“Was never the one Elyon intended for you. That doesn’t mean there is no one.” Fodur grinned and took a step away. “Take your time in realizing it, though. She’ll be there. But now?” He pointed to Reykstoll. “Raise a High Council. Help save your queen and your nephew, and all Fjordlandi with them.”
Raise a High Council. Not something he’d have thought he had any right to do, even if he was officially the highest ranking Awakened left in the capital. But if it was what he could do… He nodded.
“Good. I’ll see you again soon, Sig. Although…” He paused, tilted his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear. A smile flashed over his lips. “Not before Ellas.”
“Ellas?” Why in the fire would he ever see his father in Ellas?
But Fodur laughed, backed up a step, and then took off at a run down the steep mountain. He went only a few steps before he leapt, wings of flame jumping out from his shoulder blades. A dive, a roll, and then he shot upward, a column of light.
Daemon granted himself a moment to stare. Then he shook himself, that urgency blazing bright inside him. He, too, ran down the mountain—no help from wings for him—and into the palace. The Vektors all knew him by now and saluted, no one getting in his way as he barreled toward Kyrja’s study. Perla appeared from the wing he knew housed her quarters, falling in beside him and matching his stride.
Her brows were set in a worried frown. “Isidor is on the move. Heading toward Kyrja, I think.”
Daemon let out a long breath. “Anything you can do?”
She spread her hands. “When it comes to the sea, I could help. But all this snow and ice—it would take me longer to get a handle on it than the queen likely has. You need Blessed on your side. They know the snows.”
He wasn’t about to tell her that his father agreed—they didn’t have time to get into that conversation, not given the fact that they were already at Kyrja’s study. He simply nodded and stopped.
Perla kept walking, though she pivoted to keep facing him for a moment longer. “I thought it might be useful if I locate Stefanos. If you agree?”
It was rather handy to have someone who could scout from the sky. Daemon granted it with a tilt of the head. “Stay out of cannon range.”
She smirked. “Aw, you don’t want me dead. I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
His snort sounded way too close to a laugh, but the amusement faded as she spun around and kept stalking. There was no time for that.
Viggo stood at the door as always, even without the queen inside. He’d been injured the other night, but it apparently hadn’t kept him from his duties. He saluted as Daemon turned to him. “My lord. The Blessed are here again. I told them the queen was indisposed, but they demanded to speak with someone. I just dispatched a messenger to Helviti—did you intercept him?”
“Not the oneyou sent, no.” He stared at the door as if he could see through it. “Who came today? Laila Magnusdottir again?”
Viggo nodded. “And the other four who have been coming with her.”
“I’ll see them.”
It was no doubt a testament to Viggo’s lingering pain from his injury that Daemon actually noted the way he sagged in relief. “Good. I’ll announce you.” Without even a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the door, swinging it wide. As he stepped in, he boomed, “His Lordship, the First Seat of the High Council, Daemon of the Aflame.”
It could have gone to his head, the way the five Blessed inside the antechamber of Kyrja’s office all leapt to their feet, looking nervously at him as he entered. Probably would have, a few decades ago. Certainly a century ago.
He’d have been a monster. He could feel the certainty of that other-self under his skin, a silent condemnation. He’d have taken joy in crushing the oppressors, grinding them into dust. He’d have made life miserable for the Fjorders. Locked the Blessed into cells in their Ice Prison.
Today, he could make a different choice. He strode into the center of the room and turned to face them, keenly aware of the differences between them, yes. He with his black leather, scrollwork burned into it, sulfur no doubt coming off him in waves even after his run down the mountain. The black tattoos on the shaved sides of his head, the long tail of blond hair.
Then them, dressed in icy pastels, even the men. Whites and silvers and blues and lavenders, layers so thin they might as well be made of frost.
Laila stepped forward, her face in the hard lines he’d always associated with her kind. Only…not quite. Harder, in a way. Not so unfeeling—though the feelings seemed to be negative. “My lord,” she said—and he had to give her credit, she didn’t choke on the words. “Though the Vektor Guard will tell us nothing, we know the queen is in danger. She completely let go of the tides and the snows the other evening, and though she’s taken them back up since, her magic feels distracted.”
“And Isidor’s in play again,” one of the men said.
Daemon blinked at him. “Remind me of your name.”
“Magnus, my lord.” He set a hand on Laila’s shoulder. “Laila’s brother.” He introduced the other three—Laila’s friend, their cousin, a niece.
Daemon folded his arms across his chest. “The queen was clearly won over at least in part by your pleas the other day. I admit I was less convinced.” And though he needed them now, he had to be sure. Truly sure, before he let them into his queen’s High Council.
Laila’s nostrils flared. “Your doubt is understandable. But as we have been trying to tell Her Majesty, our loyalty is not to Isidor but to Fjordlandi—the Fjordlandi that the Giver desires for us. We have all lived under the tyranny of the former king, and we all wept with relief when we heard that Queen Valkyrja won a Challenge not only against him, but againsthis High Council. Too long they rigged the Proving. Too long they punished any who wished to pursue faith. Too long they threatened us and called us weak for daring to love our parents or spouses who are thanes.”
A jolt coursed through him. Of course the Blessed all had thanes in their families, just as Dania had pointed out at the gathering—it was necessary. And yet, he’d always assumed they all viewed them as Isidor and his ilk did.
