Wings of Frost

by J. D. Monroe

  Think of him. He’s your island.

  She closed her eyes, picturing gentle hands and glowing blue eyes. That charming half-smile that only crept across his face in those fleeting, unguarded moments. But as a fierce cramp bit up her spine, he was obliterated in shapeless white flame.

  “Did you fuck him? Is that what it took to sway you?” Catrina asked.

  “Actually, it was you making me hurt people,” Marlena said, forcing out each word. She narrowed her eyes at Catrina. “But fucking him was a bonus.”

  The older woman’s face twisted in a scowl, and she released Marlena to stand up straight. “He’s not going to come for you,” Catrina said. “He’s dead.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Marlena said. I protected him from this. I did this for him.

  “Farris saw to it. Said he was helpless watching you walk away, so he shot him while he was distracted. Even one of the Arik’tazhan dies with a bullet in their skull,” Catrina said. She finally released Marlena’s face as dread sank in. “I hope your little vacation was worth it. My only consolation is that in the end, Vystus will use this for justice. You won’t waste all of our work.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Catrina simply got up, leaving her to suffer in silence. Defiance had kept her strong, but the anguish began to overwhelm her now. There was no escaping to an island with him. All she saw was his broken body on bloody stone, dead eyes full of accusation.

  She could have lived with her own fate, accepted that she had made her own bed when she swore allegiance to the Chosen. But she’d tried to protect him, and by her actions, gotten him killed. The weight of it was too much.

  Despite her oath to herself, she let out a quiet sob. She’d been through pain at the hands of the Chosen before, but she’d thought it was for a greater purpose. Brutal combat training, fasting and purification for the marking rituals, and the agonizing needle of the marks. To endure it was a sign of her faith. She trusted them to care for her so that she could in turn care for them. The implicit trust was a lifeline through all of it.

  Now she was helpless and knew there was only worse to come. She let out a cry of despair and stared in desperate horror at the pumps. The bags were still nearly full. There was nothing left to hope for.

  The world passed in blurry waves of sweet numbness interrupted by searing pain. It could have been seconds or years before a blur of red moved in her peripheral vision. Something touched her face. The light touch was like sandpaper on raw flesh. She gasped. “It’s all done,” a male voice said, loud as thunder inside her skull.

  “Please,” she murmured through dry, sluggish lips. There was a tearing noise, and suddenly the straps on her were released. Hands slid under her aching body.

  “The scribe is ready for her,” the voice said.

  At the word scribe, adrenaline shot through her heavy limbs. She grabbed the closest person, digging her fingers into a muscular arm. Power boiled in her veins, surging through her with white-hot intensity. The cold manacles couldn’t dampen her power. Not like this. Her eyes finally focused, finding Catrina staring from the end of the metal table. “Let me go,” she ordered.

  The older woman actually staggered backward, eyes going completely dark for a moment as Marlena’s power slammed into her. Then she hurried forward, offering her hand to Marlena. “Let’s go, sweet child. I’ll take you far away.”

  Catrina’s hand was just within reach when she staggered away. Still impeccably dressed in his suit, Sidran shoved the older woman out of the way and glared at someone behind Marlena. “Dose her, you idiot.”

  Someone grabbed Marlena’s hair and slammed a needle into her neck. Icy liquid oozed into her veins. She ignored it, turning her gaze on Sidran. So much raw strength boiling in her veins, let him challenge her now.

  “Let me go right now,” she commanded. He calmly lifted a chain from beneath his shirt, a reminder that he was protected. Pure rage drove her now. “I said let me go.” Her voice echoed in the small room, a strange reverberation lingering in the air. In her mind, she felt the amulet, as solid and certain as if she held it in her hand. A faint green light glowed beneath the fabric of his shirt. One of the gemstones on the amulet shattered with a satisfying crunch. Sidran’s eyes widened with fear. A second stone cracked, much easier than the first.

  Slapping a hand over his chest, he gasped, then turned away from her. “Get her to the scribe. Dose her again if you have to. I need her calm.”

  “Look at me,” she ordered. She drove her enhanced power harder into him, twining the relentless tendrils of it into his body, wrapping around every fiber of muscle. He turned in a jerky motion, exposing his fear-filled eyes. “Let me go.” His lips parted, like he was going to give the order. A needle pricked her neck, forcing something cold into her burning blood. “Release me.”

  One hand covered her mouth, while another covered her eyes from behind, breaking her hold on Sidran. Her vision blurred again. Her body was getting heavy again, her mind fuzzy. At least it didn’t hurt quite so badly now, as the elixir faded to a dull burn. The person behind her gently laid her back again. Sidran leaned over her, still holding his broken amulet. “It’s so close now,” he replied. “Just rest, and when you wake up, it’ll all be over.”

  The temple at Skyward Rest was one of the few places that had been untouched by technology. Candles flickered in sconces on the walls, filling the sanctuary with a dim glow. The smooth stone and glittering mosaics could have been lifted from the temple he’d attended as a child, two centuries and another world away. It was fitting then, that it was the death of his closest friend that brought him into this familiar place.

  He’d kept vigil over Sohan in the queen’s chamber until Valella was safely ensconced with a contingent of her guards. Rosak’s shaking voice had come over the speakers, giving word that the intruders had been neutralized.

  With that, Velati lifted his friend’s body and carried him through the palace, out into the eerily quiet night that still stank of smoke and gunpowder. Several of the palace guards stopped in their path to bow deeply as he passed. Sohan’s body should have been lighter. His massive presence was gone, and the empty vessel should have been light as a feather. But he felt like pure stone, getting heavier with each step.

  When Velati arrived, the priestesses of the temple were gone, likely in hiding. After lighting the candles at the altar, he found a basin and clean cloths, and began the somber work of cleaning his friend’s body. His hands shook as he cut open the shredded t-shirt to reveal the deep wounds that had spilled his life blood. So many old scars intersected across his skin. A thousand hard-won battles, and it was a couple of little bullets fired from a traitor’s gun that finally ended his life.

  Not long after, Dyadra ran into the temple, her voice echoing off the walls. “Velati! What happened?”

  “He kept his oath. He served until the end,” Velati said, gently combing the disheveled silver hair away from his face. Since he’d arrived at Skyward Rest, Sohan’s brow had been permanently furrowed, his mind always chasing down some worry. It was smooth now, his face serene.

  “Talk to me,” she said, grasping his arm. “What happened?”

  “Help me finish this,” he said. “I can’t talk right now, serani.”

  She didn’t argue. Instead, she rifled through a storage room until she found fragrant oils and a pile of linen. Quiet sniffles broke the silence as she helped him work. Her voice trembled through quiet prayers, the same ones they had spoken over hundreds of fallen brothers and sisters during the war. None of them had been easy, but none had ever been this difficult.

  The unbreakable Black Fortress had fallen.

  When his body was clean, they began rubbing the fragrant oil into his cooling skin. They had just finished when one of the priestesses returned. Her dark blue robes were rumpled, but there was no sign of blood. “Oh no. Kordari,” she murmured, gently touching Sohan’s forehead. “I heard, but I didn’t believe it.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Please, l
et me help you.”

  “We’ve got it for now,” Dyadra said. “He deserves your best, but we need a few minutes alone with him before you take over.”

  “Of course,” she said, bowing again. “Idin va halan sar.”

  The formal expression of condolence stabbed through him. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it as he stared down at Sohan’s face. “I know it’s not fair to spend this much energy on one person,” Velati said, staring down at him. “I don’t know how many died tonight.”

  “Too many.” She gently touched Sohan’s chest, tracing one of the twisted scars down his breastbone. “I never thought I would see this day.”

  Velati shook his head. “I did. I thought I would be the one to prepare both of you.”

  She clutched his hand. “He was lucky to have you. We both were.”

  “I thought when you two survived that last one, I had dodged a bullet. Seeing you so badly wounded and being helpless to stop it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. After that, I prayed the Skymother would at least take me first so I never had to do this,” he said. “I’m not strong enough for this. I’m not like you two.”

  “You are,” she said. “I hate that you have to find out, but you are so strong, serani.”

  I’m going to fly again, he’d said.

  “I should have been there,” he said. Guilt panged through him, threatening to overwhelm him. “I was with Marlena. Talking about stupid, inane bullshit without a care in the world. I had no idea until it was too late.”

  “So that makes this your fault?”

  “If I’d been in the palace…”

  “I was watching Netflix with my daughter,” Dyadra said. “You know how this is. How it’s always been. We take the moments of joy when we can. Sohan was probably reading a book and drinking bourbon. None of us knew this would happen.”

  “We got that call,” Velati said. “Rosak told us, and we agreed not to act on it.”

  “How many times have we been threatened?” Dyadra asked. She grabbed his arm and turned him toward her. Her fingers dug into his arm, hard enough to bruise. “Look at me.” Tears glistened in her icy blue eyes. “Don’t you dare go down this road. I know you still blame yourself for what happened to the two of us, and that was never yours to carry. I will not let you pick this up and add it to your burdens. Do you understand me?”

  “Dee, I—”

  She slapped his cheek hard enough to hurt. The smack resounded in the cavernous space. “Do you understand me, Velatizenahros efana Shemahdi?” The shock of hearing his full name was even more startling than the sting of her hand. This was the Silent Tempest giving orders, not his old friend comforting him. “I’m probably the only person in the world who knew this man better than you did, and I will not allow it. He would tell you that himself if he could.”

  “But he can’t.”

  “Then I’ll speak for him. Leave this burden where it belongs. Please don’t weigh yourself down when we need you,” she said. Her face creased, and the tears spilled over. He embraced her, and they slowly sank to their knees on the stone, holding each other as the tears flowed, with silent sobs for their lost brother, for all they had lost. Through the course of the war and the bloody aftermath, they had lost friends, even some of the other Arik’tazhan that had fought alongside them for decades. But the three of them had been something special. And now they were only two, with a void that could never be filled.

  Finally, Dyadra took a deep breath and looked up at him, her blue eyes rimmed in red. “We have to figure out what to do next. I’d like nothing more than to crawl into a hole and cry for a month, but I can’t.”

  “Nothing changes,” he said firmly. “These people have attacked us. They killed Sohan. They took Marlena. They’ve stolen from me for the last fucking time. If I have to do it alone, I will, but I will look them in the eyes and watch the light go out. Every last one of them.”

  “I like the sound of that. And you won’t do it alone,” she said grimly. “But for now, you have to get some rest.”

  Sleep was out of the question. He walked Dyadra back to the Obsidian Wing to check on Allana, who was distraught but safe with her father. With a half-hearted promise to rest, he returned to his apartment. The small space still smelled of Marlena. The scraps of the meal they’d shared still sat on the tiny dinette table. The sheets were still rumpled, a reminder that just hours ago, this had been a safe place.

  Anger and despair swelled to a breaking point inside him as he contemplated the silent room filled with the echoes of his failure. She’d taken advantage of his trust, but this time it was to save him. After all of this, she’d felt the need to protect him from the people who would surely twist her into their weapon. Her and her fucking conscience. And he was more to blame than she was. He’d wrapped up the sins of the Chosen and dumped them in her lap, wielding her guilt with surgical precision to turn her to his side. He’d done one hell of a job.

  He took an icy shower, reveling in the cold chill. The pink shampoo bottle taunted him with her conspicuous absence. He growled and slapped it from the shelf, sending it tumbling to the ground with a splash before it landed on his foot. The pain barely registered.

  After dressing in fresh clothes, he sat on the bed, holding the pillow she’d slept on. He inhaled deeply. Though the strange, death-like smell of her magic was still there, he’d found there was something beneath it, a sweet scent that stirred his pulse.

  His throat clenched, and he hurled the pillow across the room. “Idiot,” he murmured. The thought that she cared enough for him to sacrifice herself that way was overwhelming. And it was infuriating that she’d thought she had to, instead of letting him stand for her.

  With a growl, he hunted down his phone and wallet, then left the apartment on a mission. The sun was creeping over the horizon, but the grounds were still. The entrance from the queen’s garden was broken and uneven, like something had bitten chunks out of the walls. The beautifully sculpted hedges in the garden were mangled, with broken limbs strewn over the stone walkways.

  Inside the palace was an eerie quiet that he knew well. It was the stunned silence that fell after a defeat in battle, the kind that came only when one could no longer draw a breath around broken ribs and shattered morale. It was disbelief and denial as the illusion of safety fell away.

  Blank-eyed and silent, the queen’s staff swept rubble away and scrubbed bloodstains into translucent pink smears. One of the beautiful murals in the main hall was shattered, the telltale fracture of lightning breaking through it. He smelled death everywhere, though well-meaning workers tried to scrub it away with the chemical scent of bleach and lemon.

  He kept his head down, heading straight for Rosak in the Tempest Wing. He needed to keep moving so he didn’t lose his shit. The Tempest Wing was noisy and chaotic. Voices rang out in the hive of offices, and there were easily three times as many people as usual down here. A cluster of agents were gathered around a table in the bullpen, talking quietly. A whiteboard with a sketch of Haven’s layout lay on the table. Velati approached the group and asked, “Is Rosak in his office?”

  One of them looked somber and nodded. “He’s upset.”

  “I can imagine so,” Velati said.

  He knocked on Rosak’s door, which was closed for once. There was no answer, but he heard the slow heartbeat and the even breathing on the other side. He let himself in. A single lamp on the desk cast the room in a dim glow. Rosak sat at his desk with his head in his hands. At the sound of the door, his head shot up. His face fell. “Not now.”

  “Yes, now,” Velati said. He sank into the chair across from Rosak. “What’s your plan?”

  “I can’t…I need a few minutes,” Rosak said. His voice was hoarse and weak, and despite his impressive size, he looked small as he hunched at his desk.

  “It’s been six hours since they attacked,” Velati said. “We have to act.”

  “Just give me a minute,” Rosak said. “I’ve been out there all night.”
r />   “This is no time for…” He trailed off when he heard the hitch in Rosak’s breathing. His broad jaw was tense, tendons standing out in his neck. The head of the Tempest was one harsh word away from a breakdown. And none of this was his fault. “You know what, I’m sorry. I came in swinging. I apologize. Take a minute if you need it.”

  Rosak drew a deep breath and held it. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he spoke, he slowly raised haunted eyes to Velati’s. “They all expect me to come out with a plan, and I don’t even know where to start. I should have…this all happened under my care.”

  “Are you all right? Were you hurt?” Velati asked.

  Rosak shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “On the queen’s orders, I was taking a night off to rest. I’ve been working overtime for three weeks, and she told me I had no choice. My assistants assured me they would notify me of any issues. I guess they figured once I was out of the way, it was time to act. They were right under my nose all this time. By the time I heard the first shots, it was already too late.”

  “Both of them were traitors?”

  Rosak nodded. “I should have guessed it when Piryne was so adamant that we shouldn’t question everyone. But her argument made sense. She’s worked for me for years. I’ve trusted her implicitly. Garid is quiet, but he’s always been loyal.”

  “And they’re both dead?”

  Rosak shook his head. “Sohan killed Piryne. She nearly killed King Eberand and was trying for the queen when Sohan got in her way. But he…you know. He saved her life, even though they despised each other.”

  Grief threatened to close his throat. “I know. I was there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rosak said. He shook his head. “We butted heads constantly, but he didn’t deserve that.”