Page 9 of Winter Gods & Serpents

My eyes darted to his shoulder, the same crest resting there. Had he noticed who I was? Surely not, I had left that kingdom barely eleven years of age, I had outgrown that child years ago and my face was covered, my scar was covered. No recognition had lit his eyes either. I was sure he thought of me as no other than one of the village women. Ignoring his question, I whistled at Memphis who shifted into a black mare and jumped onto her back riding towards the festival gathering. As soon as the first flickers of the bonfire lit into sight I noticed Cai’s figure shifting around uncomfortably.

I lowered down from Memphis and ran in his direction, his eyebrows pinched in worry similarly as mine were, all our fears had now come for us, it could no longer be avoided.

“Cai,” I called breathlessly reaching him.

He flickered his hand up, a navy envelope between his finger with the red arrow seal of Isjord. “Noted their saddles, a wolf crest carved in the leather and found the letter of permit for your return.”

“They came.” Realization had just hit me.

Chapter 4

Ice and Coin

Nia had spent the past half an hour tracing countless maps for our journey. She was fastidious, meticulous, and dizzying at best. It bothered her, being unprepared or caught at odds that could have been prevented by planning. She had counted our moves step by step, over and over till Cai dozed off beside me. Then repeatedly rearranged her satchel as if there was a proper way to arrange one. The paradox within our friend group were Cai and Nia. While she’d prepared herself almost for battle, he sharpened his blades leisurely, fiddled with a loose bunch of hair atop his forehead and then proceeded to complain of a headache the concertation to fix it had given him. And there was me, the referee. I’d sat silently between them, my head back and forth the two poles, yawned, laughed, concentrated, and then gone for a last run around the village.

We had to avoid the main roads, Nia was Adriatian and Cai Olympian, both without proper identification tags. If tested by a magi-healer, a Solaryan magic healer Aura, they would both be revealed.

Cai approach the table fastening his scabbards, ready for the long travel. His brows drew in and he cringed down at the map atop the table. “Who drew this violation of ink on that poor paper?”

Nia’s head popped up like a hen. “I did.”

He picked the map up and blithefully nodded. “Immaculate detail, remarkable tracing, the shading close to spot on, are we using this perfect example as our map?”

Nia frowned. “You are holding it upside down.”

He blinked rapidly and turned the paper around carefully. “Cartographers like to view their maps upside down too.”

Nia rolled her eyes. “You are still holding it the wrong way round.”

“And sideways, did I mention?” he said turning it once more. He threw a glance at me noting I bit down on my lip to suppress amusement. Warm tears ready to sprout at the exchange as I motioned my finger round in the air. He quickly glanced down at the map and made another turn to the correct way round.

“All nine cities have been traced,” Nia said blowing a tired exhale. “Exits, tunnels, secret chambers, and streets. Alaric has noted all of them for us. Once we reach Venzor, I will replicate them for you two.”

What we had planned was beyond dangerous, and if we were to get caught, what Nia was reserving would not even be used. We were to infiltrate perhaps the toughest and most strict court in Dardanes, there were no odds to our favour and no escaping if we were found, my father would execute me with his own hands.

“How will we know to direct ourselves with these?” he murmured in my ear.

“They are for her not for us. Since when have me and you held to a map? Let her have it.”

He nodded. “Agree, agree.”

Nia clapped her hands together and the both of us startled to attention. “Shall we go over everything again?”

Cai sunk on his chair rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Hot air of summer, spare me.”

Once Nia was satisfied with her work and Alaric resumed his blabbering cautions and advice, we left Fernfoss. We were on the road only a few hours after the festival, giving us enough time to ride at least a day ahead from my father’s soldiers. By the time they would receive word from Alaric that I was already gone we would be in Venzor.

We crossed Old Olympia’s border before sunrise. Our familiarity with the forests made it easier to navigate through the night but the moment we stepped on the cold and snow deep land of Isjord we grew weary. The meek sun had met its match against the pristine blinding ash of frost. Isjord was the land of eternal winter. God Krig blessed its lands and bestowed people his gifts, having taken like for these lands before ascending to the heaven of Hodr. The lands were not the only that had received this said blessing, but their people as well. Verglasers, ice Aura, who with ease controlled, created, and wielded the element. Gifted was an understatement. Verglasers were viciously powerful, and my father had battalions of them. Along with their impeccable art of war, their army of skilled fighters and ice Aura, my father had earned great leverage when he marched all these together to the doom of Olympia. The kingdom who he had feared, loathed, and envied all together, the one who he had though stronger than himself, the danger he had to eliminate. Those whose power he had wanted for his own, the power he had wanted to mix with his own to create beings of unseen power, hybrid Aura, me. Yet he had failed, miserably. It was weakness, the insatiable greed for power.

To someone who despised the cold with all might, this was not a blessing, winter was a damn curse. Miles ahead laid only stark scenery, barren fields, white mountain ranges and towering coniferous forests all covered in dense blinding white snow and ice. The road ahead wavered like a mirage from the white infinite landscape painted ahead like a blank canvas. I was born in Isjord, but twelve years away had made me forget my dislike for its frozen bristling air that was razor sharp against my cheeks, for the prickly and numb feel of my cold fingers and toes, and the damp flakes that coated my hair and eyelashes already heavy with sleep and weariness.

Cai rose a hand above my head and shook away the snow coating atop. “What will they think when they see their princess looks like a scruffy village boy?” he teased, breaking the deafening silence. “You know, Isjordians are known to be pompous bastards.”

I flicked a bunch of half wet hair back. “You will find the better side of the coin when you see my father’s face at this sight.”

Isjord was a powerful country, even its smallest cities had riches far more than any bigger city in the continent of Dardanes. Its people were known for lavish lifestyles and polished governing systems that made sure this was maintained. My mother had never been fond of such extravagances and had not particularly encouraged us to participate in its glories, greatly displeasing my father who was perhaps the most pompous bastard of them all. If I get to see my father the least displeased would bring me great satisfaction, one which I have tended to indulge since I was a child.

“That is absolutely not how this is going to go,” Nia jumped bewildered at the thought that I might be tempted to actually do just that. “We are heading to Venzor first, bless the heavens, and will fix that. You are their princess Snow, you need to be seen as one.”