The sudden spark of the firestorm made Rania jump, even though she’d expected it. The firestorm flared at a distance, but its powerful spark touched even the darkness of Olaf’s lair. The glow was white, exactly the same as the light that burned between herself and Hadrian, and their firestorm felt stronger even with the illusion of the one long satisfied. In the vision, the sleeping Olaf lifted his head, inhaled deeply and smiled. The malice in his expression was a warning.
“When Notus had his firestorm, Olaf sensed the first spark. He was determined to strike at the heart of his opponent, stealing what was of greatest importance to Notus in retaliation for his own loss.”
Rania saw Olaf emerge from his lair and take flight, a dark and fearsome silhouette against the sky. He flew hard and fast, his wings beating furiously, as he raced toward the firestorm. The Slayer landed in the fields outside a village in the darkness of the night, when the moon was new. There was a quick shimmer of blue as he took his human form. Rania realized there was already a man on the road, walking toward a small village.
She sat straighter, fearing Olaf’s intent and his viciousness. He couldn’t have succeeded, because Hadrian had been born of this firestorm, but the suspense made her heart pound. As she watched, Olaf stealthily followed the other man into the town, keeping to the shadows to disguise his presence.
Once again, there were dark clouds gathering in the distance, as if a storm was brewing. The wind whipped around the pair and they both pulled their cloaks closer, indicating that the wind was cold. The slate blue color of the clouds made Rania think they were snowclouds, just as the clouds had been when Boreus’ mate had been attacked by Olaf and Notus had intervened.
The streets were quiet in the town, although music flowed from a tavern, along with the sound of laughter. The spark of the firestorm and the other man’s path led Olaf to a comfortable house with a single light burning in a barred window. Olaf lingered in the shadows to watch as Notus, in his human form, spoke quietly to someone inside. The firestorm’s light bathed him in silvery radiance, like the light of a full moon, adding to the faint light from the chamber. The wind danced around him and the first flakes of snow began to fall.
Alasdair cleared his throat. “Notus’ mate was Argenta, the daughter of a wool merchant and a maiden who a talent for spinning. Her older sister, Dora, had been able to spin straw into gold, and after her efforts added to her father’s wealth, word of her skill had spread. She’d been married to a local prince, who kept her spinning all the day and night.
“Argenta, in contrast, could spin ice into silver, and her father didn’t let that opportunity for gain pass either. She was locked in a chamber and compelled to spin day and night, while her father tried to keep the truth of her abilities secret. Rumors were already spreading in the town when her firestorm with Notus sparked.”
Rania was struck by the difference between ideas of family. The Pyr defended each other and helped each other: this wool merchant used his daughters’ skills for his own gain, with no care for their welfare or desires. She had to consider her relationship with the Dark Queen. Maeve had never asked what Rania wanted herself. She’d made suggestions and offered a deal, but even her gifts—like the kiss of death—were granted so that Rania could better serve the Dark Queen’s will. No one had ever asked what she wanted, or helped her to achieve a goal of her own.
She bit her lip, wondering how much that mattered. It mattered to Hadrian and the Pyr. Should it matter to her?
The view moved closer, past Olaf and over Notus’ shoulder. There was frost gathering on the edges of the window and snow dancing between Notus and the view of his mate. Rania saw the slender woman at the spinning wheel, her eyes alight as she listened to Notus courting her. She never slowed in her work, though she smiled at his attention.
The chamber was sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a pail and a small table. It looked more like a prison to Rania. There was a bucket of icicles beside the maiden and she took each one in turn, spinning it into a long strand of silver. She wore a heavy coat and gloves with the fingertips cut off, her face pale with the chill of the room. The silver was coiled on the floor, like gleaming wire, and rolled into chests stacked against the walls. Her hands moved deftly and Rania could sense her uncertainty of Notus.
She couldn’t blame her, either. He probably just wanted sex.
“Argenta hadn’t been allowed to mingle in society since her gift had been revealed, for her father feared she might be stolen away. As a result, she was wary of men, particularly the handsome man who came to her window each night, intent upon charming her. Notus told her stories, though, and prompted her laughter, courting her affection. He made steady progress, and that was compounded by the firestorm, which turned Argenta’s thoughts to love and romance. After two weeks of clandestine visits, she surrendered to his appeal.”
Rania watched Argenta abandon her spinning. She glanced toward the door as if fearing a reprimand, then shyly came to the window. Her eyes glowed with happiness as she approached Notus and Rania wished she could hear the words they exchanged. Argenta’s smile was quick and her blush was enchanting. She moved quickly then, putting her hand upon that of Notus on the sill and leaning against the bars for their first kiss. The firestorm flared to brilliant white and Rania heard Notus catch his breath at its power.
This would be the true measure of the firestorm. What would Notus do after it was satisfied? Would Argenta be abandoned once she carried his child?
This was the part where the myth would have to give way to the truth. Rania leaned forward to make sure she didn’t miss a word.
Hadrian heard the rumble of Alasdair’s voice from his lair and knew that his cousin was telling a story, using his gift as a fog dragon to show it at the same time. He smiled to himself, halfway wishing he was there to watch and listen.
He was surprised that his mate had agreed to listen, but maybe his cousin was more persuasive than he’d managed to be. Either way, he’d make use of every possible moment he had left.
Suddenly, the hair stood up on the back of Hadrian’s neck. He was in the act of landing another blow on the last of the talons but his hammer never struck.
He was frozen, trapped in a single moment. He was motionless and couldn’t do anything about it. The weight of the hammer made his muscles strain in his shoulder but he couldn’t drop it, put it down, or lift it to a more comfortable position. Alasdair’s voice had silenced, too, and the clock on the wall was no longer ticking.
The silver light in the periphery of his vision gave him a good idea why.
Someone grabbed his elbow and spun him around in place, like a mannequin in a store window. It was a Fae warrior, a big blond one who looked faintly familiar. He turned Hadrian so that the Pyr was facing one of his own worktables. Maeve sat on the table, legs crossed. She was wearing a black suit with feathers around the collar, and wore high-heeled shoes. One foot swung as she smiled at him. Her lipstick was the color of blood and her dark eyes were filled with fury, despite her smile. “Apparently, it’s true that if you want something done, you need to do it yourself.”
He had a very bad feeling about this visit, but there was exactly nothing he could do about it. That made him feel even worse.
She picked up the Fae sword, balancing it on her hands. Her lips tightened as she glanced down at the blade. It had changed even more since Hadrian had last looked at it. The blade was completely clear, like it was made of ice, and the hilt had turned from silver to cloudy white. Water dripped from the tip of the blade, which had become much shorter, and Hadrian realized that the weapon was melting.