Daggers of Ice

Chapter 19

1007.

The Seventh Year of the Golden Age.

Arianna.

The sea wind had never felt gentle to her.

It stung her cheeks, tore strands of hair loose from her braids, and carried the faint taste of salt that reminded her too much of old wounds and older blood.

The castle was too bright.

That was Arianna's first thought as Cair Paravel rose above the cliffs – sunlight caught on the white stone until the walls shimmered like a mirage. Banners snapped in the ocean wind, vibrant blues and reds that looked almost obscene after months of grey northern skies and starvation.

She felt no awe.
Only the faint tightening of her jaw.

She needed their help.

Not for herself.
For the North.

For the sick children she'd left behind in their snow-cradled huts, shivering from fever. For the mothers boiling melted frost into thin broth, praying the meltwater wasn't tainted. For the hunters coughing red into the snow.

For the thought that maybe, maybe the new kings and queens were not like the Witch whose shadows still clung to the stones of the world.

"Are you certain of this, my lady?" Vardan asked beside her. Vardan, enormous even for his kind – silver-furred, broad-shouldered, his paws silent on the stone steps. His breath drifted in calm, grey plumes.
Raenor, lithe and restless, was a shadow of russet fur bristling with unease. His ears flicked at every sound; his amber eyes scanned every battlement.

Arianna forced a breath. "They will help," she murmured. "They defeated the Witch. They brought spring. Their songs say they are merciful."

Raenor huffed, the sound sharp and low. "Mercy is for warm kingdoms."

Vardan glanced back, his wolf-gaze deep and steady. "Let us hope you are not wrong," he rumbled through the tongue of wolves – a language of breath and posture as much as sound.

Jadis's laughter brushed the back of Arianna's skull, cool as a finger down her spine. Hope? In a palace built on bones?

"Be silent," Arianna whispered under her breath.

But the Witch's shadow clung close.

They crossed into the courtyard. Southern guards stiffened instantly – hands flying to hilts, eyes narrowing at the sight of a northern girl flanked by two wolves the size of horses.

Vardan stepped forward slowly, posture low, ears flattened in peace. He bowed his massive head.
Raenor mirrored him, though tension rippled through every line of his body.

Arianna raised empty hands. "We come with no threat. Please –"

A shout cracked across the stones: "Wolves!"

Bows lifted in a wave of steel.

Arianna's breath hitched. "No – wait –!"

"Fire at will!"

The arrows flew.

One shattered against the stone beside her.

The second buried itself in Vardan's throat.

The third lodged beneath his jaw.

The fourth pierced his eye.

He didn't even have time to whimper.