A necessary evil. The soil—the dirt—from which the best plants grew. Something to be used and then cast off, hands washed clean of them.
“Please, my lord.” Magnus inclined his head, all respect. “We are not the only ones who felt Isidor’s return. Those loyal to him are on the move, determined to find him and lend their aid.”
“Let those loyal to the queen lend her our aid.” Laila spread her palms. “We had been maintaining all she allowed us into the other day, but we haven’t dared to do more without her permission. We could, though, if you allow it. We could help more.”
“Wewillhelp.” Magnus lifted his chin. “However we can. But if we go out with the High Council’s backing, we’ll be able to sway those who are undecided.”
Daemon surveyed each of them, holding each gaze for a few moments before moving on to the next. None looked defiant—all looked determined. “Very well. Consider yourselves all interim members of the High Council. Take over whatever you can of the queen’s usual tasks, to free her to face down her father. Sway any Blessed you can to our cause and have them help too—or at the very least, counter any who would aid Isidor.”
They looked ready to leap into action. Which was good—but he held up a hand. “Make something very clear. Isidor has been stripped of his title and office, which is legal and binding and non-reversible. He is an escaped convict, not a king. Whichmeans any action he takes against the queen is treason. Any who side with him will be guilty of treason as well.”
He let his hand fall. “Go. When our queen returns, we want her to find her people faithful.”
28
Daggers of ice rained from the sky. Kyrja lashed out at them with her own ice, broke them into crystals, while Nik sent flames into the sky to melt them before they could reach the screaming outcasts pushing across the flimsy bridge.
Too many at once—the people, not the blades of ice. She tried to shout out a warning to trust her and Nik, to take their time, not to rush.
But why should they believe her when she said no harm would come to them? When had a Blessed ruler ever gone out of their way for them? They pushed and hurried, and the worn ropes creaked under them.
“Leave this part to me,” Nik called over the thunder crackling from the heavens. Fodur was sending far too much ice—it was making static in the clouds that kept splitting the sky in lightning. “You fortify the bridge!”
She nodded and fell back a step, putting herself out of range of Nik’s flames. The water she’d been calling from the stream wove its way toward them, but it must be colder here than where it was coming from. It kept trying to freeze over, making it sluggish.
Acracksliced through the air. Kyrja’s head snapped toward the bridge, fear and a prayer both pounding in her heart. It still held, but one of the ropes was fraying. She had no time to waste. Tugging on the water with her magic, she brought it up to the bridge and froze it, careful to keep the coating to the bottom of the planks, so that no one would slip on the sudden ice. Then she slid it along the ropes too, hardening it all into place with the same attention she’d given the bars in the Ice Prison.
Something sliced her arm. She hissed in pain and spun to see a dagger of ice crashing to the ground.
Nik was wincing. “Sorry! Came from the other direction.”
No matter. “Focus on them. I’ll heal.”
He nodded and ran closer to the bridge, directing his fire up and over the thanes like a shield, melting and evaporating anything that came from above.
Even though the heat rose, it still radiated onto the bridge too. Kyrja had to keep a firm hand on the bridge’s ice so that it didn’t melt away.
Blood coursed down her arm. She needed to press some snow to it, and she would in a moment. But something about the red trickle, hot and sticky, made her throat go tight.
She had fought her father. She had sent him into the very prison he’d held so many people in before for crimes far from worthy of the punishment. But nothing she’d done was designed to hurt him, to bring him actual harm.
Yet he was throwing hardened ice daggers down where he knew she was. He knew she could fight them—but the sheer volume meant he hoped to overwhelm her. To slip one through her defenses, just like this.
He couldn’t know if he was aiming at her arm or her heart or her eye. He didn’t care. He wanted to hurt her. To kill her?
Why, Giver? Why does he hate me so?She’d always known she was a disappointment to him, but she’d proven herself. Yes,she’d stood against him, but shouldn’t some part of him have been proud that she was, in fact, strong? He was her father. He was supposed to love her. To guide her. To protect her.
Not be the one to hurl the blade.
“Hey.” Nik’s voice, slipping in quietly over the lashing hail, tugged her attention from her arm. He frowned. “I’d hand you some snow, but I’d melt it. You need to stop the bleeding, Kyrja.”
She nodded, stalked over to an untouched bank of it, and scooped up a handful to press to her arm.
Nik trailed her, his brows not smoothing. “Are you all right?”
She glanced from his gorgeous face to his canopy of fire protecting the group even as he focused on her, to the people finally staggering off the far end of the bridge. “My father’s trying to kill me.” The snow she held to her arm turned red, but she could feel the healing tingle.
“So, not all right.” Nik slid a warm hand onto her neck, under her hair. He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “He’s a broken man.”
