Soren
The closer we get to Banshee’s Call, the greater the tension within the ranks grows. Every jaw is clenched, fists tight on their reins, and not a single murmur can be heard. Every village we’ve passed was already gutted by the raving soldiers, and when we reach the edge of the Mistwyrd and slowly descend into the valley, an eerie silence takes hold.
We’re not in the Blood Valley yet, but we’re close enough that I can taste the tang in the air. I was barely more than a feeling the last time I journeyed through the valley, and I thought it was that lingering aroma that the forest here its’ name. I know better now, a shiver running down my spine unbidden as the memory of the mounds of flesh flashes before my eyes.
It’s the scent of blood magic, the power of the Reborn that lingers despite their Fates-demanded exile from their ghoulish forest.
The moment our battalions leave the shadow of the trees, Rooke begins to relax in her saddle until she alone rides with absolute peace. It's surely a miracle of the Fates after herreaction to the Betrayer's magic. I watch her carefully, no mean feat given the pace we ride with and the snowfall building around us. If the stillness within her isn’t that of a soldier firm in their convictions, adjustments will need to be made for the battle ahead, but I’m forced to shift my focus away from my croí as we’re hit by an ice storm out of the blue.
Gideon calls out commands, but his words are consumed by the storm, unintelligible even with high fae hearing. The depth of the snow we ride through quickly grows to be waist-deep, and I can’t see further than half a horse's length before me. With my gut clenching violently at the danger we’re in, my hand quickly bands around Rooke’s arm to ensure I don’t lose her in the melee, and a plan quickly forms to pull her onto Nightspark to sit before me in the saddle, but my decision takes a moment too long.
By the time I sense the magic hanging low in the air, it’s too late.
We cross the shimmering line of power, invisible until the horses cross into the trap. My hand tightens around Rooke’s arm, all but dragging her further into my side in my haste, but she leans into my body without pause as she assesses what in theasheswe’ve just fallen prey to. Only when I’m sure she’s not planning on disappearing from my side do I move to do the same.
There’s no malice or danger in the magic that mine can detect, nor any indication of what purpose it was cast for, except that it follows a path ahead that we now have little choice but to follow. When there's nothing else I can discern from the magic barrier, I turn my attention to the battalions to ensure we haven't lost anyone, either to the snowstorm or some danger I'm unaware of.
There's no alarm among the goblin soldiers but lined up as they are it's easy enough to count their numbers to ensurethat all are accounted for. Roan and Tauron are scowling in their saddles beside me, tension in their shoulders as they shift with jerky movements to take in the white holding space we’ve stumbled into. Reed’s horse stands behind Rooke and Cerson, in the gap between their own horses, and his hand rests on the grip of his sword, prepared to defend them both at the first sign of danger.
Gage and Gideon are less obvious in their discomfort, as stoic as their battalions are as they both wait on my command.
Cerson mutters in the Seelie tongue furiously at Rooke’s far side, her lips pulling tight when our gazes meet before she gives me a curt nod, steady and sure. Despite our numbers, the battalions have crossed the magic line in their entirety thanks to the ice storm. No snow falls around us, protected by the shield, but any relief I may have felt is quickly squashed by the cluster of horses secured to a lone tree at the edge of the valley. Covered in the regent’s crest and off-color blue, there’s no question of whose forces have beaten us here.
Roan curses viciously under his breath, muttering furiously in the old language, “It’s a trap, Soren, and we've walked right into it."
Tauron ignores Roan's statement, no answer for it regardless, and his eyes stay fixed on the secured horses before he finally speaks. “The snow is still deep here, why would they risk themselves by leaving their horses and venturing on foot?”
Rooke turns to give him a thoughtful look, nodding slowly. “I would wager the Regents guards were not the ones who tied those horses. Cerson and I have both tried but the shield holds for now. I could break it but there's the potential it could drain my own magic sauce and I won't risk leaving us vulnerable.”
Moving forward is our only option; the words hang heavy in the air between us. Jerking my head at Gideon and watching as he moves his soldiers into formation around us, I glance backdown to Rooke and take a moment to humble myself to the Fates once more for giving me such a mate.
The judicious way she dances beautifully around my command is an education of its own. Always the calm and sure Favored Child, she sets herself apart from my rule, while diligent in her efforts to never appear contentious or overstep. I'm glad she’s mindful about setting the precedence of our rule because those same prudent displays are beyond me right now. With every passing day with her at my side, the Fates great wisdom is proved to me. Ashes curse me for taking so long to see it, wasting precious time our kingdom didn’t have to spare.
The boundaries of magic that we're stuck within follow the path to the valley below. Though the magic of the shield ensures snow no longer falls on us, it doesn't stop our field of vision from being completely obscured by the bleak white, no doubt by design. The horses move steadily, though far slower than our original pace. We never had any intention of going through the forest here, even with the small amount of time it would save us.
Gideon’s jaw tightens as the air grows heavy with every step deeper into the valley but when he glances over at me, his head bows respectfully. Though quick to raise hell with his brother, Gage rides at the back of the group with a fierce look of his own as he takes in the stark white surroundings poised and ready to strike. Though I haven't yet seen either of the Briarfrost heirs fight, I have no question of their capabilities.
I feel the moment we cross the tree line and enter the Blood Valley, the aroma that sat meekly on my tongue like an after-tasteblooms into the full spectrum of rich, hot blood. My heart begins to pound in my ears like a drum, a steady beat that compels me to hunt for more, growing as though spurning me on.
More than the savagery of the Unseelie high fae, the demand for sacrifice and blood is an unquenchable thirst I don’t wantto contain, and it only halts when Rooke lets the wall down between us. Like a cork popping, the haze slowly drains out of me now the pressure is released, and I feel her falter, though the feeling within her mind can only be described as an awed disbelief.
There’s a long pause as the horses continue to walk unaware of the maelstrom within me. Then my breath catches in my chest as the land begins to sing beneath us, only this song is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. This isn’t the exaltation of the Ravenswyrd or the slow-waking of Elms Walk, it’s not even the mourning throes of the Mistwyrd or the demand of vengeance the Brindlewyrd calls out to me with. This is something far, far worse.
A dark fury wakes within the kingdom, and it demandsblood.
As if by command of the Fates themselves, the clatter of high fae bodies clad in armor running and the labored breathing of panic thunders through the tunnel towards us. Gideon shifts the soldiers again around us, a protective wall between my Fates-blessed mate and the males are stupid enough to trap us in here forming just as the hoarse shouts ring out.
“...dozens of them...still have magic... where have the others... break formation...green tailed fucks?—”
Some of the tension eases from Gage’s shoulders as he lets out a low chuckle. “It appears the regent’s guards were unprepared to meet Princess Rhoshani Briarfrost, Crown Consort to the Heir Apparent to the Briarfrost throne, Prince Soren. I must admit, I can't blame them for their terror, shameful as it may be; she certainly is anexperience.”
While a ripple of amusement sounds in reply, Rooke uses the distraction to pull her arm out of my grasp with an insistent tug and, with a pop of light, her sword appears in her outstretched hand. Cerson and I aren't surprised to see the golden blade, butGideon and Gage both stare at it with an awe that would fill me with pride if it didn't gall me to have them looking at her in the first place. Roan and Tauron both Stare at it for a moment before their gazes flick up over to me.
Reed’s mouth drops open, gaping at the sword for a heartbeat before finally he mutters a long and colorful curse under his breath, low enough that only the high fae will hear it, before his words shift into a rapid report that’s soaked in admiration.
“Thatsword is a relic of the First Fae—they once called it the Dawn Breaker. The Sol King awarded it to the High Commander after the turning of the tide, and he wielded it against the Ureen in the last stand. It was renamed Fate’s End, in recognition of battle and all the lives lost. How in theasheshas Rooke come to hold it?”
I glance down at the sword again, a hand moving to rest on the grip of my own, but Roan answers, “Her brother. Cerson said Pemba Eveningstar was instrumental in the turning of the tides. He’s the High Commander of the Sol Army and his wife brought the sword to Rooke to wield now against Kharl Balzog.”
