by Ana Calin
CHAPTER III
Lysander
“Do it?” Minerva repeats what I told the guard, frustration staining her cheeks. “You basically told that man and the servant she is now their mistress, and they have to indulge her whims!”
“If she really is who Edith claims she is, I want her satisfied and willing to cooperate,” I reply calmly.
“Cooperate with what,” Minerva exclaims, spreading out her arms to make sure everybody looks at her. She fixes me with intense silver eyes as she speaks, as if provoking me, her golden hair shining like a halo. “You think any amount of luxury and comforts will have her agreeing to being traded over to Xerxes Blazeborn, Lord of Fire? He fucking rules the realm just before Hell, the antechamber of the pit. No person in their right mind would agree to that, no matter what you give them.”
“First of all,” Sandros’ voice booms into the hall as he joins the gathering, the grand doors closing behind him as he and his retinue of guards advance into the hall. Their metal boots and natural body armor clamor as they march over. The clusters of aristocrats forming the Winter Council move to the sides, making room. “My brother needs to ensure the girl is in perfect shape for Xerxes. He might be furious she was treated like a prisoner, and left to freeze to death in a dungeon. He could use that as a pretext to continue the war, after he got his hands on her.”
“If the tales about what he wants with her are true,” Minerva says as she gracefully takes her place at the Council table, “then he could care less if we delivered her to him half dead.”
“My brother is right, Minerva,” I say. “No matter what Xerxes’ true desires or intentions are, he could use that as a pretext to continue the war anyway.”
“Well, that is the reason why we gathered here today, isn’t it, to decide what to do with her, how to make best use of her,” Sandros says, stepping onto the dais and walking to his place by my side. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his magic silver blade, the gauntlet shining in the icicle light.
The aristocrats curl their noses at him. Sandros is dark and intimidating, and his looks are definitely not those of a winter fae. The dark color of his hair along with his intense golden eyes give him a slight demonic appearance, and that’s why the Aristocrat Council of the Winter Realm originally banished him; he’s only half winter fae, and it seems his mother was from the Fire Realm. He’s a half-breed that stands for the breaking of an old, sacred rule. If there is anything more frowned upon than fae mixing with humans, it’s fae mixing with ‘inconceivably incompatible’ fae, like fire and ice. It would have been okay if my father’s second wife would have been a water fae, that’s compatible, but Sandros is the result of a clandestine affair that has never really been proven. I recognized him officially as my brother after our father’s death, especially because it was our father’s last wish. Every time Sandros joins the Council I think of that day.
They all wait for me sit. The outer layer of my skin turns into the iced mailed armor that marks my status, leaving only my neck and my head free. I take my seat on the grand ice throne, my hands that are now ice gauntlets resting on the broad sides.
Once I take this seat, little is left of Lysander. I am now fully the king, the Lord of Winter, and every decision I make must be in the best interest of my people, not mine or my next of kin’s. All emotion shuts down.
“Maybe we should bring the girl, too,” Sandros murmurs under his breath.
“I don’t see why,” the aristocrat next to him says. “It’s not like she has a say in this.”
“It’s her future that’s being decided,” Sandros growls.
“She is a prisoner, even if she’s being treated like nobility,” Minerva argues. “She broke the law, serving humans’ lust in exchange for money.”
“That’s not what she was doing,” another fae says, even though quietly, as not to anger Minerva. It’s not easy for people to sustain a point of view different from hers in these meetings. That’s how Sandros ended up on her black list, not that he was ever on the white one due to his supposed origins.
“She explained why she used her magic in the mortal world,” I say. All eyes dart to me, because it’s unusual for the Lord of Winter to do anything but listen and judge in these situations, and then speak the verdict. But I’m the only person the girl talked to about what she did and why. “Her gigs helped pay off her student loans, and unburden her aunt.”
“Oh, how moving,” Minerva reacts. “So she can justify her actions. I haven’t heard a more wishy washy explanation in hundreds of years, I can’t believe she actually thought it would work.” She puffs and waves her hand.
“Yes, about that,” I say. “I’d be curious as to the reason why Edith Snowstorm was left to freeze in the dungeon. I ordered that she be arrested and taken to her family, where she would spend the next decade as punishment for having crossed over. She never performed any magic in the mortal realm, so I decided she would not be imprisoned here. Only the members of this Council are authorized to throw fae into the dungeon, the Wards wouldn’t have obeyed anyone else. I demand to know who of you it was.”
People look at each other clueless. In the end, all heads turn to Minerva. Her thin red lips pucker.
“It was me,” she admits, even though I know she wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for the peer pressure. “But this Council didn’t come together today to discuss Ms. Snowstorm, but Arielle de Saelaria.”
“We discuss whatever I consider needs to be discussed.” I raise my voice over the hall. “While by ancient law using magic in the mortal world is strictly forbidden, no matter the circumstances, the law for simply crossing over and not making a show of magic powers is much milder. Does Edith Snowstorm stand accused of anything I’m not aware of?”
Minerva speaks up, and she does it with an air of entitlement.
“She crossed over to the human world, and drew attention through her fae beauty, intentionally,” she says. “She wasn’t getting enough attention among fae men, so she sought it among the mortals, who are less used to such striking looks.”
“Hardly enough of a reason to subject her to freezing, starvation and other kinds of suffering in the dungeon.”
“I was just taking the ancient law seriously, Milord,” Minerva says.
“Returning to the matter at hand,” Sandros chimes in. “Doing the same with Arielle de Saelaria would be too dangerous. I suggest we keep her in luxury, make sure Xerxes doesn’t use her mistreatment as a pretext.” He pauses and takes in a deep breath. I know him well enough to understand he’s about to say something that will set the others on fire. “I must also argue in favor of bringing her here, to attend this meeting. We can make all the plans we want, if she’s not in on them, she’s not going to play along.”
“She might not play along anyway,” another voice rises from the Council. “We’re talking about giving her over to Xerxes, for fuck’s sakes.”
“I’m not sure that giving her over is the right thing to do,” I say. All Council members stare at me with large eyes.
“I thought that much was set in stone,” Minerva hisses through her teeth.
“I never thought I’d ever say this,” Sandros grunts. “But I agree with Minerva. If what we want is to end the war with Xerxes, we have to do this. We have something that’s super valuable to him, and we put it to the best use possible.”
“Yes, but trading her over without knowing exactly what he intends to do with her powers is extremely risky. We need a special oath from him, something that will compel him to fulfill it,” I say.
“What are you talking about, brother, all fae are bound to their oaths. We’re all compelled to fulfill them.”
“I may remind you, brother, that Xerxes is the next in line to Lucifer’s throne in Hell. He is a master of trickery, just like Lucifer.”
Murmur ripples through the gathering.
“There are oaths that cannot be cheated, like blood oaths,” the oldest Council member says in a cracked voice. He’s ancient,
experienced, and highly cunning. “A blood oath can bind even archangels, let alone high fae. The problem with this kind of oaths is that it implies exchanging blood—Xerxes would cut his wrist and give you a few drops to keep, and you would have to give your blood to him. I suppose I don’t have to tell you what that means.”
It means that Xerxes would then be able to perform some nasty magic on me, even create something like a voodoo doll and manipulate me from a distance, but then again, so could I with his blood. I shake my head.
“He’ll never agree to it. And who could blame him?”
“But it’s the only way to make sure he fulfills his promises, and never tries to overcome the Winter Realm,” Minerva says enthusiastically. “Just imagine, Lysander. You have the one thing Xerxes wants. Arielle de Saelaria, descendant of the ocean king. He’s been searching for her for so long that he’ll give you anything in exchange. You’ll have one hell of an advantage in your negotiations with him. You can even use her to rip a blood oath from him, and that’s—Come on, Lysander, you have to see it, it’s huge. You could get the world from him.”
I stare blankly ahead of me as I turn this in my head.
“All right. I’ll take the risk. My blood will be in his hands, but his in mine, too. Still, it will be better if the girl is in on it. We’ll need her to cooperate, which means we have to motivate her.”
“You mean more like blackmail her,” Sandros says.
“I agree,” Minerva puts in. “But all of this is only going to work if she really is who Edith Snowstorm says she is. We have to put her to the test.”
A strange feeling tugs at my heart. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Not to mention it’s barbaric,” Sandros ads, not even trying to suppress his anger. “Remember all the deaths that kind of test brought about back in the days of Salem in the mortal realm.”
Minerva holds her ground. “Yes, but this isn’t the mortal realm, and Arielle de Saelaria is not a witch. She’s supposedly the very daughter of the ocean.” She turns to the Council, speaking forcefully, determined to persuade them. “Imagine we go through all the trouble of arranging a meeting with Xerxes, getting him to agree to a blood oath, and it turns out the girl is nothing but a half-breed with mere mermaid powers, able only to lure weak men into the beds of her girlfriends. He’ll be so furious, it will make the war even bloodier.”
My jaw clenches. I never shied away from war, and I would never shy away from a confrontation with Xerxes. But I can’t put my people in danger, I can’t allow the shadow of destruction, death and decay to fall over the Winter Realm. Xerxes could even attack the Flipside, and that would be a catastrophe for humans, since the Flipside is only a step away from their world.
More members of the Council vote that the girl be brought in, and subjected to the test. But why in the cursed realms do I feel this nagging tug in my chest when the decision falls? It shouldn’t bother me—subject her to the test, send word to Xerxes if she’s the one; if she dies in the process, it’s the way it is. The cause is greater than any one of us, the stakes are higher than ever.
Sandros stands up, his men standing to attention behind him.
“It’s settled then,” he says. “I’ll fetch the girl.”
Arielle
“A TEST?” I RAISE MY eyebrows at the dark, wild-looking fae in front of me. “May I ask what it consists of? And shouldn’t I have some time to prepare?”
He looks me up and down, his armor glinting on his body. Just like in Lysander’s case, I realize it’s his flesh that turns into icy metal. But unlike the king, he makes an apologetic grimace when his guards come forth and grab me.
“Hey.” I struggle, but they’re too strong. “You can’t just throw me straight into it.”
“Where are you taking her?” Edith says behind me. She gets off the bed, still moving with some difficulty. “I’m coming along.”
“No, you’re not,” the dark haired fae says. “We can’t afford anything distracting Miss de Saelaria. She’s going to need all her strength, and all of her focus.”
“What the hell are going to do with me?” I shriek as the guards push me towards the door.
“You’re putting her through Love of the Ocean, aren’t you?” Edith calls out behind me. I can hear the panic in her voice.
“We have to make sure she is who you say she is,” the fae replies.
“You don’t need to make sure of anything. You have my word. My family are the keepers of ancient lore, I know what I’m talking about. Actually, I assume full responsibility. If it turns out she isn’t the ocean king’s descendant, I’m willing to pay with my head.”
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but your head is of little value, Lady Snowstorm,” the rugged fae cuts her off. “And taking the test is a must, the stakes are too high.”
“What stakes? What the fuck are you talking about?” I cry. The guards have stopped with me by the door, waiting for the fae to give further instruction, but he can’t seem to walk away from this intense exchange with Edith.
“You know the ancient lore,” he says. “You know who’s after the descendant of the ocean king, and why.”
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Edith manages, looking daggers at the fae. “You can’t be thinking of handing her over.”
“Anybody care to explain to me what’s happening?”
But the fae turns his back on Edith, and leads the way out of the room. I struggle to free myself, but the guards’ mailed hands dig into my arms as they drag me forward. I see over my shoulder how Edith starts after us with a wild look in her soft brown eyes, but Pablo the servant scurries over and holds her back.
I get to see the look of worry on the ashen-haired boy’s face. At least he’s going to make sure she doesn’t get hurt trying to help me out of a clearly helpless situation. I direct my attention to the warrior fae leading the way.
“Please, where are you taking me, what’s going to happen?”
He doesn’t answer. They drag me along hallways, through cloisters that seem sculpted out of marble, ice and crystal, sparkling as if studded with diamonds. Beauty without meaning to me. All I can think about is that I’m about to die.
The salty scent of the ocean hits my senses, causing power to surge in my core, but the silver drawings on my skin react. The power dampens, remaining only a dull thud in my lower belly. The fae pushes open a set of grand doors, and we enter a room so large it seems a cathedral. I realize it’s a council room, judging by the table up on the crystal dais. Archways open behind it, allowing in the scent and sound of the ocean.
Lysander presides over the Council like a king of ice and metal. The sight of him is enough to knock the air from my lungs. His long blond hair seems a river of gold flowing to his shoulders, and his sharp features give the perfect finish to his air of authority.
The guards throw me on the dais stairs, my knees knocking into a sharp edge. I grunt and curse at the impact, as I’m sure the edge sliced the skin on my knee. Someone claps their hands.
“The supposed daughter of the ocean.” I raise my eyes to identify Minerva Midwinter, who seems a malefic fairy in crimson. “Finally, the moment of truth. Now we’ll know if you really are as valuable as Edith Snowstorm claims. If you really are the one who can finally end the war between fire and ice.”
“What the hell are you talking about, you fucking lunatic,” I spit, spurred on by the sharp pain in my knee, and by the anger and frustration at being treated like a lesser creature by these entitled bastards.
She measures me up and down with unmasked contempt. Her thin lips form a distorted line that looks almost ugly, even though she’s fae and therefore inherently beautiful.
I manage to stand, hands gripping tightly to the folds of my blue dress. “What are you going to do to me?”
Many rigid eyes watch me from the Council. I lock my gaze on Lysander, driven by a strange feeling that I can rely on him for support, but it turns out that’s just plain stupid of me. He’s the one who sig
nals the two guards to grab me by my arms, and hoist me onto the ledge of an archway that opens to the ocean. It all happens fast, and they let me go abruptly, which causes me to flail my arms in order to keep balance.
I look down at the raging waves, grabbing onto a side column to keep steady. The ledge is only wide enough for my feet. If I move an inch, I’ll fall into the waves that rise to swallow me with their foamy crests. Thousands of tiny droplets mist my face, and it feels surprisingly good in all this madness.
“It would seem the ocean feels her presence,” Minerva comments. “The waves rise for her like hungry beasts.” She’s at a distance of two archways from me, leaning over to look down. Then her eyes find me with evil anticipation.
“You’re not going to throw me in there, are you?”
“What would be the problem?” Minerva says with a grin. “If you’re truly the daughter of the ocean, the water is only going to bring you back up, rising you on a throne of water and foam.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s the ancient lore.”
“The ancient lore often speaks in riddles and fables. You can’t take it literally.”
My eyes dart around, desperate for someone to react and save me. They stop on Lysander. He has to step in for me, he just has to. But the ice king doesn’t move from his throne of icicles that resemble blades.
“Milord,” I plead, my voice shaking. With one hand I still hold on to the column, while I reach out to him with the other, begging for him to help me. “You can’t let them do this, it’ll kill me. It’s true that I am a water fae, but you put this spell on me, with the drawings.” I stretch out my arm for the Council to see. “My magic is chained, I cannot use it.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Lysander says in a deep kingly voice that fills the hall. “You won’t be able to use your magic properly, otherwise you’d help yourself out of the water, or even disappear in it, swim all the way to another continent if you wanted to. I know you’ve never experienced this in the mortal world, but you’re a water fae, developing full powers here, on the Flipside. We need to strip you of your powers in order to determine if you really are the daughter of the ocean. The ocean has to be the only one acting now, showing us the truth.”