Page 227 of Winter Gods & Serpents

The room that had become my temporary home had now emptied, the life Pen had once given to it now was gone. Isjord was my home when I was a child and then again now, despite my dislike for it all the good and the bad that had happened here were a part of me that I was taking. I felt as empty as the room looked, the captain's uniform was folded atop my bed, no longer mine to wear. Pen had dressed me in black breeches and long dark violet jacket going just below my knees, sown in silver birds, tree and flower threads everywhere, very repulsive to my taste but did not have any energy to protest. She had tried to dress me the colours of Adriata, she had gone on and on how I should give a good first impression to my soon to be husband.

The brand of the blood oath still burned wrapped around my wrist, every time I glanced at it a smile stretched wide across my lips, Myrdur would soon be mine. I vow blood, flesh and bone, ash, and soil, what was once mine is now yours, from now till heavens, once seal of marriage between the night king and you, princess of winter, is forged.

My father had given his vow as I had given mine along with the bargain to marry the king of Adriata. I vow blood, flesh and bone, ash, and soil, what was once yours will be mine, from now till heavens, once seal of marriage between the night king and I, princess of winter, is forged.

With that vow and promise to honour the bargain, I had bid my forever farewells to my father. I pushed my sleeve back, eight more oaths there. Soon, Isjord would be mine too.

Here it came, my retaliation. Isjord hung by a thread, six lords on my side, Malena out of the picture, Venzor in my alliance, Renick in my clutches and my last gift—my last gift was yet to be gifted. Despotism was always a king’s greatest weakness. A pawn can chase small steps to elevation, but the only thing a king can do is side step here and there till caught in a corner—here it came, the chase.

The corridors felt different, colder, gloomier, and eerier as if life was taken away from them, the breeze had turned resembling relentless dead spirits hunting the halls. I made my way across them one last time towards another one who owed me.

“It suits you, Moreen, pain, you should wear it more often.”

She stood paled and thinned between two beds in the infirmary, Fren and Reuben sleeping restfully atop them. Three in one strike, three souls in my mercy—but I had no mercy, three souls that were to die.

Her eyes were veiled red. “You turned worse than your father after all.” Her anger was fatigued, it didn’t please me, I wanted more, I wanted her fury.

“But they are alive, see, still breathing. Mine dead, taken away from me primarily because of father and then…you,” I revealed, clicking my tongue at her.

She knew what she had done that night. But she had not seen me witness it. She had not seen me when she had guided the Adriatian soldiers down to where my mother was—she had not seen me sprint to warn her in the winter gardens. She had not seen me remember her face, alight in eager and vile amusement at my mother’s demise. Crone dearest had been working with them, but I still had not known if she was the one who had sent and had brought them through the city walls. The documents Nia had found in her vault did not indicate anything of the sort, except that she had reassured them entrance to the castle and guaranteeing them her cooperation. What I had done after Sam’s death had not been for my father, it had been for her and for her half breeds. What I was about to do now, was for my father.

“Does your king know what you did that night? How did the Adriatians know so well where to enter the castle and where to look for us?” I asked, approaching to see that surprised reaction in her face.

“How d-did you know?” she stuttered, shooting up from her seat.

My eyes fell to her trembling hands and I smiled. “The question is how are you paying for it, dear, not that.”

She took a small step back in horror, the stool knocked over and rolled loudly on the ground. “I didn’t know it was Serene,” she argued, shaking her head. “I thought you were there, she’d come to find you. You should have been there.” Years and years of waiting for this, then months and months of her parading in front of me as if I was a wounded child and her a saint to acknowledge it, and I had let her—let her think she could toy with me as she had let herself think with my mother, who was now dead because of her help.

I laughed, gutturally. “Come now, you could have done better than that.”

She knew I read through her lie and there was no hiding. “You cannot kill me, your father—”

I rose a palm to stop her. “My father will do nothing. You are already dead as your children will be very soon, documents and communications with the Adriatians, Alaric had extracted from your chambers years ago and more we found during my stay here, have already been delivered for him. How disappointing I will not be here to witness.” A wild grin stretched across my face, my heart welled in joy, this made me so very happy, happier than digging a dagger to her heart, having my father do it. “Your final nail in the coffin will be from your very lover, and your children’s from me. This should go down in the sacraments, the perfect tragedy written, devised by Snowlin Krigborn. Inspired and played by you.”

“I didn’t mean to have Serene killed. Silas will understand,” she cried out and then leeched on my arm, dread had paled her face. “You promised the antidote for them, to your father.”

I shook her off and she staggered to the ground. “No, I did not promise such thing to anyone. I make no promises to the wicked. Happy grave digging.”

Moreen screamed, roared, pleaded, and cried behind me as I once had because of her. People hurt you and act surprised when you hurt them back. Another face I had to cross out of my nightmares—another face amongst the nonending that had wronged me. Another step and another brick to my retaliation.

Yesterday I left my goodbyes with them, with a painful heart I had left them again, and soon I would also let go of them. For their spirits to rest. Hold on a little while longer, please, I had asked and hoped they didn’t hate me as much as I hated myself.

Father was not coming to Adriata, but uncle Aryan was. But it appeared he’d yet to give me goodbye when he intercepted me in the corridor. His face, attitude and confidence showed he had achieved what he had wanted, to get rid of me and get to Adriata. He was immensely satisfied, soaring in victory. Fly to close to the sun and you have your wings burnt.

“Father.” I bowed—last time bowing to him.

He laughed, his swivelling stare fuelled all inferiority on one, but I wasn’t just one. “So after all you did yield to me. I thought I might have to drag you to Adriata, tied and leashed, all that revolt for what, nothing. Daring to defy me, hover around my business and threatening me, was that really all for nothing?”

My death would probably taste sweet to him, my demise cloying. It always seemed that his best meal had always been my suffering. Was I really his child? I hated how such thoughts still managed to clog my throat. “You hate me.” Not a question, and the first time I had admitted that out loud.

Spite wore his eyes. “Everyone hates their biggest mistakes.”

I straightened, what he made me feel was heavy, but Alaric had spent years helping me carve muscles to bear the load of his hate. “My parting gift is already in your chambers.”

“Always so high headed,” he continued, bringing me to a halt. “When will you realize the world under your feet is ash and silence. Is it my fault for raising you to be so much and aim so high, when you’re so little and sit so low? Did I raise you to believe a kingdom could bend to you and that they could adore the abomination that you are?”

“As much as you taught yourself the same.”