Within a single night, they had left their marks on Skadi’s skin. Doing so sealed their deaths, and brought a new battle they could not win to their gates.
Bells and warnings rang out from the palace walls. Our people were tucked behind trees and shrubs. If I did not already know the curious nature of Natthaven, I might think myself a bit mad. When another onslaught of elven arrows rained over our heads, the limbs thickened, trunks widened, mounds shifted in the soil.
The isle had chosen its side, and I looked forward to the moment the kings realized they did not stand a chance.
My father stepped out into the front of the line when the final arrow thudded into the soil. He shook out his hands. “I wanted a peaceful night and they had to go start a damn war.”
From one of the parapets, a warrior with a gilded helmet aimed his arrow at the king. “Alver clans, our king is willing to re-negotiate our alliance in peace. Continue your attack, and you will not leave our isle without grave losses.”
“Did he call it their isle?” Skadi curled her fists, the blaze in her eyes like a bursting star.
I chuckled and stepped beside my father. “I believe you’ve mistakenly claimed this land. This land does not belong to the Ljosalfar.”
The warrior aimed his arrow at me. “Highness, you are requested to meet with the king. You’ll receive reparations for your troubles.”
“I hope you are not referring to my wife as part of my trouble.”
“The future king of the elven clans has claimed the princess as his wife, but we do wish to keep the alliance of peace.”
Skadi emerged from the trees, waves of her affinity rolling over her palms. “I am not Arion’s wife, and I never will be.”
The warrior frantically shouted for aim to be leveled at the princess. Skadi raised one hand. It was too swift, but where her affinity was cradled in her palm, now dark mists coated the guard’s bow and the arrow until there was nothing but damp air left behind.
“They’re all quite afraid to die.” My father looked at Skadi, a cruel sort of sneer on his face.
She did not hesitate. “Such a pity for them, Daj.”
Shadows snaked around the throats of elven guards along the wall. Stun and fear was written on every face. They tried to flee, but the shadows spread, adding their ankles and shoulders to the web of mesmer.
For a pause, my father inspected his work, then gave a swift tilt to his head. The movement seemed so simple, like it was nothing, but every coil of darkness twisted the throats of the Ljosalfar guards in sick cracks.
Skadi let out a shuddering cry when nearly twenty men toppled inone blow. The ones fortunate enough to make out with their lives, fled the walls, shouting warnings of an attack.
“I warned you, Fire. You belong to a land of nightmares now.”
“And I have never been more at home.” She blew out a trembling breath, unsettled by the gore dripping off the walls of her palace, but straightened her spine and raised her palms. The mists of her affinity coated the ground like poison in the grass. “There are innocent elven within these walls. If you can, allow them to live.”
Mists painted the palace wall like iridescent ropes, fading away stones one by one. She drew in a sharp breath, jaw tight as her affinity worked to pull away the barrier.
Screams rose in the palace when the walls shuddered.
The sound of stones scraping over stones shook the night. Skadi winced. I went to her side, placed a hand on the small of her back, and held her steady until a gaping, crumbling gap was left in the side of the palace.
Crouched in the now exposed corridors were elven servants, covering their heads against falling stones and sconces. A few inner warriors of the Ljosalfar clans tried to use their own magic to summon the flames of outer torches, desperate to light our clan aflame.
Skadi devoured the fire with the swipe of her palm. There was a tremble to her hand. No mistake the lingering impact of those damn bands on her wrists left her fatigued.
I shoved a second dagger into her palm. “Blades for now, Fire.”
We raced into the palace, shoulder to shoulder.
My clan were not graceful fighters. We did not study every elegant step to take, nor which strike would fit terrain or blade. We fought wickedly and brutally.
Elven folk raced for alcoves and chambers, screaming when their halls were invaded. They were accustomed to poise and prestige. Alvers and fae raided with blood on their faces and howls of delight for bloodshed over their lips.
In one corridor, Von stuck close to Aleksi. When Alek would use his glamour to summon the blood in a warrior’s veins, holding him inplace, Von shoved foaming powders down their throats until they choked on their own blood, or made messier work of spilling innards.
The Kryv were masters at cornering their playthings, then torturing with their mesmer.
