All along the way, the horrible howling continued and it stopped only when we passed through the doors of the Barrow. Check waited a moment, then stepped outside again. When he returned he shook his head.
“It’s still sounding in the night. I can’t imagine what the villages must be thinking. We must send men to them, to let them know we are aware of the danger. We can’t ignore them and expect them not to show up here, panicked.”
Ulean was waiting for us. Cicely, I would not have run if I had not feared I might be turned beyond my will. I apologize for leaving you there.
No, you did what you had to in order to take care of yourself. Never apologize for that, Ulean. But whatever it is, there is danger, and we must find out what we are facing.
I turned back to Check. “Then do what we must. Contact Strict and tell him to meet us in the council chamber. And I think…Grieve and I must pay a journey to the shamans. We have to speak with Thorn.” As I hurried into our bedroom, Druise was there, waiting. “Prepare one of my dresses. I will attend Court, and then the shamans. I must dress the part of the Queen today, Druise. Cold and brilliant and collected.”
“As you will, Your Majesty.” And then she went to work, transforming me into the Queen of Snow and Ice, whose people would trust her unconditionally.
Chapter 4
By the time I headed into the throne room, I was wearing a silver dress that shimmered with crystal beads. It had a sweetheart corset top, and a flowing skirt that barely touched the ground. It was wearable out in the snow as well as when I held court, and the material was warm. It was a synthetic, actually, though no one in my Barrow would ever know that except for Grieve and Druise. I had balked at heavy weaves that would weigh me down and insisted that the seamstresses who made my garments accept the fact that I was coming in from the outside—I wasn’t fully Cambyra Fae and I had lived in the outer world for most of my life. They reluctantly agreed, after Strict intervened for me.
Druise had brought out a cloak—jet black, trimmed with crystal beading. She made sure my makeup was heavy handed—wide raven wings on my eyes, a deep blackberry lipstick. By the time we were done, I looked a little older, a lot more elegant, and most important—imposing as hell. I slid into the black ankle boots she held for me. They had stiletto heels, which I hated, but right now, it was vital that I look the part, given the circumstances. I could walk well enough in them, but I sure as hell wouldn’t go on a jaunt into the woods wearing them.
Grieve dressed as well, in a jet-black tunic coat, with gray trousers. His shock of platinum hair stood out in stark contrast to the black of the coat. As he held out his arm and I laid my hand on his forearm, the surreal feel of it washed over me.
We followed the guards into the throne room. People were packed in and lined both sides of the brilliant royal blue carpet leading up to our thrones, and they curtseyed and bowed as we passed. The palace chamber was magical and dark. The dome over our thrones was inlaid with sapphire and opal, with moonstone and iolite and lapis lazuli, and our thrones themselves were carved from two ancient walnut trees, adorned with silver and crystal.
We paused for a beat, turning in unison once we had ascended the stairs to the thrones, and then at the same time, we settled ourselves. A trumpeter announced that Court was officially open and we were ready for business. Strict was standing to my right. I looked up at him, and—as the crowds quieted down—nodded.
He solemnly stepped forward, standing a few steps down so that his head was lower than ours, and unfurled a long scroll. I had tried to talk them into using flat paper for decrees—standard copy paper size—but so far they had resisted my arguments that it made them easier to file, sticking to the rolling scrolls. I was determined, though, to have my way eventually.
“Her Majesty Cicely, Queen of the Court of Snow and Ice, and His Majesty Grieve, King of the Court of Snow and Ice, convene the court, this seventh day of the Moon, Year One—PM, Year 204 of the Twenty-fifth Cycle of the Lunar Owl.”
PM. Post-Myst. We had decided there had to be an addendum to the yearly cycle that the Courts used, given Myst had caused such chaos and torn apart the Fae courts so dreadfully. We could never forget her—and to my mind, we should never forget such an enemy who had been able to bring down both Summer and Winter Courts. History had a tendency to repeat mistakes that were swept under the rug.
After a beat, Strict once again spoke. “Her Majesty, Queen of the Court of Snow and Ice, will be speaking to you briefly but she will not accept questions at this time.”
I waited for him to move to the side, then stood. I had thought about what to say—and half-thought we should wait until Grieve and I visited the shamans, but Strict had convinced me that wasn’t the best idea. I needed to at least address the subject.
I took a deep breath. “My people, welcome and well-met. I will dispense with niceties and come to the point. You have heard about the tragedy of The Wave Catcher, and perhaps you have heard of the killings out in Whitecroft, the village of the Wilding Fae. Today, there was another mystery—the horrible keening of the wolf that was heard throughout the floes. I will be honest—we don’t yet know what we’re facing, but His Majesty and I will be consulting with the shamans and we hope to have answers soon. Rest assured, whatever we are facing, we will face it together, with strength, and courage, and might. The Court of Snow and Ice is strong. We defeated one of the most deadly despots in history. The fact that we were able to conquer Myst, the Queen of the Indigo Court, signifies that we can face—and overcome—any other challenge that might come to our land.”
I paused, trying to assess the feel of the room.
Ulean, what do you think? What’s the reaction?
They want answers, but the energy…there are whispers in the slipstream, Cicely. I think you have some leeway here, but you are Queen. They will expect some answers soon. After Myst, there is still so very much fear.
Understood.
I took a deep breath, then—rather than add anything that might dilute my message, I said, “Go about your day. Don’t walk through the woods unescorted. Look after your neighbors, if you live outside the Barrow. The best way to stay safe is to stand together. We will update you as soon as we can on this situation.”
And then, I backed up the steps. Lainule had taught me: Never turn your back on a crowd unless you are leaving a room. As I stood in front of my throne, Grieve rose to his feet. Surrounded by guards, we headed out through the door behind the raised daïs that was reserved for our use only. Strict followed. The remaining guards would make sure that the spectators left the hall peacefully.
Once we were back in the council chamber, a servant was waiting with a basket of food. I had learned my lesson. Journeying to the shamans required far more than just taking a stroll into another section of the Barrow and last time, I had been so hungry I almost passed out. Think realm within another realm. Deep within the Court of Snow and Ice, the shamans were walled off by an even greater divide.
One thing I had learned quickly when I took over the crown and moved into the Barrow was that reality was mutable, and that in this world nothing remained fixed. In fact, the words this world were a misnomer. There were worlds within worlds all over the planet. Layers of existence overlapped—hell, in some places they coexisted—just in different planes. One step to the left or right could shift one’s surroundings by a quantum leap. It had crossed my mind that—if we were able to see every plane of existence at once—we’d go mad from all the conflicting visuals. It would be as if Escher had taken a paintbrush to the world.
And so, eating our sandwiches and pastries as we walked, we began the journey into the depths of the Barrow. No one was allowed into these parts of the Court without being royalty, upper-tier guard, or personally summoned by the shamans. We were headed to a center of the Court—its very heart and soul, kept and watched over by the shamans.
The shamans made life in this realm possible. Even the Winter Fae would not be able to exist here without the shaman
s dreaming it into a place where life could flourish. Without their magic, the cold would freeze every drop of blood in the body and the wanderer would stand as a statue, forever encased in the snow and ice.
The tunnel leading to their abode twisted and turned, soon morphing into a tunnel of ice that stretched out from the edge of the Barrow, traversing beneath the ice fields that made up our lands. The walls and floor of the passage shimmered with sparks of light—soft white and gentle violet. The first time I had journeyed to the shamans, I thought I might be walking forever, the passage going on and on, seemingly endless.
We quieted down as the air grew thick and chill. Noise seemed to shatter it, echoing on for miles. Even Ulean remained silent, although I knew she was with me. As we journeyed along through the corridor, I sank into my thoughts.
This is my life. This is what it will be for centuries to come.
The thought sprung into my mind, stark and terrifying. Yet, somehow, it also comforted me. So many people didn’t know what they were meant to do. The vast majority lived their lives in a blur—trudging through their days, hating their jobs, wasting time without really thinking about how short life could be. There was an advantage to living consciously. No matter what one’s life span was, the ability to make a choice about how we spent our time…that was a great gift, and one that only we could give to ourselves. Even if it was only an hour a day, claiming control over what we did with that hour—it made a difference.
Check turned around. “We’re near the barrier, Your Majesty.”
I blinked and looked around. The color of the ice had shifted from blue to purple. Purple was the color of the shamans’ magic.
Peering around him, I could see a gauzy veil of energy completely shrouding the end of the corridor. As we entered the cloud of energy, a mass of sparks sizzled, darting across my body. The last time I had ventured here, I had closed my eyes out of fear. Now, I knew what to expect. But the jolts of energy were still disrupting.
If we had been enemies? Those jolts would have been deadly.
We passed through the veil into a chamber completely formed of ice. Even the furniture was carved from chunks of the glistening frozen water. Shadows moved along the walls—the shamans were watching us. Even within this altered dimension, they lived still another step out. As we took our place around a circular table, a shadow began to emerge from the ice.
Thorn, the Speaker for the council of shamans.
He was a short man, wearing leather pants and a fur cloak. His chest—muscled and gleaming—was bare, and his long dark hair was braided with beads and feathers.
“Your Majesty, you grace us with your presence.” The words were proper, but the energy behind them was matter-of-fact. The shamans did not engage in chitchat.
“We have questions. There are two situations we are facing, and I have no idea what to make of them.” I leaned toward him. “We need your counsel.”
Thorn pulled out a bag from his pocket. He held my gaze and it felt as though he was looking right through me, deep into my core. The shamans were Fae, I knew that much, but just what kind, I had no clue.
“You seek advice about a ship and about two deaths. Two seemingly disparate problems, but at the core—the threads of both issues lead to one answer. They are not disconnected.” He opened the bag and tossed what looked like bone chips on the table. “Pick five.”
I stared at the chips, wondering what animal they were from. Or person?
“The second,” he said, reading my thoughts. “They are bone chips from Speakers past. And when I die, my bones will join theirs.”
I decided it was better not to ask anything else about them. The shamans were frightening enough without knowing all of their secrets. I sucked in a deep breath and chose five of the bone fragments and handed them to him.
He laid them out, one by one. Then he picked up the first and clenched it in his fist. A moment later, he added the second, then the third—fourth, and fifth. After he was done, he lowered his head, eyes closed.
The energy in the room grew thick. My body felt heavy, and I wanted to sleep. I closed my eyes, sliding back in my chair.
I was standing on board a ship, on the deck, and the waves of the sea were growing choppy.
The ship was huge, filled with families. As I watched, they rushed this way and that—trying to tighten down anything that threatened to slide around. A great storm had risen back of the ship, and was bearing down on us quickly. Clouds, gray and pendulous, roiled through the sky, churning as the storm overtook the ship. Crew members raced around, shouting orders to get below before the deluge hit.
I caught my breath, watching as people scattered, struggling to get to the stairwells that led below decks. The waves swelled, rising up to splash across the boat. I cringed as a wall of water came toward me, but as it passed through me as though I didn’t exist, I realized that I was only seeing what had happened. I wasn’t actually there.
That gave me the courage to straighten up and look around.
The storm was really bearing down now, engulfing the boat with cloud and wind. And then, the snow began to fall. Not scattered flakes, but a harsh flurry that verged on a whiteout.
As the mayhem on deck increased, I had a sudden feeling that something was watching from the stern of the ship. I turned, slowly making my way toward the rear of the boat. The screams grew louder as the boat shifted, listing dangerously to the starboard side. For me, moving presented no problem—but the people who were actually aboard were slipping and falling as the waves swelled, tossing the boat around.
And then, I was at the back end, staring into a great wall of water that rose behind the ship. Tidal wave? Tsunami? My first thought was that it was going to sweep down and wash everyone off the deck, and my heart caught in my throat.
But then, I saw something. A man’s face in the wave, staring directly at me.
His features were harsh and angular, his eyes ruthless. Then, a cunning grin, and he whispered something. I could hear the voice on the edge of the slipstream but couldn’t make out the words. The next thing I knew, a wall of frost rolled toward the boat like a wave of water. As it passed over the stern, I braced myself.
Like the water and wind, it passed through me. But as it passed over the crew and passengers, they froze into place, then shattered into white plumes of frost. They vanished, as though they had never existed.
I caught sight of Sweet Pea. Her eyes wide with fear, she turned to race below. The frost passed over her, but it was as though a barrier—a force field—kept it from touching her. She vanished into the hold.
The face in the wave began to laugh, then opened his mouth and sucked all of the wisps of frost that had once been the crew and passengers into his mouth. He swallowed them, and then—
—I was back.
I opened my eyes, breathing hard. My heart was racing and I leaned forward, elbows on the table, trembling and relieved to be out of the vision. The experience had been too visceral, entirely too real. But the flush of relief passed, replaced by horror.
I began to shiver, wrapping my cloak tightly around my shoulders. “He took them. He turned them to frost and then snorted them up like a crack head. He fed on their life essences, didn’t he?” I gazed at Thorn.
“Yes, Cicely. He did just that.”
“Who is he and what does he want? And how is he connected to Whitecroft?”
Thorn pressed his lips together, then let out a faint sigh. “He is Fenrick, the harbinger of the Jötnar—the frost giants from the realm of Jötunheim.”
I shifted. “Not Fenrir? You can’t be talking about the Fenris wolf?” Thoughts of the great shadowy wolf figure the Wilding Fae had seen crossed my mind and I edged one step closer to panic.
“No, not Fenrir. Fenrick was a priest of Hel until she cast him out because he was too power-hungry. He took up with the frost giants, and while I do not know his full tale, I do know that Fenrick is looking to help them find their way into the realm of Snow and Ice. Presum
ably to be one step closer to the outer world—which they call Midgard. But he brings with him his faithful hounds—the vargr—evil wolves known as wargs in your tongue.”
I rested my elbows on the table, cupping my chin. This was worse than I imagined it. “What was I seeing? What exactly did he do with the people on The Wave Catcher?”
“As you surmised, he froze them and fed off their life force. He is a powerful magician and a terrifying foe. I do not believe we can fight him at this point. At best, I think you might be able to drive him out of the realm, but I doubt you can kill him,” Thorn said, blunt and to the point.
I shook my head. “How do we do that? And why is he attacking now?”
“Word must have traveled through the World Tree that a new Fae Queen has taken over the realm of Snow and Ice. A queen who has not yet come into her full power. As the years go by, your magic will strengthen and others will fear you—they will think twice about attacking the realm. But make no mistake, Your Majesty, the throne is still vulnerable. You are vulnerable.”
Another thought struck me. “If I’m vulnerable to the frost giants, won’t that mean the fire giants might be eyeing Rhiannon as a target? Send word to their shamans at once, Thorn. I want them on alert.”
“As you wish.” He paused. “In the old days, Summer and Winter would never have helped each other. They were at odds.”
“In the not-so-old days, division caused both realms to fall to Myst.”
“This is a new day.”
“I am a new queen—and so is my cousin. The old ways are gone. You know what isolationism did. Myst was able to drive her forces into both Summer and Winter and she almost won. Another enemy could do the same. Fenrick could do the same. I don’t plan on allowing anything of the sort to happen.” I frowned, tapping my fingers on the icy table. “All right, we know who we’re facing. So tell me, how did he get here? And how do we drive him out? And what about the wargs? Can we fight them? Kill them? Or are they as invulnerable as Fenrick?”
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