I smile at her. “I’m glad.”
“Hanede’s going to hate him.”
My smile grows wider. “I know.”
Cerson ignores the amused murmurs from the Briarfrost princes, her grin bright. “Your seething shadows of ‘back-the-ashes-away-from-my-Æfanya’will fuckingloathehim… coin toss on the grumpy old shits; it’ll depend how he fares when the bloodshed begins.”
Surprisingly, Gage comes to Soren’s defense with a huff under his breath. “No concerns there; he cut down almost two dozen high fae soldiers alone on our way to Yris. They were stupid enough to make comments about the Favored Child and it cost them all dearly.”
Cerson’s eyebrows rise, and she hums approvingly, sending me a look that makes my cheeks heat. The fastest way into her good graces is my protection and loyalty to me. She’s never been my concern, it’s the rest of my family who will be far more difficult to appease and my Fates-blessed mate has never been one to simper after fae to win their favor.
Soren shakes his head at Gage, casting a look over his shoulder at him. “They were weak, nothing more than the regent’s preening goons enjoying power given to them instead of earning it.”
Cerson’s gaze flicks back to me, her eyes far too bright. “Well, has he bested you? Sparring is the true test.”
His arms turn to stone around me, probably enraged at the idea of swinging a sword at me now, even a blunted practice one. Cerson’s eyebrows slowly raise as I hesitate, but her question is far more revealing than any of the males around us realize.
It takes me a moment to collect myself before I sigh and murmur, “We haven’t sparred.”
Cerson nods slowly, as though she guessed this already. “His choice or yours?”
“Mine.”
Her eyes widen a fraction before she covers the action, nodding slowly. “Interesting. One of those grumpy shits owes me a large satchel of gold… I thought it would take longer to pry it out of her.”
I sigh. “I’ve changed my mind; you can go back to the Golden Palace now.”
She throws her head back as she laughs, but Soren doesn’t react, the same scowl on his face and his firm hold on me never loosening for a moment.
The joy of the earth slowly declines the closer we get to Yregar until there’s no sign left of it, only the aching void left behind. Though the snow covers everything around us, the farming plains look as bleak now as they did when I first saw them. After sleeping in the Brindlewyrd, it’s startling to notice how severe the depletion of magic is. Even the air tastes different.
Cerson slowly shifts in the saddle, her discomfort growing with every step forward. Her eyes trace the abandoned farmhouses and settlements as we go through, the burned shells that once housed generations of fae folk and now lay in ruins. When we reach the same abandoned village Soren and I travelled through on our way to the Brindlewyrd Forest, hersmile is long gone and a grimace sits in its’ place, her dimples no longer joyful.
“Vile, disgusting creatures,” she murmurs under her breath, leaning in the saddle to look at our path.
The cobblestones are especially uneven beneath the horses' hooves and as I follow the path of her gaze, I realize it’s uneven because the poison of slain witches' blood was left here without being burned away. The rot Kharl Balzog puts in it has eroded the stone.
"There's nothing we can do," Gideon murmurs under his breath, loud enough Cerson and I hear him. "There were areas in the Briarfrost Territories affected before we knew what the magic would do to the land but nothing grows there now, no matter how much we try."
Cerson's mouth firms unhappily. “Some things serve as a reminder of magic wrought for purposes no witch should ever wield. The earth doesn't want anyone to forget, even after this war is won and the scourge has been burned away. It wants us all to remember the cost it bore while we worked out our petty differences.”
Magic spreads from her body, casting with the ease of all witches with many years under her belt. Cerson cut her teeth in the Fates War and throughout the Seelie Court, no better place to practice restraint and waging war. The earth excepts her power hungrily even though she sprinkles the barest taste of it around, sure not to lower her reserves too far.
As her magic simmers back down to hide beneath her skin once more, she smiles at me with a mournful edge. “I look forward to the winter solstice. It will be a great honor to ease the pain of the land and give it the magic it deserves… maybe then it won’t be forced to claw us with such hunger.”
The tension in Soren's arms grow as we ride closer to the small crest before Yregar, a sure sign of trouble ahead. Gideonmotions at his soldiers to change positions with his hands until we're at the center of their numbers once more. We keep the same measured pace for another mile before I smell the smoke that first alarmed the high fae princes and another before I can hear the battle still waging on.
I can move onto Northern Star with Cerson, I send to Soren but he gives me a curt shake of his head, his arms tightening around my waist as though certain I’m planning on throwing myself from this horse.
My soldiers are picking off the last of the witches. Gideon is being cautious in case there’s an ambush waiting for our return or another war band finds their way here as quickly as the goblins traveled to Yris.
I’m aware that Kharl Balzog can’t wield the same magic as Cerson, but I nod back to him knowing such cautions are sound. Arrogance is what got us into this mess in the first place.
The ground begins its’ steady incline and we hear the footsteps of soldiers thunderous as they ride towards us. Gideon calls out a command to the goblin soldiers to stand down though he casts a careful look in Soren’s direction as he does so and as we finally reach the top of the crest, we find hundreds of dead witches. Their witch marks are charred black in their death, the oozing rot of their blood and spittle the same awful shade as they lay in the snow with sightless eyes and gaping mouths turned up to the sky. They’re as ghoulish looking in their death as they are in the raving madness, and the silence turns solemn.
Cerson grimaces as she looks down at them, her lip curling as she reaches out a hand to burn the bodies as we walk pass and murmuring prayers to the Fates to apologize for the horrifying rot seeping into the earth, though no fault lies with her.
Soren doesn't pause or question the action, clicking his tongue at Nightspark to push us forward towards the approaching high fae. Roan, Tauron, and handful of Yregar'smost loyal are wary as they take in the vast expanse of goblin soldiers that surround us. The horror on Roan's face is almost comical as he looks between Gideon, Gage, and Cerson, but Soren is quick to put an end to any questions before they can even be raised.
