Page 54 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“Or she mass slaughtered all of Kirkwall.”

He laughed at my words that were not intended to be funny. “You remember those flyers around Amaris, priests were throwing around of her drawings? They had made her look like a troll with a tail, wings, and horns. The mighty ybris of centuries. You have to admit, we have been certainly lied to,” he added playfully.

His amusement at this whole situation truly concerned me. “Doesn’t change the fact what she is, those horns, tail and wings of that troll are inside her, facades can be deceiving.”

He scowled, staring doubtfully at me. “You never used to think like that when we were young, always objecting others when they used to call her a monster, what’s changed brother? The old fanatics in the council telling you old tales, plaguing your head with unfulfilled prophecies of the Elding cracking our realm in half with her lightning?”

“It was to defend a life not in objection of what she was. That day at Kirkwall did well to prove her roots. Being created one is not the same as turning into one,” I said, guiding my horse to a stall. “Its worst.”

“You cannot in honesty blame her for that.”

I halted and turned to him. “If everyone succumbed to their emotion whether anger, grief, hate or even love this world would be torn apart without the need of ybrises or beasts or prophecies. It would be by people, humans even. You learn to control not dress your sword in them.”

He fell silent for a few moments before asking, “And if they are too drowning?”

“You are an Empath, tell me if have you have ever seen that happen? Did you see her shadows? She feels nothing, steered by reckless thoughts. A child with a crown who doesn’t realize she is no longer wielding a wooden sword but one of steel.”

He frowned in displeasure at my words. “You are harsh today.”

“She has killed eight of our people and exiled two in her death lands to whatever torture awaits there for them. Harsh would not even cover it. Do not argue with me on it, Mal, I am aware of your stance, however disagreeable.”

He stood silent a moment, taking my words bitterly by the hues of shadows surroundings him. “We are Empaths, yet so very few of us allow ourselves to feel. When you know the impact of emotion you become weary of it so one shuts it down. You brother, have shut those gates and sealed those locks long before there was a gate,” he said, pointing to me. “Yet you blame her of not feeling when you deny yourself of any emotion. How would you understand how she feels when you yourself don’t know how to feel?” He patted my shoulder and greeted past soldiers, leaving me alone with his words.

For a few moments my eyes had glued to the muddied ground softened by summer sprays of lone clouds. Should I feel something at his words? Reconsideration, regret for my own, sympathy? Was he right?

Climbing the long stairwells to enter the watch tower atop the wall, I took in the miles ahead onto Isjord camouflaged by the thick snow coating its walls, roofs, trees, and land. A blinding dull blanket of blessing that I never understood. How was the cold ever a blessing?

Nesrin and Grey had arrived ahead of us and sat around the large table, along with several other soldiers reading through documents and mail received from Isjord.

“With Henah’s blessings, to Cynth heaven.”

“With Henah’s blessing, might it welcome us. Kilian, Malik, thank you for joining us for this meeting,” greeted Larg. He was a large man, older than time but still as strong as a soldier in his youth. The same one who trained me and Mal since we were barely able to hold a wooden sword. A true Adriatian and a dear friend of my father’s.

We sat for hours discussing how a few of our own were caught in Kilmarnock heading towards the wall to cross. All had spoken and confessed almost immediately after Larg threatened to send them to Kirkwall himself for the princess to deal with. The statement made the whole tower room shake with laughter. The prisoners told him they were headed for Solarya and that the Kirkwall dead Lord granted them safe passage from the wall in exchange of payment. They had confessed that he had been aiding crossers for years. The princess had most definitely known, everyone could read the annoyance in her face when the lord had spoken, an annoyance that had not been groundless as we thought. The actions she took still felt cruel and rash, but with motive. Isjordians were known to be harsh judges of traitors and the corrupted, a gift from their god—a gift that had helped them win countless wars through many centuries.

Larg turned to me as if knowing I was deep in thought. “She’s a clever girl but brutal to her captives, it feels funny to say that I admire and fear her at the same time.”

“There is nothing to admire in a beast,” Grey spat.

“There is nothing to admire in a man who screams like a little girl,” Mal murmured beside me and I nudged his foot.

He cried out and then turned to me furious. “What was that for? He did scream like a little girl. I’d never before seen a man scream so high pitched at a tornado, let alone at a two-meter basilisk.” He huffed folding his arms. “Could put little girls to shame that one.”

Larg let out a sigh, looking over the tower window towards Kirkwall he as he continued. “The issue is that it seems she is also preyed upon, by whom we still do not know.”

My face must have shown surprise because Nesrin added, “We heard from the Isjordian wall guards that her group was attacked on her way from Grasmere to Tenebrose.”

They had attacked her, had she been hurt, and attacked by whom, who wanted her and why? Had it been her or my people, angry at the agreement between our kingdoms. My brain fogged when I thought if it were Adriatians who had attacked. I tilted my head back and forth to release the tension that was building down my neck.

“Was she hurt?” I asked Larg.

He shook his head. “They had fended more than four dozen soldiers, but she is well, only two of her own hurt.”

My muscles relaxed at his words and I nodded, four dozen attackers had cornered her, my mind jungled with Larg’s information.

“And the attackers, have they been identified?” Mal asked.

Larg nodded in confirmation. “Paid Isjordian assassins and mercenaries, none of which were captured.” Somewhat satisfied he leaned back in his chair. “All dead, just how the princess likes it,” he added, rumbling in laughter.