Averin rocked back, sighing his frustration. “It’s not possible, Stasha. My entire army couldn’t breach those walls and get out to tell the tale. An entire army of the best fae soldiers in my kingdom. Males and females trained to fight over decades. Some for centuries. If we couldn’t do it, what makes you think you can?”
She glared at Averin, heat rising in her throat. “Because I grew up human. I got no training other than what I taught myself in the fighting pits. But still it seems I’ve got more guts than you and your entire stupid fae army put together, because I will not roll over and let them take him.” She glanced at Eliezar and Trystaen.
Their faces were guarded, backs straight.
“Eliezar, you told me that you’ve all lost people to that place. Yet despite all your training and armies, you let it continue to exist.” She jumped up. “Over my rotting corpse will I give Klaus up simply because cowards before me failed and then never tried again.”
Eliezar stared at her out of those unnerving pale eyes. When she’d given up on ever getting an answer, he said, “You’ll never make it alone, Stasha.” His voice was harsh, shielding an open wound she’d poked. Who had he lost to Angharad? It had to be someone very dear to him.
But if she didn’t at least try and rescue Klaus, she’d also spend the rest of her life nursing a wound that would never heal.
Time for the biggest bet of her life.
“I can if I have to. But that part’s up to you.”
Eliezar’s black eyebrows creased together in his dark face, twisting his annoyingly handsome features.
Trystaen shuffled closer to her. His hand rested on a beautiful, wickedly curved silver dagger strapped to his belt. He could kill her before she had the chance to blink. And he would, if she tried to hurt Averin.
She ignored him and fixed her eyes on Averin—the prince with the final say here. If Averin refused, neither Trystaen nor Eliezar would help her. Freeing Klaus was more important than anything. Killing Radomir and then defeating the king of Pyreack, whilst vital, paled to nothing compared to rescuing Klaus. Without him in her world, there would never be hope.
And she could not live without hope.
So, it was time to be wise. Like the Tiyanak insisted she was: a wise little fae. Perhaps she could employ some of its tricks.
In case Averin’s skull was so thick that her objections hadn’t penetrated, she said, “Averin, I’m not going with you to Zephyr while Klaus rots in a death camp.” Before he could reply, she tossed her bet into this game of wills. “But I will make you a deal.”
Exquisite eyes suddenly sharp and canny, Averin tilted his head. “What deal, pit princess?” He stood and paced. Like a wolf.
She took a deep breath, hoping he and his fae friends couldn’t hear her racing heart. “Help me get Klaus out and somewhere safe, and I will help you with one thing. I will go to Zephyr with you.”
None of them moved. None of them spoke.
“That’s two things,” Averin finally said.
“Take it or leave it.”
Averin frowned, so she moderated her tone. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s why you bet a stupid amount of money on Vlad. To butter me up. And why you followed me. Cornered me outside the shop and challenged me to a fight and then followed me through the woods when the fight was over?”
Averin’s face yielded nothing.
“You want your bargaining chip?” She tossed her hands out, and fire sparked on her fingertips. “Here I am. Outnumbered by three fae males all armed to the teeth. I’ve been around fae long enough now to know that eye color matters.” She glanced first at Averin and then at Eliezar. “Blue eyes mean that you both have air magic.” She glanced at Trystaen with his pine-green eyes. “Who knows what he is, but he wouldn’t be with you if he wasn’t powerful. So you’ll have no trouble attacking me and taking me against my will.” She flicked sparks across the room. They settled on the wooden floor and smoldered dangerously.
None of the fae moved.
She sauntered to the embers. “Just know that I will fight you every step of the way, and I won’t hesitate to hurt you unless you help me rescue Klaus.” She stomped on the fire, extinguishing it. “Help me get him and the rest of my village, Martka and Kňazer included, somewhere safe, and you can do whatever you want with me.”
Klaus would kill her if he heard this.
Averin stared at her.
The blood pounding through her ears was deafening in the silence.
And still Averin stared at her.
Her mouth dried, but she refused to swallow. To do so would show weakness. Averin, son of Zephyr, would devour weakness.
“Trystaen—” Although Averin addressed his first, he didn’t shift his piercing gaze from her. “Contact Princess Boadicea. Arrange a meeting. Don’t tell her about Stasha. Just say Prince Averin requests an audience.”
He wasn’t buying her deal! Worse, he could be bringing more enemies to take her. She flitted her gaze from Averin to the closed window. It was too small for her to climb through, should she need to run. “Who is Princess Boadicea?” She struggled to keep her voice steady.
Trystaen nodded once at Averin and moved to the door. Fire twitched her fingers, a plea to burn Trystaen. Averin shifted between her and his first. Eliezar and Trystaen would kill her if she hurt Averin. She let the sparks die. Feet making no noise on the wooden floor, Trystaen left the room.
Averin raised both hands, almost placatingly. “Princess Boadicea is heir to the Kingdom of Ocea and the leader of the rebels. If we’re really going after Angharad, we’ll need help. Like all of us, she has a score to settle.”
Relief made her knees weak. It was short-lived. “The rebels tried to kill me tonight. How do you think they’re going to react when I come for help? I have fire magic, after all.”
Averin nodded, forehead creased. “They might be more inclined to listen if they know your plans.”
Plans? Her mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.
A quiet chuckle from Averin. “As I thought. The pit princess is all fire and fury—until the fist needs to connect with the jaw.”
She bristled. “That’s not fair—”
Eliezar left his spot at the door. “Averin, do you want me to contact the Azura?” He towered like the shadow of death over her.
How old was this fae? How many years of training had he received to look so fierce? He didn’t look a day over twenty-five. None of them did, but she knew her eyes deceived her. She glanced at the array of knives hanging around Eliezar’s waist and was glad he was on her side—almost.
“They could all get here within five days,” Eliezar continued. “The captains could spirit a few groups in tomorrow.”
“No.” Averin shook his head. “We can’t risk this getting back to Rican.”
“Our fae wouldn’t talk.”
“They also wouldn’t refuse their crown prince if he asked.” Averin’s boot tapped on the floor. “We’re not putting them in a position where they have to lie.”
“Lie about what?” she demanded.
“We just need Princess Boa and the rebels on our side.”
She bristled that Averin had ignored her question.
“Will that be enough?” Eliezar’s dark eyes flicked to her for a moment before turning back to Averin.
“You can speak freely in front of her,” Averin said. “She’s not going anywhere.”
She clenched her fists. “How many men are in your army? And what lie are you talking about?”
Averin pivoted slowly to look at her. “My armies are extensive. But that’s not what we’re talking about. I have a hundred fae I personally trained. We call them the Azura. They fight very specific battles for key objectives.”
“And these are the fae you used when you tried to take Angharad?”
A shallow headshake, as if the question pained Averin. “No. I created the Azura after Angharad, in case we ever found ourselves in a similar situation.”
“Then
if this is such a situation, why aren’t you using them?”
Averin’s face shuttered. “I’d rather my family didn’t know that we’re risking so much on this venture.”
Risking her? Is that what he wasn’t saying? And if so, what exactly did the Zephyr royals want with her?
A worry for when Klaus was freed.
“How many rebels can the princess bring?”
Averin’s lips tightened. “That depends on her, and what you have to say to convince her. You better pray to whatever gods you believe in that she agrees to help.”
She crossed her arms. Over her dead body would she ever pray for anything.
Except maybe for Klaus.
Trystaen returned a few hours later, flushed with cold. Princess Boadicea had accepted their offer to meet, but on her terms. No spiriting in. All weapons seized upon arrival. And she chose the location. One day’s walk from the pathetic excuse of an inn where they’d spent the night.
They left the inn before first light, having gotten no more than a couple hours of fitful sleep. A fluttering of snow had fallen in the night. It coated the ground and trees in a thin layer of crisp fluff. While her feet rasped through the frost, the others were as silent as ghosts.
Averin walked ahead with Eliezar. They talked in hushed tones. Trystaen followed at her side. She didn’t need them to tell her that she was holding them up.
Despite her cold-numbed cheeks, she flushed at her clumsy mortalness compared to their otherworldly grace. Her limbs were more streamlined and agile than they’d been before, but she couldn’t match fae who’d existed and trained for who knew how long. As always, her blush deepened as she recalled her “fight” with Averin. To add to her misery, she still stank of blood and mud. Averin had insisted that she wear his cloak. Grateful for its warmth, it was still heavy on her shoulders.
Thankfully, there was no sign of Pyreack soldiers or Tiyanak as they traipsed through the dark woods. She toyed with the idea of telling Averin about her Tiyanak and the deal she’d made. But Averin had his secrets. Why else would he risk his and his friends’ lives by attacking Angharad?
No, better to keep that scrap of information to herself.
After two hours of trudging, the sun crested the horizon. It did little to thaw the snowy frost. Already winded and tired—it would take more than a pouch of nuts and dried fruit to repair years of malnutrition—her mouth was dry and her lips cracked. She rasped a breath, panting through the stitch that ripped her side. As usual, her fae companions had barely a hair out of place. They strolled like they were out on a morning jaunt through a tranquil forest.
She scowled at Averin’s back and stuck out her tongue.
Trystaen chuckled roughly, the sound meeting his lovely pine-green eyes. He swept his ponytail over his shoulder. Like her braid, it was tied with a leather strap. How she missed her red ribbon.
“You’ll get used to your new body,” Trystaen said with certainty. “You just need to eat more.” He gestured to the pouch of fae-snack hanging off her belt.
She shoved a handful of the sweet stuff into her mouth. She swallowed almost without chewing. “I’m still not entirely sure what anything is anymore. And those bastards from Pyreack weren’t in the mood to explain. Or I wasn’t in the mood to listen.”
“Being one thing for so long and then being forced to survive as something else isn’t easy.”
“You say that like you know.”
A sure nod. “I do know. Maybe not quite to the same extent, going from mortal to fae like you have, but I have my own story.”
“Care to share?” Her foot snagged on Averin’s cloak. The hem was soaked in a mixture of old blood and melting snow. She’d be glad to ditch the heavy thing as soon as she got a chance.
Trystaen smiled good-naturedly, as if he didn’t mind chatting about himself. “Technically, I’m from Atria, not Zephyr—hence my eye color. It’s where I was born, where I grew up. My family was one of the noble houses. Not one of the royals, but noble. Before your time.”
Her stomach looped. How old was he?
“How much history do you know?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Everything there is to know. After all, I did spend all my time holed up in libraries reading books—when I wasn’t fighting for survival in the pit.”
Trystaen chuckled. “Dumb question then.”
“No. You just asked the wrong person. Klaus is the one with book learning.”
“I see.” Trystaen cocked his head. “You interested in learning some?”
“Yes, please.” It would help her make sense of things.
“Voltaic, the fifth kingdom on Zathryth, originally started the war. It didn’t go well for them. Pyreack quickly wiped them out. King Darien got a taste for victory and conquest. Instead of withdrawing back to Pyreack, he went on the rampage. His forces almost destroyed every noble family in Ocea and Atria, mine included.” He brushed back a low-hanging branch for her. “When King Darien attacks a kingdom in earnest, he always tries to eradicate any power standing between him and the monarch.” He offered a hand to help her over a particularly large log.
She pretended not to notice, hitched up her ruined dress, and climbed over herself. Frosty air snaked up her bare leg, raising goose bumps. “I didn’t even know there was a fifth kingdom on Zathryth.”
Trystaen waited for her to start walking, then fell into step with her. “It’s no wonder. Voltaic have been gone for a very long time. They occupied an island just off the coast of Ocea, although it was still considered part of Zathryth.”
“Voltaic.” She rolled the word on her tongue. “What power did they have?”
Trystaen’s eyes sparkled, as if he enjoyed teaching her. It was a change from Suren. And Radomir. “Lightning.”
Her eyes widened. “Sounds powerful. How come they lost to Pyreack so quickly?”
Trystaen shrugged. “Ivarune, their king, fell. The rest were wiped out within ten years. No one survived.”
“King Darien killed Ivarune?”
“No. Prince Cyran, his eldest son, poisoned him. At Ivarune’s death, the keys passed to Cyran. He vanished just hours before King Darien reached his palace. That stopped King Darien from stealing his magic.” Trystaen laughed softly. “Darien has been in a foul mood ever since.”
“That sounds rather cowardly.”
“That depends on how you see things. Some would say it was wise. He stopped the keys to lightening falling into Darien’s hands.”
She hated to break Trystaen’s jovial mood, but she had to know. “And your family?”
“They were destroyed in Pyreack’s first attempt at invading Atria. I was the only survivor.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if the massacre of his people had happened so long ago that he’d become resigned to it.
Still, her heart ached. He did know how she felt, perhaps more than he realized. Like her, he was the last one standing. Had he once hated himself for it too? Despite his apparent calm, did his heart fill with cold loathing whenever he thought of his dead family? His friends? Everything that had been stolen from him?
“Averin and Rican and.…” Trystaen’s voice trailed off. Before she could enquire, he cleared his throat and continued, “They were my friends, even then, when we were younglings. They and their father—King Seph—offered me sanctuary. And, eventually, a place in the Azura. And then as Averin’s first.” He offered her his waterskin as he spoke.
She accepted with a small smile. The icy water that spilled down her throat was so delicious, it could have been honey. She wiped her hand across her mouth and gave it back to him. “Pyreack … have they ever attacked Zephyr?”
Trystaen took a swig, then capped the skin. “Many times. Never had much success, though.” He glanced at her. “You know, of course, that Ocea fell sixty years ago? Darien captured most of King Appius’s keys.” He grimaced, shadows flickering in his pine-green eyes. “Atria isn’t far behind.”
She needed a good grasp of all this if she
stood any hope of figuring out why the Zephyr royals wanted her. Was that why Trystaen took such pains to educate her?
“These keys … are they actual keys that can open a lock?”
“Not exactly. It’s more ethereal than that. Monarchs control all magic in their realms. We call that ‘keys.’ All it takes to steal the keys from a vanquished monarch is a simple spell.”
Her nose crinkled; spells came straight out of the stories the Martka used to tell. “There are such things?”
“Oh yes. Very much so. Pyreack use a particularly nasty one when they marry. They bind the female’s magic to the male, so it becomes his to use instead of hers.”
Her stomach rolled with nausea.
Was that what King Darien had planned to do to her? She scowled. Why did the world think she could be farmed off in marriage like chattel? Just like she had tried to flee from Askavol, she would never agree to marry King Darien. But perhaps choice didn’t even enter into the deal, if he found her.
Trystaen continued, seemingly oblivious of her need to launch the water and fae-snack she’d just consumed across the bracken. “When Pyreack soldiers conquer other kingdoms, Darien uses a similar spell to bind the monarch’s magic to his. He uses his new stolen magic to control the kingdom. That’s what he did to Ocea. He just didn’t anticipate Boa getting in the way.”
She absentmindedly stroked a chilled finger up her ear to the fae point. “Radomir said stuff happened when I was born. What do you know about that?”
Trystaen hesitated.
What could be worse than what he’d already told her?
A sigh, then Trystaen said, “The entire continent knew when you were born. Not because of some decree or declaration. The world literally shook with a new power.” He looked at her with wonder. “Your power.”
The blood chilled in her veins. “What did I do?”
“Earthquakes shattered northern Atria. Floods and drought hit Ocea. Tornados in Zephyr no one could control. Mountains rose and fell. Even the Blue Desert responded. It burned all night with wildfire.” Trystaen spoke so quietly and with such absolute reverence that her body pitted with goose bumps.
The Fire Thief Page 14