Page 130 of Winter Gods & Serpents

I could not tell whether the crackling was that of the ice climbing over air or of his tight gritting jaw. “You do not want to call me your enemy.”

Laughter howled from the depth of me. “Or what? What worse could you already do that I have not gone through.”

He banged his fist down the wooden table, sending ice all over it before it snapped in half. “Snowlin, my daughter, you have no idea what stands in front of you, I had made you smart yet your foolishness reeks.”

“It seems a damn right compliment coming from the donkey carrying a traitorous lord and another monstrous one. One allowing killers in, the other raping, torturing, burning women and little children, your people, Isjordians.”

His mouth pursed baring his teeth to me, vibrating tension of his anger seeping through his magic as walls laced with ice. “Did you think I didn't know?”

I snorted amused at his blatant confession. “Oh no, of course you did, silly me. I shouldn’t have expected rabbits to grow in your serpent den, not with the cobra king himself in charge. But what would the Lords think of your little pets and of their actions?” A lord who had not paid a single silver dar to the crown, a spy, and an abusing prick in charge of one of the largest cities in Isjord, they certainly would have more than words to say. Especially when Celdric, the soldier I’d left in charge, sends enough gold to feed the whole of Isjord for a year, then we will see what they will really say. Who will they sing praises too?

“You threaten me?” The whole room began coating in ice. It was not to threaten me, his magic was leaking out of control.

“Should you feel threatened by what I said?”

The temperature had dropped, lower than it was outside, my breath fogged in white mist, yet I was calmer than a fish in water. His acts of wrath were more familiar than he though. Did he not realize it was of this I was trained against of fearing, of bowing and submitting? Did he not know he starved fear out of me and that he fed me ire, valour, wrath, and guts?

“This kingdom has thrived under my rule, even gods will bow to me one day. Your little words and actions annoy me, but they have never bothered me. You have no power beyond that of your title, beyond what I allow you,” he snapped.

I clapped my hands, slowly retreating back to exit. “Well, that is just brilliant, glad your poor fragile mentality remains unbothered. Now, I am doing the job that I won myself and will do so till the day I step out of Isjord, and if it annoys you and ruins your little devious plans it is not at my behalf, but to your incapable one. Know of one last thing, I do not tolerate scum whoever they are.” I halted, making a last turn to him. “And if you think about hurting or punishing anyone I care about, remember I know where you and your toys sleep.”

“I could have you flogged for only that last threat alone.”

I threw my hands open wide. “Eat your fill, father, I don’t starve my enemies out of vigour, they have to be plenty vile to please my hunger.”

And like that my third oar had been broken then replenished, and now compromised all whilst I’d survived him.

We had been carrying the whole conversation in shouts, my throat burned from tendrils of fragile wordy courage I’d fended myself with. I was not afraid, but it was not fear that crumpled my courage, it was memories. My palms had stopped trembling, finally bending to my thoughts. I was not afraid, but he had reminded those times when I had been. Memories and their imprint were scarier than any monster.

* * *

Nia and Kilian did not say anything as they saw me rub my red cheek, the bloodied cut on my lip and the bruise forming on my jaw. I knew they had heard everything said between my father and I. Ice coated the corridors too so they knew how much I angered him, though the consequence for it came at an easy price compared to what would have been done to me years ago.

I headed outside, limbs worn out in fatigue, my lids half closed in the whispering winter wind of the gardens, so revoking to my past. I had been hit by my father countless times before when I was younger, but before they had been to beat me into submission this one was of anger, rage.

“Amerie is being moved today to her new residence, I promised we would accompany her, she is still scared of our soldiers,” Nia spoke softly, pulling me back from my endless absent wondering.

“You will go, send her my apologies for not coming.”

“I will go get Cai then,” she offered.

I reached for her arm, stopping her. “No, I will be fine. No need to disturb him. I kept him and Mal up with no rest all night, you go to Amerie. I will stay with this one.” I pointed towards Kilian. “If someone will kill me, it's definitely not him.”

She stared madly between me and him, who seemed to be taken as aback as her.

“Nia, please,” I pleaded, seeing she was about to protest.

She sighed. “Fine.” Before she left she turned pointing at him. “If you do hypothetically kill her, keep the hair, it would be a shame.”

“I’ll keep the hair,” he said blankly, and I could swear Nia flinched and truly doubted whether to leave or not.

She called for Penelope to meet me at the gardens just as I had asked her, with a pillow, blanket and a thick cloak. My little servant didn’t even start to ask what I needed them for, she was already familiarized with my habits.

“Let me heal your bruise,” Kilian spoke following me about the garden.

“Not this one, I want to have this one.” He had bruised my favourite cheek, but I wanted to wear it proudly, the mark of my father’s anger. A reminder as much as for myself as for him, that it would take more than a bruise to bring me down.

“The forehead one then,” he offered. “Clumsiness should not be something one takes pride in.”