Daggers of Ice

Chapter 12

The Northern Lands.

Arianna.

Her gaze swept the room, from her position on the throne at the head of the table, her skirts pooling around her feet like the tarn at the base of a waterfall. There were no vines or flowers than ran across the walls like there was in Cair Paravel; instead the ice walls were bare and stare, glowing crystals illuminating the chamber where her council sat before her.

Maccon, the werewolf. Captain of her Guard.

The Queen of the frost-fae.

The Queen of the northern dryads.

A sorcerer.

A warrior of the northmen.

And the most recent addition, a minotaur.

A motley group, each chosen by their race to represent their people on her council, as she had requested. And each served their purpose well.

She did not speak, not straight away. Instead she turned her gaze to the singular window that offered a view of the castle courtyard and the sweeping expanse of the frozen lake beyond the castle walls. Overhead the storm clouds rolled in, but the snow had not yet fallen that day.

Lucky for Edmund; that he had left before the blizzard the previous day.

Stop.

She scolded herself for thinking of him for the umpteenth time that day. She had told herself that she would not regret.

And so she turned her attention back to her council.

She knew they'd all made note of the crown she wore when they had walked in. Beautifully crafted, it mimicked glittering icicles that formed on the gutters in the coldest of winters. Of dwarven make it was every bit as beautiful as Jadis's crown had been, perhaps even more so for it almost shone with a light of its own. She would not wear Jadis's crown any longer. Hers was smaller, more a circlet than a crown.

But she knew they would all agree that she did not need the crown for them to listen to her.

To them, she was no longer simply Jadis's host.

Jadis no longer spoke to them.

She had not in years.

Those who sat before her spoke quietly among themselves. The air was swirling with magic; she could feel the currents as if they were a soft wind, dancing across her skin like a lover's gentle touch.

It could have been the dryad, with her moss-green eyes and sparkling face and hands, that the magic originated, or perhaps the frost fae, whose skin shone in the soft blue light. Or even the sorcerer.

Her own magic was thriving, surrounded by all thing ice.

She breathed the magic.

"Your Majesty, may we begin?" The imposing figure who spoke was one that Arianna had known since she was a child. With his dark hair in rows of small braids, each weighted by small onyx's that matched his eyes, he looked every part the sorcerer that he was. It was he who had taught Jadis the slight control over fire that she had, it was he who had been her lover.

He raised the silver goblet to his lips, taking a small sip, his eyes never leaving hers. She watched as a single droplet of blood red wine trickled from his lip and down to the point of his chin, where it stayed but a moment too long. Then it fell, splashing against the mahogany table, a shimmering fountain of red rain in the sunlight as she saw her face reflected in each of those miniscule droplets.