Citrine spun on her heel. Her heart beat strangely in her chest as she crept back into the cave.
A tundra met them as they trudged uphill to a clearing where feathered creatures awaited them. Citrine studied them, and a thrill went through her. There were five winged birds—Lord Nodin’s friends, as he called them—with white and gold feathers and curved beaks. Their eyes were sharp and beady and peered at her as though they could read her mind, but when she opened her thoughts to hear what they said, there was nothing. A second thought crossed her mind. If she could not hear their thoughts, they were not beasts but mortals. A sudden discomfort niggled at her. How could she ride a mortal with her body pressed against its feathers? Did Lord Nodin know this and persist? Her eyes drifted to him, but he was speaking to the beasts, who acknowledged him without words.
Citrine glanced at their curved talons, sharp enough to rip the flesh of her body from core to core. They were shrewd, powerful, and she would not want to be on the wrong side of those beasts. Their wings spanned well over twelve feet, and their forms towered above her. Citrine shrugged off her pack, eager to be off, but her book of spells was heavy and she wasn’t sure she trusted it to do well in flight. She considered calling her beasts. Grift could fly her, or even Ava. She trusted them much more than the Xctas called by the Therian.
“Mount up,” Lord Nodin called, strolling to Zilpha’s side. “We will reach Stronghold before sundown.” He spread his long fingers around Zilpha’s waist and helped her up on the back of one of the Xctas. He stayed with her a moment, showing her where to put her hands.
Citrine watched them, and a bitter laugh rose on her lips. Her eyes shifted to Tor Lir and Hava, who had already mounted up and were grinning at each other over golden feathers as though they shared a grand secret. Tor Lir’s words of last night rang through Citrine’s mind. She scowled, stepped over to the Xctas, and gracefully swung up on its back.
You’re the Enchantress?
The words filtered through her mind so quickly she started and almost fell off. She wasn’t used to new creatures talking to her, much less a creature she was riding. Err. . . Yes. I thought you were Therian. Your minds are so quiet.
A low rumbling came to her as though the Xctas were laughing. We were forewarned to keep our minds still around you. You have the ability to read our thoughts and communicate with us in a way the Therian never can. It is a rarity, and I am honored to carry you.
Citrine breathed a sigh of relief. But before she could say another word, the bird spread its great wings. They blasted into the air with powerful strokes that made her hair stand on end. The frosty air gusted past her so quickly her breath was lost and her stomach flipped. A grin came to her lips as the wings beat the air again and again. They soared up into the blue skies. Dark thoughts drifted away as snowflakes peppered her face. Her hands went numb. She burrowed them deeper into the warm feathers, but it did not matter, for her love of flying overcame all.
7
Arrows
Wind whipped tears out of Citrine’s eyes. Ignoring the wind, she struggled to see, eager to catch the first glance of Stronghold. Curious thoughts filled her mind. She pushed them to the Xctas. Do you have a name? Do you enjoy living here? Do you fly back and forth often? What are the Therian like?
A low rumble came from the Xctas. You have many questions. It would spoil Lord Nodin’s surprise if I answered them all.
Citrine stiffened. What surprise?
I jest. The rumble came again, and the Xctas curved to the side to fly above the others. I am called Redtail, but names are more important for mortals than for my kind. I prefer to make my home in the heights. Once my debt is fulfilled, I will go there. Nodin is a kind master and only calls when he is in desperate need. My kind have always been loyal to the royal line of the Therian. After their restoration by the Rulers of the West, I see no reason not to continue. The food is always plentiful, and they offer shelter through the storms and fight our enemies with us.
Enemies. Citrine blinked quickly. What enemies do you have up here? Aside from the wolves? What other troubles do you have?
The Therian and the Ezincks—known as the Tribe of Minas—made peace, but they are not the only kind who dwell in the mountains. Have you heard the tale of the Rulers of the West and how they restored Stronghold to the Therian?
Ah. During the war?
Aye. Wild clans rise from time to time—the outcast, the banished, the leaderless. Occasionally, they unite under one flag and ride against the Therian and the Tribe of Minas, but as long as the Therian hold Stronghold, they have an advantage. Until they began to transform into feral beasts. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t it?
Citrine sucked on her cheek. Lord Nodin believes myself and my companion, Tor Lir, can discover why the Therian are transforming into wild beasts and losing their mortality. If she were to be honest with herself, she had not thought through the plan she and Tor Lir should have come up with. Now they were approaching Stronghold, she needed to think about a solution to the Therian’s problem and discuss with Tor Lir. A craving wormed its way up her belly. Tor Lir had promised she could look at the Clyear when they arrived, something that had long been denied her. Surely the Clyear of Revelation had the answers for how she was to save not only the Therian but also the Udi.
The Therian have a temporary solution, although I doubt it will hold. Redtail’s thoughts grew distant and then silent.
Citrine recognized he was shutting her off from his thoughts, but she did not mind. He’d given her enough information to mull over. A gust of wind made her bright hair fly straight back, and she untucked one hand from the warm feathers to pull her fur closer.
Below, she saw fir trees, wrapped in green and white. They dotted the mountain slope, some scattered and others tightly knitted together as though they kept their trunks hidden from the cold. Citrine imagined animals lived in those clumped clusters. Hints of pine hung in the air, rich and sharp. Citrine wished she could dismount for a moment, pull out her book of spells, and paint the air with words. She gasped. Book of spells. Of course. If she had the right ingredients, she could concoct a spell to cleanse the Therian. Whatever they did, it must have been evil for them to turn from mortals into monsters. Once she arrived at Stronghold, she would cleanse it and use the Clyear of Revelation to figure out what to do next. Excitement made her fingers tremble, and a satisfied smile came to her lips. She recited the herbs she needed—cedar, rosemary, lavender, resins—hoping she’d packed enough, for there was nowhere to gather herbs in the white tundra.
A range of icy cliffs rose, and the Xctas banked sharply, heading straight toward them. Citrine thought she saw something silver wink in the air. Brushing hair back from her face, she strained her eyes. Was it Stronghold? The fortress made of ice built into the mountainside? It was past midday; they had to be close.
The silver light flashed again, and a shout echoed across the peaks. Citrine squinted as sunlight made everything glitter, and then a hiss invaded her thoughts. Citrine. They will kill you.
Ava! she breathed, almost laughing. You frightened me. What are you talking about?
The arrows, Ava’s disgruntled hiss came again.
Citrine sat ramrod straight and stared down, past the cliffs where the land met again. Dread crept up her shoulders. Ava. If there are arrows, get out of here. Warn the others.
Before Citrine could think or say anything else, a volley of arrows hurled from the sky. Involuntarily she ducked and flung up her hands to protect her face. “Redtail. Watch out,” she shouted.
Redtail spun out of the way and began to climb, leaving the others behind. Citrine uncovered her face. Arrows zipped by, making a sharp whistling sound. They were beyond the cliffs now, and a patch of snow and evergreen trees appeared.
“Tor Lir!”
She heard Hava’s desperate shout and turned in time to see an arrow sink through the Xctas Tor Lir flew on. The bird wheeled, and a fountain of red covered its chest. One second it was in the air,
the next it dropped like a stone into a waterfall.
Citrine’s chest climbed into her throat. A sickening feeling consumed her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered as the Xctas struck the cliffs and fell over them. A fur-covered figure landed just shy of the cliffs. Tor Lir. Was he still alive?
A muffled cry came from the air. She clasped her hands over her lips. Thoughts flew to her beasts, but she knew they were safe and—she hoped—far away from the Therian. More arrows filled the air. Nodin shouted directions, and then a jumble of voices filled Citrine’s thoughts. Fears collided as the Xctas lost control of their thoughts and soared higher, desperate to get away from the arrows. The air grew thin, a single drop of blood fell from Citrine’s nose. Swallowing hard, she willed herself to focus and stay in the present. If she fell apart, she couldn’t help, but she also couldn’t see their assailants. Squaring her shoulders, she peered down, certain they were beyond the reach of arrows. Wind roared through her ears, and she saw tiny spots below her. Another Xctas had been hit and sank into the ground, sending a fountain of ice and snow into the air.
Citrine’s breath caught, and a frenzy of thoughts echoed through her mind. She pushed them away just as an arrow sliced through one of Redtail’s wings and they fell.
8
Defiance
Tor Lir gasped in the snowdrift, and a rasping breath burst out of his chest. He coughed but otherwise lay still, grateful the snow had cushioned his fall. He closed his eyes and used his power to examine his body, connecting to the soft tissue and hard bones and ensuring everything was working as it should. He moved the blood around in his body, forcing the bruises to fade away until he was one and whole.
It was a while before he opened his eyes and sat up, satisfied he had healed himself sufficiently. Flexing his fingers one by one, he stood gingerly to his feet and glanced away. Whiteness shimmered under the pale reach of the faded sun and the glare of the Green Light, making him blink. He turned in a slow circle, noting the trees on one side of him and a steep embankment on the other, pointing downhill. He shuddered to think how hard it would have been to heal himself if he’d tumbled all the way down the cliff. His bow and arrows were gone, and his pack had fallen off his back at some point, likely over the edge of the cliff.
A slight wind stirred, and Tor Lir sighed at his bleak surroundings. He was lost in the Cascade Mountains, so one direction was as good as any. A high point would be best, for he still held the Clyear of Revelation, and it was likely that Lord Nodin—if he survived—would send a search party to lead him back to Stronghold. If evening fell without a retrieval, he would need to find shelter, and the scattering of trees in the distance looked comforting. Glancing toward them again, he saw something move.
Tor Lir narrowed his eyes, forcing his penetrating gaze across the glittering snow to make out the shape. It moved again, a small shape low to the ground, flickering back and forth. A smile came to his lips, and for a moment he thought it was one of Citrine’s beasts, coming to rescue him. It would be like her. As he strode through the snow, his boots sinking deep, a lightness swelled through his chest. His fingertips tingled, and when he looked down, his feet rose to walk above the snow. A sigh of pleasure came from his lips, and he squared his shoulders. Yet another revelation of his uncanny power. When he looked at his fingertips, there was a slight shimmer of green, and a vision of his shadow, dark and evil, made him shudder.
He looked up. The creature on the edge of the clearing was a lone fox. He squinted, for the brilliance of the snow made it hard to see with the light, but he could have sworn the fox was staring at him. As he neared, he saw the creature clearly. It was slightly smaller than a fox, with a white pelt, delicate paws with neat, curved claws Triangle-shaped ears pointed straight up and the insides were pink. The heart-shaped face of the fox dipped, and the black nose quivered at him.
Tor Lir tilted his head to the side as the fox pawed the ground and swished its bushy tail as though dusting away its footprints in the snow. It was the eyes—perfectly round and swimming with an intelligent darkness—that captivated him. The white fox pawed the ground once more, then trotted off. It wanted him to follow it.
Tor Lir hesitated just a moment, but there was nothing for him in the snowbank, and he had a sinking feeling it did not matter where he went. Maybe the fox was one of the Therian and would lead him to Stronghold. He turned his back on where he’d fallen and followed the creature.
Slender trees rose out of the ground, offering slight shade from the falling snow. They wound their way through them and farther ahead were massive gnarled pine trees as old as the foundation of the world, their green branches heavy with snow. A soft sound came to his ears, and after a moment he realized it was snow sliding off the tree branches and pooling on the ground, adding drift to drift. The fox trotted up a hill, ears pricked, and paused, turning back to look at him.
When the ice-blue eyes met his, he knew she was a female. Briefly his thoughts flickered back to his first encounter with the Boundary Line Forest and the thin waif he had followed. She worked for the Master of the Forest but ended up helping him. He wondered if the fox was the same. Who would she be when she transformed? Would she speak to him?
The air was chill, and steam drifted from his mouth, so thick he thought it would turn into a snowflake and fall to the ground. Gray clouds rolled in front of the sun and at some point, it began to snow. Lazy, fat snowflakes drifted back and forth in the slight wind, in no hurry to reach the ground, their final resting place. A shiver shook Tor Lir’s body. He wrapped his arms together despite the warm fur that covered his body. He needed shelter soon.
The fox came to a space between two pine trees and paused. Her tail swished, and she peeked over her shoulder, eyeing him. Tor Lir had the distinct feeling he was being invited into a sacred place where she did not lightly bring visitors. But curiosity overrode his trepidation. He stepped through the invisible door, and the chill melted away.
Thick pine needles rose above him like a canopy of green with brown walls, the trunks of trees, but somehow not trees. He blinked. A delightful feeling came over him. Was he in an enchanted wood? He held out his blue fingers as though the warmth were a fire and took in his surroundings. In the center of the clearing was a bed of moss at waist-height. A fur cloak rested on it, and below it were bundles, perhaps food for the night.
The fox pawed the ground and trotted in a circle, and then, in one bold movement, she transformed. Her face changed, and she grew, tall, lean, hard. Her foxlike face remained, somehow mortal and foxlike at the same time. She had a heart-shaped face just like the fox with smooth skin as pale as the winter snow. Eyes as blue-gray as a cloudless day and full lips, red as polished rubies. She stood a foot shorter than him, with white hair trailing down her back to her waist. Her hands rested on her hips, showing off her full beauty, as calm and perfect as the morning after a winter storm.
Tor Lir swallowed hard as he gazed upon her nakedness, heart pounding with lust as she posed for him. Ever so slowly she turned, showing off her lean curves, the swell of her small breasts, the curve of her stomach and the plump roundness of her hips. Once her back was to him, she bent over the bed and picked up the fur cloak.
An ache stirred in his lower abdomen, and his eyes narrowed, yet he did not avert them from the position of her lovely bottom as she bent over, showing him a clear view of what hid between her legs. She faced him again as she tossed the white fur over her shoulders. It cascaded around her back, and when she pulled the hood over her face, Tor Lir saw it resembled a fox, complete with pointed ears and dead eyes, glaring at him.
Her gray eyes scanned his body in an entirely lewd way, as though she wished he were naked too. Taking a step closer to him, she lifted a hand, her long fingers tiptoeing across her chest to play with her breasts, rolling a nipple between two fingers. When she spoke, her voice was as gentle as the falling snow. “Want to play?”
Tor Lir knew his eyes were hooded with a blatant lust he could not
hide. It had been too long since he’d held a female and tasted her delights. His thoughts flickered back to the Jesnidrains of Shimla, his first conquest, and the irritation that followed. This was different. There was no time for dalliances because he needed to return to his companions. “I am tempted. But I am in the middle of something.”
An eyebrow half raised and her fingers dropped away from her nipple. “A quest?”
He tore his gaze away from her breast and met her gaze. “Aye. They invited me to Stronghold. Do you know it?”
Her eyes darkened, and he saw a flash of something. Anger?
“Ah.” She licked her ruby lips. “Stronghold. The Therian stole it. From us.”
Tor Lir studied her face. He should have been alarmed and yet he was drawn to her. “Stolen. Us.” He repeated her words. “You are an enemy of the Therian?”
Her lips curled, and she wound a strand of thin hair around her pale white fingers. “You are a friend of the Therian?”
He smirked. “Friend is too strong of a word. My presence was requested, but I have not decided.”
She bared her teeth, only a quick flash he took to be a grin. Lying back on the bed her fingers moved across the furs, rubbing them back and forth, slowly, sensually. She spread her legs and peered between them at him. “Oh?” Her voice was high and sweet. “Maybe I can invite you to change your mind.”
“And join you?” He tried to keep his gaze on his face, but it slid down to the dark spot between her legs.
He should turn his back on her and run before she entrapped him in her web, but going back to the Therian meant he had to face the things he did not want to consider. Again, he recalled his shadow—dark and diabolical—and the white tentacles of the Truth Tellers. Their words were seared into his soul like a brand. He waved his hand in front of his face to bat away the thoughts and turned back to his delicious companion. She offered the sweet fruit of her body and it would be easy to give in, easy to bask in a pleasure he’d long denied himself. And for what? Hava? No. She was pure. Innocent. Mortal. She wanted him, yet he kept her at a distance because she was too good for him. He could not corrupt her with pleasures of the flesh. Thoughts of Citrine rose and fell as the lady rubbed her legs together.
Realm of Ice Page 4