Page 11 of Winter Gods & Serpents

He laughed, and nodded. “I know who you are.”

“I know who you are too. Signe oșh feh erycht.”

“We will see again,” he repeated back in Calgnan.

Chapter 5

Serpents and Dens

We crossed the castle gates followed by my father’s soldiers. Everything around gave me a feeling of unease; nothing had changed as if I had never left. The castle grew in sight, a dark grey stoned giant between century old conifers that barely allowed light to enter the premises. The grey walls of the castle were dull, several high towers spiked towards the sky, highlighted by the large rounded red tinted glass windows that stood out like spilled blood amongst the blank snow, probably that was the desired effect knowing father. Adorned around the front terraces by countless statues of all gods, with Krig at its centre and several of his heavenly guardians all in the same dark grey stone covered scarcely by the glistening white snow surrounding all corners of sight. The ghastly objects still send shudders down my spine as they did when I was a child. They were things of fear not of belief, but then belief was all fear.

The castle surrounded with winter gardens only intercepted by wide black stone walkways leading to entrances of the castle, all heavily guarded and patrolled.

I pulled the hood down, brushing my hair back and removed my cloak. The closer we neared the castle the more attention we drew; soldiers in blue and Verglasers dressed in white lining the entrances turned and kneeled as we passed. I could hear them chatting amongst and faint whispers from all corners. Hybrid. Demon child. Blood cursed. There were many words to describe me. What I was and what they thought I were.

Magic meant honour in Numengarth, it meant being blessed, a chosen; god chosen. To me it was a curse, hand of evil and when I showed no sign it became my brand of uselessness. A title of dishonour and a badge of mistreatment. It gave liberty to my creator to discard and mistreat me. But my title remained and I was still hunted as one. A monster only in skin, the flesh more human than a human could be and my presence a sully of the living.

Dark castle corridors welcomed us, red hue wavering shadows, faltering candlelight, red drapes, and grey stone. They spun, warping us as if in a nightmare unable to run from it. Nia and Cai stationed leaning into a window and nodded as I turned to approach the wooden door. A soldier announced my presence, and the large door flew open as did all old flutters of memory of fear.

I marched inside the winter court, old, wrinkled faces and vain new ones among lined the walls, some wavering in shock others in disgust and disregard. All stood from their chair gesturing an empty bow, respectless. I chased the aisle towards where my father perched enthroned in his gilded dais, dwelling in power, tyranny, and much testosterone. He was the same, barely looked over his thirties, bastard was over his eighties. Aura could channel their magic back through the course of mana, just how they allowed mana to fly through the course of magic. Once a certain age, they were able to at best slow their aging, but powerful ones like my father could actually stop it altogether. His yellow hair had turned just slightly paler so had his dense beard, a gold circle crown atop, not that a snake needs to bear fangs to know it was one. That drop of revulsion returned in my stomach when I met his eyes, still shining an unnatural yellow. Dressed in all black attire with a thick grey fur around his neck, he looked every bit the tyrant I’d left him twelve years ago.

After all these, years merely steps away, I was in front of him. It brought back that rush of emotion again. Before I would let it take over, I got on one knee and grounded myself still.

“My child, your return pleases me greatly, welcome back home, Snowlin,” his voice cold laced with a vileness that made me wince. It probably really did please him greatly to have me back under his cage, his favourite to torture had always been me.

Slowly raising my head, I meet his slithering stare once again. My hands gathered in fists at my sides, nails digging in my skin almost shaking in anger at his sight. The pain soothing the ire flow of my blood. “Home?”

He stood and made down the steps of his dais to me. “Yes, home, my rose.” He threw his arms open approaching me. “We have not seen one another in twelve years, let me have a look at you.”

He reached for an embrace stopping short before touching me and glanced down between us at the little blade I held right to his gut. “Try father, touch this rose, see if the thorn prickles,” I whispered, pushing it just slightly deeper in his thick coat.

He chuckled, deep and dark and vile. “I see you still hold grudges, daughter. No matter how much you would like to think that what happened was my fault, it wasn’t.” He responded too quietly, unbothered taking a step back from me and I sheathed the little knife back to my belt.

“Fault?” My brows rose in question. “Oh no father, no one said anything about fault. You were the cause, the fault on the other hand was my mother’s incapability to end you in your sleep.”

He tilted his head in warning. “Enough, child,” he grit out sharply between his teeth attempting to keep composure affront this court.

I could hear gasps and muttering behind my back, so I continued, “Hopefully your new companion is one the wiser. Moreen has always had a thing for dead husbands. Has she not been widowed twice before marrying you?” At his drop of reaction to sternness my smile grew gleefully.

Father's gaze broke mine, throwing a threatening stare towards the lords. “The meeting has ended, everyone see yourselves out,” he ordered sharply and in a flash they all stood to exit.

“But why father?” I asked turning to his court. “Don’t they miss their princess?”

Almost in command they halted their feet and half turned back to us before dropping to a kneel.

I laughed. “Do your solstice candy still tastes sweet, you irrevocably incapable old farts?”

“Snowlin Krigborn—” my father warned.

One of the lords stepped forward. He bowed offering me a smile. “This irrevocably incapable old fart is pleased you have returned safely, Your Highness.” Albius Arynth, one of the eldest in the court since my grandfather’s early time in throne.

“Where were you Albius Arynth, Kirkwall, Modr, Brisk, Venzor, Casmere, Grasmere, Brogmere? Where were all of you when your heir, my sister, my mother fought for their safety?” Few dropped their heads in guilt and others chose to wear their apathy. I held my breath from shivering as I said, “That is right, not keeping them safe.” They’d fled, most of them had ran for their pathetic lives and hid.

I turned around to him. “Where were you father when she,” I broke myself to take a breath. “When she called your name, when she died and bled before me with your name on her lips.” Everywhere, and nowhere; no one knew where he’d been.

He turned round making to his dais. “I need to speak with my daughter, everyone continue excusing yourselves out.”

“However charming that idea is,” I said. “I am in need of rest. All the journey to this piss hole truly wore my will to argue off.” I turned past the lords, clicked the wooden door open and exited slamming it back.