The bars bend under my gauntlets as I tighten my fists around them. Keeping my strength in check is one hell of a challenge at the sight of this poor creature.
“How did you know?” I breathe through the helmet.
He tries to smile, but the cracks in his black lips are too painful. “Starvation and abuse have a way of awakening abilities one didn’t even know one had. I could smell you, Milord. But do not worry, I’m sure no one else did.”
He reaches out through the bars and touches my armor. “Are you here to get us out?” His eyes open wider, filled with hope.
“Us? There are more of you in here?”
“Dozens. There’s a whole wing of the dungeons reserved only for fire fae. They have been going really hard on us lately. They caught and imprisoned every fire fae they could get their hands on in the Flipside.”
Nazarean meows, reminding us that time is of the essence. The tips of my ears adjust to the sounds coming from the other corridors. Guards are approaching.
“Xerxes, let’s go,” Cerys urges. “We can’t be caught here, talking to a fire fae prisoner, it will blow our cover.”
“Oh, what’s the matter, Cerys?” I hiss. “Worried I’ll kill more of the pretty men you like?”
“That’s enough.”
The honey in her eyes has turned to a version of gold that cuts through mine. “I’m here, with you. I’m on your side. Now let’s get going.” She looks at the prisoner, who stares at her with an open mouth.
“Cerys Dark, the Queen,” he whispers. He licks his lips and points at her, his finger shaking. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly as if he’s struggling to find the right words. “She is, she’s the one, Milord. She’s the reason the Winter Fae have been after us in the Flipside. She’s the reason for this purge.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Please, Xerxes, we have to go.” Cerys already sounds panicked.
“You made her help you steal the Firestone, and rebuild your core. Then you mated her by force.”
“That’s not true,” Cerys reacts with a vehemence I didn’t expect.
“It’s what reached King Lysander’s ears,” the prisoner tells her.
“Well, she didn’t exactly come with me of her own accord the first time we met.”
“But you didn’t impose your will on me when you could have,” she cuts in. “Now come on, let’s go, or they’re going to catch us.”
I turn to the prisoner. “I’ll get you out of here.”
The moment I step away from the cell a pair of guards round the corner, laughing, and swinging their blades. I can’t help thinking that I could take them both down with one slash of my sword. But Cerys grabs my arm from behind, her gauntleted hand on my armored elbow.
“Keep cool,” she breathes.
I force myself to. I need all the self-control I’m capable of now that we’ve reached the higher levels of the dungeons. Now we’re out of the catacombs carved on the inside of the castle rock, and entering the ground floor of the actual castle.
This palace is overfilled with guards and guests attending Lysander’s feast. We walk close to other guards, keeping my ears trained on their conversation to find out what the feast is about. When we finally hear it, Cerys shield hits the floor, drawing dozens of eyes to us.
CHAPTER IV
Cerys
NO, JUST NO! EVERYBODY is staring at us. My limbs tremble under the heavy armor from holding the shield too high for too long in order to cover Nazarean. Luckily, he jumped off my shoulder the moment I dropped the shield, and slid under it.
Xerxes steps in front of me, blocking me from the others’ sight, but it doesn’t do as much as he’d hoped to dodge attention. We heard the guards talk about our tracks in the snow, so they already know the castle’s defenses have been breached, but they’re not making the info public because of the feast. They have orders from ‘the Throne Hall’ to keep it quiet as not to cause panic among the guests.
But I’m pretty freaking sure that our cover will blow in a matter of seconds. Xerxes has already started raising his weapons, expecting soldiers to approach us, or the courts to start asking questions. But an impressive-looking retinue of what looks like royals appears on the grand stairs in the middle of the hall. Grand stairs made of ice, adorned with magical runes and symbols carved in icicles.
Trumpets fill the air, and then more instruments join in with music that carries magic. The kind of magic designed to delight the senses, sucking all attention away from us. It reaches me on deep levels as well. My mouth opens, and I can’t stop staring, even though I’m aware I should use the moment to pick up my shield, hide Nazarean, and make my way with Xerxes through the crowd away from here.
But Xerxes fixes his eyes on the people on the stairs as well. His irises have turned into molten fire behind the visor in his helmet.
“Honored guests, thank you for joining us on this special occasion,” a man declares, opening his arms. He seems to be the leader of the group, and he looks familiar, but I can’t make out his face clearly enough to recognize him. What I know is that he isn’t Lysander. In fact he can’t be a Winter Fae, not with his dark hair and his bronze skin. By his strong frame he’s a warrior, even though he’s wearing a prince’s clothes. He continues with his speech, the crowd hanging on his words, but only when he refers to Lysander as his ‘brother, the King’, the memory hits me.
This is Sandros, Lysander’s half-brother, who is half fire fae. I look to Xerxes, gauging his expression. I don’t think he’s under the spell of the music, especially now that it’s stopped—it was only meant to introduce the group of men, a group of winter fae with gold and silver hair, icy-bluish skin and blue and golden eyes circling Sandros, a half fire fae that Xerxes regards with animosity.
He turns and glides through the awe-stricken crowd. No one dares speak louder than a whisper, so we can hear Sandros’ entire speech, but when it becomes clear what they’re celebrating, Xerxes comes to an abrupt halt. Even under the armor, I can tell that all his muscles tightened. He’s taking the posture he always does when he’s ready to launch into battle.
“This time, Xerxes has upset someone like himself—a villain,” Sandros says. “Samael, the Archangel of Death and the keeper of the gates of both Heaven and Hell will stop at nothing to get back what Xerxes has stolen from him—the souls from the Cemetery of Doom. Either that, or Xerxes will have to give up something else he loves dearly.” He raises his voice triumphantly. “In the first war against Xerxes, he had his allies, strong allies, and we had ours. There was always a balance of power. But not anymore. Hell is done staying neutral. As we speak, its portals are expelling hordes of demons upon the ramparts of the Fire Realm. Xerxes is going down. His allies of yore are turning to us, in case we decide to join in, and help destroy the Fire Realm once and for all.”
They are celebrating the fall of the Fire Realm. That’s what this feast is about.
My heart drops into my stomach, and despair fills me, my eyes switching from Sandros to Xerxes. The unfairness of it all breaks my heart, I can feel it crack inside my chest.