursts into laughter.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I manage through my teeth.
“King Lysander, please,” Cerys says, walking closer carefully, as if she were talking to a psychologically unstable person. And by the way Lysander inspects us, it looks like he could react either way. “Just hear us out. Let us go somewhere where we can talk.”
“You know I have respect and even affection for you, Cerys,” he says with warmth in his voice that is completely unspecific to creatures of the cold. “But there have been attempts on my part in the past to solve things diplomatically with the King of Flames, and they didn’t exactly go well.” He locks eyes with me, making a point. Just as I expected, considering the history between us, this was the only way to get to him.
“Xerxes needs your help in order to beat back the forces of Hell,” Cerys insists. “They attacked, and his realm is completely overwhelmed. Samael is leading the troops.”
“Xerxes,” he repeats, as if examining some hidden truth behind the tone of her voice. “The way you speak his name. I think you may be experiencing a little Stockholm Syndrome.”
Does that mean he heard love in the way she said my name?
“And why are the forces of Hell attacking you?” He addresses me, barely keeping his hostility in check. “What have you done to upset Samael like that? Because we all know that Hell doesn’t simply attack, they need a damned good reason to even consider doing it, which Samael must have had.”
“I... It was all my fault.” Cerys strokes Nazarean nervously, the way she always does when she’s under pressure. “I drained the dark power from the walking dead at the Cemetery of Doom, and because I needed an outlet for that power, I channeled it into Xerxes.”
“I see. So Xerxes now has the power of those creatures as well. How do you use it?” He addresses me again.
“I don’t know,” I reply, glaring at him with as much as much hostility as he does. “I haven’t tried it out yet.”
“But you will.”
I don’t answer, but I do consider it. Maybe if I explore the powers lurking deep inside me, I will have a better chance against Samael.
“And what were you doing at the Cemetery of Doom,” he demands from Cerys.
Cerys tries to smile, but her lips only tremble uncomfortably. “Come on. You must have heard.”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I have. Let me tell you the version that I have heard about how things went down. Xerxes Blazeborn kidnapped you from the hideout where your brother and I were keeping you safe, from him, and forced you to help him reconstruct his fire core so he could regroup and try to take over the worlds again.”
“That’s not my intention anymore,” I cut in. “I know that the conflict between us is old, and our experiences with each other—”
“Exactly,” Lysander cuts in. “The conflict between us is much too old and much too complex to be discussed now in a few minutes, after you broke into my castle, set fire to it, and took down almost half of my guards.”
“So let us discuss it somewhere else.” I keep my tone even.
“Sure, because you’re so trustworthy. You think I’m so stupid to give you the benefit of diplomacy again? Remember what happened the last time I did that? On the ship in the Flipside, where you invited me for a diplomatic talk?” His mouth curls bitterly. “You activated the belt of volcanoes on the seabed and tried to steal Arielle away from me. You tricked me once, you sure as hell will try to do it again.” He walks closer as he speaks, until our eyes blaze into each other, and I can feel his icy breath on my face. “I was wrong to trust you then, Xerxes, and I sure as fuck won’t be making the same mistake again.”
He snaps his fingers, and his guards start to come to. They rise slowly from the floor, groaning and taking their hands to their heads, but when they notice their king they immediately square their shoulders and kick their heels, ready to heed his command. I can feel the lower levels of the dungeons vibrate as the guards’ energy flows back into them, guided by Lysander.
“Escort the King of Flames to the highest tower,” he commands the men standing closest, who already start circling me. “You must forgive me, Xerxes,” he mocks. “I would gladly offer you the deepest, darkest, and filthiest cell, the grimiest one in the underground, but that would put you too deep into the Earth crust. Too close to sources of fire. So the highest chamber in the highest spire will have to do. Far away from magma beds and secret chambers of ember. But rest assured, you will be given very special treatment.”
That’s a covert threat that both Cerys and I understand. She jumps between Lysander and me as the guards yank my arms behind my back, and snap icy handcuffs on my wrists.
“Please, don’t. He’s not the same man he was back then.”
“He is manipulating you, Cerys,” Lysander cuts her off. “Tell me the truth—did you come here of your own accord, to talk to me, or did he force you to come?”
“The situation is much more complicated than that. Just give us the chance to explain, I guarantee that he’s got no hidden agenda.”
“I know you truly believe that, Cerys. But I don’t.”
“Then let me go with him,” she shrieks. “I won’t leave him alone.”
“No, Cerys,” I tell her. All eyes wander over to me. “You do it. You explain everything to him, in detail. Tell him why we came here, why we went about it the way we did. It’s the reason why you came along in the first place, isn’t it? But then again. You also have the chance to go that other way now.” I smile, making sure that my expression shows I don’t believe in her betrayal anymore. I’m thinking about provoking Lysander’s people, and letting them beat me up real bad up in the tower, allowing them to make me bleed. I deserve pain for ever thinking what I did about Cerys, for putting her through hell like that. As her fated mate, I shouldn’t have had a single doubt about her innocence.
The guards take me away, forcing me to break eye contact with Cerys, who stares dumbfounded after what I said. Now my fate is in her hands. The pain of having hurt her the way I did, even of having taken her like a wanton
in that lumber-room tears my heart apart. Now my fate and that of my realm is in her hands.
Both she and I expected that Lysander wouldn’t even want to hear my proposal. He and I go way back, and he’s right. I’ve done too much harm to deserve even a sliver of his trust. I will accept my fate no matter what it throws my way.
Cerys
I KEEP BITING MY NAILS in a small chamber behind the Throne Hall, waiting for Lysander to return. He’s conferring with his courts about what happened, and he’s sent for his wife, Arielle the Sea Queen, as well.
I pace the chamber like a lion in a cage, thinking of ways of getting him to talk to Xerxes. But how do I get Lysander to give him a chance?
Of course, Lysander already knew about the attack of Samael and the forces of Hell against the Winter Realm. He was throwing a freaking feast specifically in honor of this. He was celebrating it. The way Sandros presented the facts to the others when Xerxes and I first snuck in, disguised as guards from the catacombs, it was clear they would rather back up Samael than Xerxes.
Maybe I can appeal to Sandros, and his obvious origins. He must be a fire fae, or at least a hybrid. His golden skin, the black hair, there’s no doubt. But I’ll need more than that. I need to make them understand, to help them see Xerxes as the man he’s become since he and I have fallen in love. He might be furious and hurt now, because he thinks I betrayed him in the most horrible way, but deep down he’s got a soul that just got hurt too often and too badly.
I chew on the inside of my cheek beside a great archway that overlooks an icy ocean bay, an angle that I haven’t seen as we hurried towards the castle from the portal. This side of the castle must be showing to the other side of the Winter Realm—can’t believe I’ve started to think about the inner structure of the castle in order to help Xerxes break out if nothing else works. But Lysander of all people should understand what a fated mates’ bond means, and what it does to people, shouldn’t he? He will end up understanding why he needs to help us, he must.
But it definitely looks like he won’t when the grand doors open, and he walks in, this time dressed in what looks like silver leather, ornate with flowing, rounded fae patterms, a silver cape flowing behind him like a stream as he walks towards me. His closest courts follow behind him, including his half-brother Sandros, who wears a completely black outfit and a grim expression that reminds me of Duke Draven.
I freeze facing them, not even knowing what to do with my hands. I just let my arms hang by my sides, then cross them over my chest, then let them fall again, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, and calling Nazarean all kinds of names in my head for not even peeking out from under my braided ponytail. I understand this is the Lord of Winter, and he’s got too much respect to even show his face and all, but come on, I could really use some support right now.
“Cerys, I’m sorry,” the Lord of Winter begins. “Before we talk about anything else, I want you to know that after Xerxes kidnapped you from Edinburgh we looked for you everywhere. My courts and I even debated whether we should intervene and save you when we heard that you were marrying Xexes, but we knew about the fated mates bond between the two of you, and we decided it would be better not to do it.” He lowers his gaze, shaking his head. “We’d gone through a lot of trouble to keep you safe from him, but he got to you anyway. I want you to know I took that as a personal failure, and your brother Zillard did as well. Speaking of him, I hope you don’t mind, but my closest courts and I decided it’s probably better not to tell him that you’re here. We would rather have this whole thing figured out before we make such an important move.”
“That’s fine. No need to trouble him with this issue now, he’s got enough on his hands. I actually sent him an invitation to the wedding, but he never replied.”
“I can imagine why.”
Of course. Zillard never approved of Xerxes and me, even though he knew we were fated mates. But it’s that very bond that he went out of his way to avoid, so the wedding invitation might have been like a slap in his face. Which brings us back to other people I should have invited, but didn’t.
“Please forgive me for not inviting you and Queen Arielle,” I tell Lysander in the softest tone. “I just thought, given the circumstances, you know—”
“You don’t have to apologize or explain,” he replies. “We all know that I would have never set foot in the Fire Realm anyway, no matter what.”
Realms, this is awkward. It seems the very space between us is laden with so much history and so many issues that neither of us knows which one to latch on to first before we get to the only point that actually interests us both. Oh, to Hell with it.
“Milord.” I take a step forward, forcing myself into confidence. “A lot has happened in the past few months, and I have a lot to apologize for. I left the hideout in Edinburgh with Xerxes—even if in the beginning it was indeed under threat—and then you never heard from me again. I never reached out, even when I could have. You had to learn about the wedding from other people, and I know that sucks. You, Queen Arielle, my brother Zillard and I, we share experiences that bound us so deeply nothing could have warranted what I’ve done. But you of all people know what a mates’ bond feels like.
“I was forced to go with him in the beginning, it’s true, but then our bond deepened, and I simply couldn’t do things differently. Then, by the time our quest was over and we had the Firestone from the Cemetery of Doom we’d broken so many rules that we just couldn’t show our faces in any of the realms. Not to mention that Xerxes was still a wanted man.”
Lysander just listens.
“King Lysander, please.” I dare walk closer, wringing my hands. “Just give me the opportunity to explain. Xerxes took me along on this mission especially because he knew you wouldn’t listen to him. But he is truly different now, and what he has to say is of great importance to all realms.”
“Cerys.” Lysander rests his big fatherly hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes like he would at a child who has a hard time understanding certain things. “Xerxes and I go way back. He is one of the realms’ oldest villains, and until a little more than a year ago he’d been trying to take over all of the realms.” His ice blue eyes gleam at me like the sharpest blades from under his eyebrows. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so cold and sharply focused before in my life.
“I heard what happened in the Fire Realm,” he says, careful as if treading on a minefield. “I know about the trial with his courts, too. He would have thrown you in the deepest dungeon and kept you in chains for realms know how long in order to get back at you, Cerys, do you even grasp what sort of man he is?”
My chin trembles, and my eyes fill with tears. Fuck it. I promised myself I wouldn’t get to this point, I wouldn’t show myself weak, yet here I am, doing just that.
“We share a mates’ bond, just like you and Arielle.”
“Yes, but even so, Xerxes remains a villain. He is a creature of fire and ash, of darkness and evil, and that will never change, no matter how deeply he fell in love with you. His kind of love, it can only be the love of a villain. It can only be possessive, jealous, and even dangerous.”
Anger rises to my throat with every one of those words. I yank myself from his grip, stepping away from him. I look daggers at him, which seems to come as a surprise.
“King Lysander, with all due respect, I thought you were a fair man. You of all people should know how Xerxes became what he is today. He wasn’t born a bad guy.”
His blond eyebrows knit. “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going.”
“Xerxes has been keeping cosmic behemoths like Apophis and Orion at bay for thousands of years. He and his people have been protecting all the realms, not just their own. You could live here in peace, fighting domestic threats, protecting the mortal realm, while Xerxes was keeping the big villains away. He and his men, they lived through stuff that others can’t even imagine. Of course they developed PTSD, of course all the evil they witnessed and expe
rienced transformed them. You, your people, and all the other kingdoms and realms, you should have had compassion and understanding for them, but no. It was much easier to hate them, wasn’t it? You loved to hate them.”
Lysander’s courts murmur, but his brother Sandros gives a smug grin. He slides a dagger out of a holster, and heads to the window, leaning on the ledge, one foot against the wall under it. He starts to sharpen the blade with a polishing stone. For some reason he looks like he’s been making the same point for some time now, and he enjoys his brother’s predicament for a change.
“Why did you imprison all the fire fae you could find in the Flipside?” I press on, thinking about the haggard man who recognized Xerxes in the dungeons. The reference seems to surprise the King of Frost.
“You found them?”
“We found one, but it was enough.” I hold his stare with reproach.
“I’m actually glad you ask this question, especially because I see you think that Xerxes isn’t such a bad guy after all. You think the rest of us vilified him more than he deserved.”
“Him and all his people,” I correct. “All of the fire fae.”
“Well, let me start by telling you about the fire fae down in the dungeons. You’ve heard about the Undead that Xerxes had been making during the great war between him and me, yes?”
A knot forms in my throat. Xerxes had always avoided telling me how he made the Undead, and I’m afraid Lysander can use that to his advantage now.
“I trust you remember the murders in the dark alleyways of Edinburgh, the dozens of fae that left behind nothing but blood, and their bodies disappeared? That’s why we extracted all of the fire fae from the Flipside. To make sure that doesn’t start happening in much greater numbers. After he kidnapped you, and got the Firestone, we knew that Xerxes Blazeborn had regained his power, and he would seek to regroup soon. From a war strategy perspective, imprisoning all the fire fae we could find was the safest thing to do, even if not exactly orthodox.”