A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Morren should have come with her, to talk her out of the plan that was formulating in her mind. She would be the queen of Havenkeep. She would have everything that Dahlia had, that should have been hers and then was stolen from her.

  A little fact that Morren did not know, nor did he need to know was that the wights answered to only one person and that was her. Of course, over the past few months working by his side, she had made sure that the wights followed his every order, giving him the illusion of being in control. All the while, though his loyal soldiers had become mindless servants who would follow her orders blindly. Even if she told them to turn against the man who had once been their master.

  Morren wouldn’t even suspect it until it was too late. She supposed that was one of the upsides of once being good. No one expects it when you turn evil.

  Her chest twinged as she thought of the bond of pain they felt. But she could not allow such inconsequential things to stop her from achieving what was in her grasp. Her thoughts turned to that happy boy in the courtyard. She had not seen him again after that first meeting, even though she spent many hours with Morren creating wights. She suspected that he did not wish for his son to see the creatures. And that gave her a pause. What would become of Cedric if she ultimately betrayed his father?

  She shoved that thought away, hiding it in the darkest part of her soul. She would never be able to accomplish anything if she fretted over every victim she created.

  Instead she turned her attention to her chest, looking over the ingredients held within. They were all there. The ingredients for the potion that she had unwittingly memorized.

  As far as she knew, it had never been used on a person who was not a sorceress, why would another sorceress want another’s life force when they could have that of a fellow sorceress?

  Now that she had finally set her eyes on Dahlia, she realized that simply killing her was not good enough. She needed Dahlia’s beauty. She needed Stephan to look at her the same way he looked at Dahlia.

  Her fingers moved to lift the small vial of wyvern’s scales. It was almost full since the scales were only used for the most deadly of potions. Potions neither she nor many of her ancestors had needed to create for many years.

  She reached next for the vial of crystals, but nearly spilled it as her fingers trembled. Ismena yanked her hand back, clenching it into a fist. She needed to get control of herself. She yanked a fire potion, bright red, its vial hot to the touch and tossed it into the cauldron to give her the heat that she needed to boil the concoction. Then she began mixing the ingredients.

  The final ingredient. A shaving from a unicorn’s horn. A unicorn’s tale was instrumental for healing, but the horn was capable of more than healing.

  Ismena sat back on her heals, watching the potion brew until it turned to a dull silver. Finally she tilted the cauldron and poured the contents into a golden vial, adorned with a red jewel. She snapped the lid shut and allowed herself to smile.

  A snatching potion made for two people to drink. One person will drink the poison of the wyvern’s scales and lose everything. The other will drink the healing powers of the unicorn’s horn and they will become stronger than ever.

  She clutched the vial so hard that the jewel embedded itself into her palm. She stared blankly at her wall. She had just committed an act of treason against her own kingdom. By creating this potion she had betrayed every sorceress who lived in Alain, who trusted her as their queen to protect them not to exploit them.

  But she wasn’t going to use this potion on her subjects or on any other sorceresses. It was reserved solely for the Queen of Havenkeep, an ice nymph who should have known better than to encroach upon the human world.

  Suddenly a scream echoed through the air. Ismena jolted, her heart hammering in her chest as the scream came again. She pushed to her feet, her eyes darting out the window. Was Morren attacking already? It was earlier than they had agreed, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Morren had gone against their plan. He was an impatient, rash man, eager for glory that would never be his. She had told her wights to follow his command, they would have followed him.

  She stepped toward the door, clutching the vial. If she was going to go through with this and steal Dahlia’s power then she would have to do it now while everyone was distracted with the attack.

  She startled however when her door burst open before she could open it. A bedraggled Stephan stood in front of her.

  Ismena drew to a halt, nearly dropping the vial. She managed to catch it and covered it with her other hand. Stephan didn’t appear to have noticed.

  “Ismena, I need your help.”

  She sniffed nervously, her eyes darting around. They landed on the invisible chest which she had forgotten to close. She whipped her gaze back to Stephan. “With what? What’s the matter?”

  Stephan ran a weary hand down his face. “It’s Dahlia, I think the baby is coming and my captain has just informed me that we haven’t heard from the eastern watch for some hours.” He adjusted his cloak and waved at himself with his arm. “I must go investigate. It would comfort me greatly to know that you are with Dahlia. I know how practiced you are in creating healing tonics. I still remember the one that you sent me after I had been wounded in a skirmish with Mooraven back before...” he paused and cleared his throat. Neither of them had to finish that sentence, she remembered it well. That was back before Dahlia.

  She blinked, realizing that Stephan was still staring at her and forced herself to nod. “Yes, of course.”

  He broke into a relieved smile and stepped forward to clasp Ismena’s small hands in his large ones. For a second she was so thrilled, wanting to lean into him but then he turned her hand over to reveal the vial clutched in its palm.

  He frowned his attention flicking from the vial. It took everything in Ismena not to yank it away. She smiled despite the fear coursing through her veins. “I was already fixing up a potion to send to Dahlia.”

  Stephan raised his gaze to hers and immediately she was frozen, pinned under his deep blue gaze. She was drowning in a thousand seas. He smiled slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling and Ismena’s heart was lost. What had been beating so loudly only a few seconds ago was now frozen completely. But she realized that she felt her heart again, and it was glorious.

  “You are always there for me, Ismena. Thank you so much, I will not forget this.”

  She nodded. He was right, he would never forget this day. Without releasing her hand or giving her a chance to regain control over her thoughts and emotions he led her from the room and down the hall until they reached the royal chamber. There lay Dahlia on the wide bed, a flurry of maids rushing around them.

  Stephan released Ismena’s hand and hurried to the bed where and older woman was holding Dahlia’s hand and whispering comforting things to her.

  He paused long enough to rest a hand affectionately on Dahlia’s forehead. Ismena glanced away gritting her teeth until Stephan stepped away. Her gaze moved back to Dahlia, lying there in that bed, her pale hair around her on the pillow, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths before loosing in another desperate scream.

  Now was the time to do it. She adjusted her grip on the potion. Now was the time to give it to her.

  The thing that made drinking the potion so dangerous was that it did not guarantee that the sorceress who made the potion would be the one to gain the beauty. She could very well be the one to die.

  That was how the sorceress’s wars were fought. Armies clashing until finally there was no one left guarding the defeated sorceress. She would then be tortured, weakening her until she could not fight the wyvern’s poison and then the victorious sorceress would create the potion to end her once and for all. Ismena did not have the time or the means to torture Dahlia, but weakened by the labor as she was, it would have to do.

  She glanced at Stephan out of the corner of her eye. She needed to wait until he left, she couldn’t very well have him standing there while she poisoned his wife
. But Stephan seemed to be determined to remain despite this apparently pressing issue of the east wall. And worse than that he was looking at Ismena like she was his salvation.

  Except it had nothing to do with her and nothing to do with him and everything to do with Dahlia. He should not have placed his faith in her, at least not where Dahlia was concerned. She would not be his salvation, not this night. Tonight she would be his destruction.

  She quickly looked away, unable to bear the hopeful look he laid upon her. How she would have given for him to look at her like this just earlier, but now she would give anything to not have his attention. She didn’t deserve it.

  “Ismena,” Stephan asked, stepping toward her. “Are you all right?”

  Just as he asked that, Dahlia screamed again drawing Stephan’s attention back to her. His eyebrows drew together as if he was actually the one in pain. Ismena squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his pain. Dahlia was so self-absorbed, as she shrieked, not caring who was forced to hear. She did not deserve Stephan.

  The sound of pounding feet filled the corridor before any of them could say anything after that. A guard rushed into the room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Stephan demanded, stepping to intercept the guard.

  “Sire!” the guard gasped, he swayed on his feet, clutching his shoulder. Blood soaked his white uniform. “The eastern wall has fallen to creatures that cannot be killed. We’re under attack.”

  Stephan straightened, his face going gray even as he clenched his teeth. “By whom?”

  “Mooraven sire, King Morren himself leads these unnatural creatures.”

  So Morren had been impatient. She wasn’t surprised at all.

  Stephan turned back to Ismena and Dahlia a torn look on his face. He knew full well what this meant. This was an assault on the palace. They might very well lose tonight. Havenkeep might fall, or it might remain stand.

  Whatever happened, though, Morren had broken every treaty between their lands. This was the beginning of a war. A war that was be won before it had even begun. Because little did he know that the treachery was not Morren’s alone. Morren was not the only one there with a black heart.

  His eyes turned to Ismena and held her gaze. Such trust filled his eyes. He would have left his entire kingdom in her hands in that moment and he did not even know what he was doing.

  “Stay with Dahlia,” He whispered clutching her hand, his eyes flicking to Dahlia as she let loose another scream.

  “Of course,” Ismena said, swallowing her pain, wishing that Stephan would look at her with the same concern that he felt for Dahlia. As far as he knew, she was just as much in danger as Dahlia. And she was his guest. He should be taking care of her first and foremost.

  Instead, he left her to tend for a queen in labor instead of sending her to hide in hidden passages.

  She blinked away the pain with a promise. When this was over she would be certain that he saw her first and foremost.

  He nodded once, tried to smile, but then seemed to give up before turning and striding out of the room shouting for his men to rise to arms.

  Ismena watched Stephan go, her heart leaping into her throat. No matter that she had instructed her wights to never lay a hand on Stephan there was still a possibility that one of Morren’s men might deliver a fatal blow by accident. Shouting filled the halls, drowned out by Dahlia’s screams.

  Finally she turned to the prone queen. It was time that she finished what she started. Now was not the time to lose her metal.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Dahlia was breathing hard as Ismena stepped toward her. The whites of her eyes were bright as she stared at Ismena out of the corner of her eye. It was obvious that she was terrified, but Ismena wasn’t entirely sure what she was scared of. Not Ismena, Dahlia could not possibly know how much she hated her.

  Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut, finally breaking their eye contact as she loosed a strained scream through her teeth.

  The older woman sitting next to Dahlia glanced up at Ismena. “She be in a great deal of agony. Poor lass is unaccustomed to such pain.” She patted Dahlia’s hand as Dahlia panted for breath, a tear leaking from her eye. “There, there, M’dear, it will be all over soon. That baby is coming.”

  Ismena bit her lip as she looked Dahlia over. It was hardly as if she was the only woman to have ever gone into labor. But she supposed that Dahlia was unaccustomed to any sort of pain. She had not experienced it when she was an ice nymph.

  She couldn’t suppress her smug smile. She was certain that Dahlia was regretting her humanity now. But it was too little too late.

  She knelt next to the bed and Dahlia once again turned her gaze to Ismena. Her eyes were desperate, pleading. “C-can you- you help me?” she asked before closing her eyes with the pain.

  Ismena smiled and wiped a lock of Dahlia’s sweaty hair from her face. “I made a small potion for you.”

  Dahlia’s eyes flicked to Ismena then to the potion that she held up.

  “Once you drink this all your pain will go away,” Ismena continued, her half-truth clogging in her throat so that she had to force it out. She was honest. The pain would go away. If everything went according to plan, everything would go away.

  “Give it to me!” Dahlia demanded, her hands clutching the blankets even as she screamed again.

  Ismena hesitated. What if Dahlia was still somehow better and stronger than Ismena? What if it was she who survived the wyvern’s scales?

  “Give it to me now!” Dahlia cried reaching for Ismena, her eyes frenzied.

  Ismena took a deep breath and leaned closer, bringing the vial to Dahlia’s lips. She tipped it over as half the contents poured into the queen’s mouth and then she stepped back.

  Dahlia arched her back, gasping for breath. Every moment that passed, the color and life bled from her. The next breath was just a gargle.

  Ismena blinked in horror as she watched the effects of what she had done. So this was the destruction of the potion that her family had outlawed.

  “You did this!” the older woman cried out in horror. “You poisoned her, you witch!” She reached across the bed to shake Dahlia. “Stay with me, lass, just a little longer.”

  Ismena pressed her lips together as the older woman shot her another accusing glare. “I did not poison her and I can prove it to you,” she held up the vial and pressed it to her lips. “As you can see, there is still a small bit left.”

  Before the woman could say anything, Ismena tossed back the drink. The burning liquid coursed down her throat, followed by a stinging cool. The room around her tilted and she squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that she could not show the weakness even as the wyvern’s poison worked through her system. She could not leave any doubts in their minds as to the nature of the potion that she had given Dahlia.

  As the fire laced through her system, an icy chill followed closely in its wake, giving her no relief.

  Suddenly she was so cold, but not in any way that a fire or sunlight could warm. She was cold to her very core, as if she had been frozen under the ice. She opened her eyes and looked herself over. Her hand looked the same, a little paler than her usual shade, but nothing too different. However frost crept up her arm. She gasped and swiped at her arm, but as she brought her hand near the frost, it rose from her wrist and circled through the air just below her finger tips. She flexed her fingers in awe and the crusted ice followed her movements. Her eyebrows drew together.

  What sort of magic was this?

  A sharp baby’s cry interrupted her thoughts. Ismena looked up to find the old woman holding a bloody, squirming form. The woman laughed and wrapped the baby in a cloth. “It’s a girl, my queen,” she said, her voice filled with awe.

  Ismena stared at the baby in shock. Despite everything that she had done, the princess lived on. No, this was not how it was supposed to be. That baby should never have been born. Her mind grappled, trying to come to grips with what she should do next.

  The old wom
an lifted her gaze from the baby. The smile slipping from her face. “My queen?”

  Ismena glanced at Dahlia, but she lay so still on the bed. She could have been sleeping if not for the eyes that stared vacantly at the tapestry above her head. A frozen tear rested in the corner of her eye.

  The older woman passed the infant to a nearby maid and lunged across over the bed to Dahlia’s side. She shook her shoulders. “My queen!”

  But it was no good. Everyone in the room knew that Dahlia was dead.

  “Poor Stephan,” Ismena whispered, partly playing the part. Another part of her broke at the thought of the heartbreak she had just caused him. There was no going back from this. The act was committed, she had killed Dahlia and nothing she could ever do would bring her back.

  The thought filled her with panic. Ismena turned from the empty corpse, cursing the tears that pressed against her throat. She would not ask herself what she had done. She knew full well what she was doing and why she did it. And she would not regret what she had to do in order to find her own happiness.

  Dahlia deserved it. Stephan deserved it. The only person who had not deserved the pain was herself. The only person who deserved a chance at a happily ever after was her. None should judge her for doing what she needed to do to get it.

  She pushed to her feet and stepped around the bed, everyone ignored her now that they no longer believed that she was responsible for the queen’s death. She walked into the back of the room in a daze. Her hands began to tremble and she balled them into a fist, refusing to dwell on what had just transpired. What she had just done.

  Did it count as murder if the creature you killed was not quite human?

  And even with Dahlia out of the way, she was still left with the question of what she was to do with the princess who was not supposed to be.

  Ismena pressed her lips together as she stepped up to the maid holding the baby, now washed and wrapped in clean cloths. She held out her arms. “I can hold her.”