Winter Queen

by Erica Marie Hogan

  We will make it out of the city ... we must.

  Brae’s head lolled to the side, her legs trembling where they hung limply beneath her. Her ankles scraped against the rough stone floor, blood drying on the soles of her feet. She’d been relieved of her slippers when they brought her down here, the sharp pebbles and uneven ground cutting through the soft flesh of her feet. They’d shoved her and hit her, chaining her arms above her head on the wall, so she had no choice but to stand or hang there.

  After the first day of torture, she’d given up trying to hold herself up. Her hair clung to her sweaty neck, having come loose from its braid to hang low against her back. Brae knew she had only a matter of time now unless Brecken returned and swayed the king to defy his sister. She could only pray the Creator had seen Damari and Noelle safely out of the city.

  The gash in her leg was festering, the bandage they’d used to wrap the cut now dirty and drooping from the wound they’d refused to sew. Brae could feel the infection growing, the itch almost unbearable. But the bandage had stopped the steady flow of blood, leaving a crust along the length of her leg to her heel. Brae tried to shift herself, the chains clanking against the wall whenever she moved, alerting the guards she was awake. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she refused to sob. She hadn’t screamed once; she hadn’t answered one question no matter how Raphaela had used her magic to ... persuade her.

  The lock on the door clicked, and Brae closed her eyes, wincing when the hinges shrieked, announcing the arrival of her tormentor. Forcing herself to look, her breath was sucked from her lungs. Raphaela stood there, her black hair glittering from the wrappings of multiple braids around her head and her sharp eyes seemingly glittering with pleasure at the sight of her prisoner, filthy and bloodied against the wall.

  But the dress she wore was what stole Brae’s breath. The blood-red leather bodice with crisscrossed laces up the front, and the flowing, silky skirt which swayed down to matching, heeled boots. The stark white cloak draped on her shoulders. This was the uniform of an Intermediate. She had taken the next step among the Eventide Sisters.

  Her magic is growing stronger. Brae forced herself to draw air into her lungs, reminding herself to keep living. No matter how strong Raphaela became, Brae would fight for life. For her daughter and husband. For the two sisters she thought were long dead and lost to her forever.

  “My sister has disappeared.” Raphaela broke the silence in the little cell, the snap of her shoes echoing against the walls. She curled her hands in front of her, palm to palm as a small ball of black light appeared between them. “Is that not strange? That my sweet, quiet sister Damari should disappear on the same day you are arrested? On the same day your child also vanishes?”

  “That is strange,” Brae rasped, a grin curving her lips.

  The black light hit her like a punch to her gut, throwing her back against the wall. Brae groaned but bit her lip to keep from screaming. She was covered in bruises, the light trying to break her ribs as it burned through her skin like claws, reaching for her heart. Brae fought the pain, her eyes tearing as she glared at the witch who called herself Princess of Nfaros.

  “Your line must end, and I will do whatever necessary to discover where Damari has taken your little brat.” Raphaela spit at her feet. “Even if I must kill you.”

  “That is no threat to me. I am not afraid of death. Besides, you have planned to kill me all the while, haven’t you?” Brae leaned the crown of her head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “You have done everything else you possibly could to me. Death is the next step, no?”

  “Perhaps.” Raphaela laughed softly. “But I will take pleasure in this first. I will finally hear you scream, Brae Sundragon.”

  “Jandry.” Brae looked in her eyes, a smirk twisting her lips. “Brae Jandry. Did you forget?”

  Raphaela bared her teeth, hissing before she lifted her hands in the air. The black cloud rose from her palms, swirling in the air to curl like smoke against the ceiling before swarming around Brae. She gasped, her blood growing hot as the pain assaulted her from all sides, bending her ribs until they cracked, snapping her elbows against the walls. Brae bit her lip and tasted blood, her eyes popping as the pain tried to rip her apart.

  But she didn’t scream.

  Black Dawn cantered down the line of men as the horns of the Woodlanders echoed. Brecken tugged on the reins, but his stallion whipped his head defiantly. The Kliat had been quiet, the wind rustling in the tall grass the only sound to be heard as they had made their way closer and closer to the circle of wagons. Then the horns began to ring out, their constant moan more insistent the closer Brecken marched his men to their lines. Once they had begun, Brecken knew it was only a matter of time before the fighting would start. Now, he could see the men gathering, forming ranks with sharpened blades glistening in the sun.

  There were women in their ranks as well, wearing britches and men’s coats. He knew, even from this distance, they were women because of their slight forms. The sight only assured him they didn’t stand a chance. If they needed to call the women to take up swords and fight, then their numbers were weak. Perhaps this would be even easier than he thought.

  Brecken grumbled under his breath as the horns rang out again, calling Mirae Sundragon’s men to battle. Haedron and Lucas had already drawn their weapons, prepared to fight their way through the Woodlanders to get to Mirae. Brecken snarled as he passed them, stopping at the end of the line.

  Turning about, Brecken narrowed his eyes on Mirae’s troops. The wagons were circled behind the rows of men coming into formation with their swords drawn, women and children disappearing beneath the canvased carts. A dark-skinned woman walked between them, two men flanking her. Brecken shook his head, clouds rolling in his mind at the sight of her. There was something about her he didn’t like. A heaviness draped itself around him whenever she came into sight.

  Then his eye caught the figure of a small woman, a fur cloak around her shoulders and short hair fluttering in the wind. Brecken’s breath caught. He knew, even from a distance, she was Mirae Sundragon. She carried herself proudly atop a golden horse—her distinctive red hair unmistakable. Even from this distance, he saw the resemblance between her and Brae. They could have been twins. Brecken ignored the surge of pain in his chest at the thought. How could he do this? Killing Mirae would be like killing Brae.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the sight, riding back down the line. His archers were standing at the front, arrows drawn and placed, ready to loose on his command. The Woodlander horns were beginning to grate on his nerves now—a constant bellow filling his ears and drowning out any other sound.

  Brecken drew his sword, raising the blade into the air. The archers stepped forward in unison, taking perfect form as they drew back their arrows, bowstrings creaking. Brecken breathed deeply, his fist trembling where he gripped the sword. The silver hilt of the weapon glistened in the light of the sun.

  “Take out the horns. I’ve had enough.” With a quick thrust, he swung his blade, and the arrows flew.

  Mirae heard the hiss of the arrows before they were upon her, turning quickly as Jaeger called for everyone to drop. Their wooden shields rose above their heads to protect them when they crouched. Mirae urged Thunder faster down the line, keeping her eye on the arrows as they floated swiftly through the air, arcing over the space between her people and the king’s army.

  She bent low against Thunder’s neck, but the line of arrows passed directly over her. Grunts and moans echoed through the crowd, and the horns ceased. Yanking the reins, she spun Thunder around, the animal nearly losing his footing as he circled sharply to face the army. Mirae swallowed, watching as some of the men quickly dragged the wounded into Astra’s circle before they returned, leaving the dead where they had fallen. Forcing herself to look away, Thunder skipped angling her back to face Brecken’s forces.

  Her father’s swo
rd hissed as she drew it. Brecken was at the head of his army. She saw him immediately, glittering in his black metal armor, a red sash tied around his waist for the king and his helmet rounding high over his head. She snarled when she saw the twisted silver panther on his chest; the aversion to the Kael signet growing strong within her.

  There was nothing she could do to stop him; there was nothing she could do to persuade him. Mirae could only hope his love for her sister would stay his hand if she were to face him on the field. Because she knew Brecken well. She knew his strengths, and there was no chance she could defeat him on the field. Coming alongside Jaeger, she forced a smile.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked. “Are you ready to do what is necessary?”

  “Are you?” Mirae replied. The king’s men marched in perfect sync toward them. “Many Woodlanders followed the Kael family when they rose against my father. There may be a face or two you know also.”

  “Mirae.” Jaeger’s low voice warmed her inside, and she knew he spoke only in concern for her. “We are on the brink of battle. You are about to kill a man you have known your whole life. Can you live with that?”

  “Only if he tries to kill me,” Mirae answered softly. “When you found me, I told you I was willing to do whatever was necessary to take back the throne of my father. Brecken Jandry followed Roderick Kael then, and he follows him now. If he looks in my eyes today and still tries to kill me, then I will feel no guilt if my sword swings first.”

  She swung the sword above her head, and the men seemed to awaken at that moment, calling for the Sundragon as Thunder began his slow pace forward. Mirae breathed deeply, her chest swelling, her heart racing in anticipation. Thunder quickened to a slow canter, his head pumping and his mouth open in a gleeful scream. Mirae stretched her arm, her father’s sword heading her army as they charged through enemy lines.

  Where is she? Brecken pulled his sword from the Woodland rebel, spinning around in the chaos.

  Mirae’s savage charge had broken through his lines like stones through water, and she’d disappeared. Brecken stepped over the carnage, shouts and clanging steel overwhelming the wind. He fought his way through the battle, his gaze ever searching. Mirae Sundragon had been clever to charge first, her men gaining the upper hand by taking out his entire front line in one clean stroke. He didn’t know what magic on the Kliat had quickened them, strengthened them, but he knew with certainty the Creator’s magic wasn’t with him today. The Creator was with Mirae and her band of rebels.

  Brecken ducked from a swinging axe, taking out the Woodlander with one smooth strike of his blade. He moved on, weaving through the fighting without trampling the fallen men. There was nothing he could do now, but Brecken wished he’d brought Klade and the rest of the men with him. Mirae’s army was larger than he’d anticipated, and he would lose more men than he’d wanted. But he knew the victory was theirs already. The black-haired woman had already drawn back the wagons, inching them closer and closer to the border of the Pilvaa, and one of the men called for the rebel army to pull back. He searched the crowd for Haedron and Lucas, knowing they would be searching for Mirae as diligently as he was.

  “Brecken Jandry!” a deep voice called from behind, and Brecken spun.

  The man stood before him, a jagged, curved sword clutched in his thick hand. His skin was darkened by exposure to the sun, and there was silver at his temples. His hair was pulled back by a leather cord, and his clothes were jagged, blood dripping from his arm where a sword had met its mark. He made no move against Brecken, simply stood there glaring. Brecken breathed deeply. He didn’t recognize him, but he’d called Brecken by name, as though they’d met before. Taking a small step back he waited, watching the stranger closely to catch any sudden movement.

  “If you love Brae Sundragon, you will let her sister live.” The man’s declaration echoed in his ears. Brecken’s breath completely left him, his heart rattling in his chest.

  The Woodlander turned his back, and Brecken let him walk away. Recovering himself, surrounded by the screams of dying men, he turned away.

  He saw her. Lucas and Haedron were circling her, and she stood proudly, holding her father’s gold-hilted sword high. Her head swung back and forth between the assassins. Growling low in his throat, Brecken charged.

  Mirae twirled her father’s sword in her hand, the hilt twisting between her fingers. The blade whooshed round and round at her side. Haedron Norley grinned at her, a gleam in his eye that spoke of the death he had in mind for her. She thought Brecken was here to kill her, now she knew Roderick didn’t trust him enough to send him without his best assassins. Mirae pulled in a calming breath, letting the warmth of the last summer sun wash through her before she lunged. Her father’s sword rang against Haedron’s smaller blade, bouncing off it and sending him stumbling back, startled.

  Without wasting a moment, she spun, deflecting Lucas’s strike from meeting its target across her back. The sounds of war were all around them, yet she heard nothing but her own blade clattering against theirs as she defended herself against their evil intent. They were both skilled, years of experience killing in the shadows at their disposal.

  But they are not in the shadows now.

  More than anyone, Mirae knew how to handle herself on an open field of battle. Jaeger, a man who’d fought two wars and lived to tell the tales of their destruction, had instilled the skill in her. Mirae turned a full circle, swiping her blade down Lucas’s chest. His eyes widened in sudden pain, trembling fingers reaching now for the gash across his middle. Blood flowed down his chest, soaking into his shirt as he fell. He stared blankly up at the sky.

  She spun away and gasped, blood bursting from her mouth when the hilt of Haedron’s sword slammed into her face. She fell back, her father’s sword flying from her palm. Scrambling back on her elbows, Mirae stared up at the man. She reached desperately for her sword. Before she reached the blade, the point of another weapon burst through the front of Haedron’s chest. The man looked down at her in surprise, the hiss of steel releasing flesh filling her ears before he dropped onto his side, eyes clouding in death.

  Brecken towered over her, blood dripping from the end of his sword as he looked down at her. Mirae swallowed, waiting for him to speak. Waiting for him to kill her. Her fingers crawled closer to her father’s sword, but still, she couldn’t quite reach the weapon. Closing her eyes, Mirae sought the will of the Creator.

  What happens now?

  Brecken’s hands trembled where he gripped his sword, hovering over young Mirae Sundragon. Her full lips parted, heavy breaths slipping through to deflate her chest. She was wearing a black bodice, the dragon embroidered across the front familiar. The blouse had been her house garb, and to this day, his own wife kept hers tucked away in one of her trunks, out of sight for the rest of her life. Brecken struggled, staring down into wide eyes identical to his wife’s—red hair shorn and wavy against her cheeks.

  There was so much of his wife in her, despite her skin, lightly kissed by the sun. She was no longer the girl Brecken remembered. She was a grown woman who knew what she fought for and who was prepared to face the consequences. He saw it in her eyes—all over her face.

  Growling, he pulled back, knocking his helmet off his head. He pointed his sword at her.

  “You’re dead!” he shouted, ignoring the surprise flickering in her eyes. “I killed you here, on this field! That is what I will tell them in Sunkai. You’re dead.”

  Mirae stood up hesitantly. Her mouth puckered, and she whistled sharply. The golden horse he’d seen her astride earlier came galloping across the field, stopping at her side to stomp his foot. She swung into the saddle, looking down at Brecken. He lifted Vihaan Sundragon’s sword from the ground, grazing his thumb along the jewels inlaid in the hilt before turning to her.

  “Thank you, Brecken Jandry,” she whispered hoarsely as she accepted her father’s sword. “We will meet again.
”

  “By the Creator’s blessing, in this life,” Brecken answered. “Not the next.”

  Mirae started to turn away but stopped, returning her gaze to his. “Go home, Brecken. Brae is in trouble.”

  Then she spurred her horse away, bending low over its neck to hide her face as she galloped toward the fleeing wagons in the distance. The rebels were retreating, running for the woods at the calls of their commanders. Brecken watched her go, his heart thundering against his chest.

  Pausing, he looked down into Haedron’s lifeless eyes and grimaced. As much as he hated the man, stabbing him in the back was despicable. His stomach knotted, guilt crawling through him. He forced himself away. Stepping over the bodies they would leave behind, he raised his sword, rallying his men to his side.

  “Let them go!” he yelled. “It’s over!”

  Brecken called for Black Dawn, the animal prancing nervously around the field searching for him. The stallion came to his side, bending to nudge Brecken’s waist. He stroked the animal, calming him before swinging up into the saddle. He slid his sword back into its sheath. In the sudden quiet of a battle finished, Mirae’s voice resounded in his head.

  Go home. Brae is in trouble. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he turned Black Dawn toward Quintaria.

  “Captain!” one of the men shouted, catching his attention. He raised his sword, pointing. “A rider!”

  Brecken frowned, looking up. A rider galloped toward them from the direction of the city. He was bent over his horse’s neck, dark cloak billowing out behind him from the force of the wind. Brecken couldn’t see his face, but no one would ride across the Kliat so fiercely if they didn’t carry an urgent message. The rider had to be one of the king’s men; perhaps even Klade coming to tell him something was amiss in Quintaria. Brecken dug his heels into Black Dawn’s ribs, and he lunged forward, leaping to meet the rider. Surprise tightened his heart at the sight of Maxx, dripping in sweat and breathless from the heavy ride over the Kliat. A dark weight fell upon him, and once again, Mirae’s warning whispered in his ear.