“No!” Yes. Kind of. Ugh. I could just feel the bitter pride radiating across the table from Freyja.
“Gaia—the Watchers,” Hildur said, a hint of a snarl lining her tone. “They locked themselves up in their pretty little towers over ten years ago, never to be seen or heard from again.” Her cool hand slipped over mine. “Leaving the rest of us to rot.”
I stiffened, my body temperature plunging beneath her cold palm. “What if they did that to protect us?”
Lips tight, she raised a brow. One slip of the tongue—that’s all the reason it would take for her to kill me or throw me out.
“My mom’s death opened up a weak spot in the archangel’s wards. Believe it or not, that magical barrier protects everyone, no matter if you call yourself mortal or supernatural. Closing their doors could have been a last resort.”
Especially with Akosua joining Chthonia. But it was impossible to tell how much the queen knew, how much she was gleaning from me.
And what she might do with it.
Inspecting the jewels sparkling on the gold bands on her fingers, Hildur said, “I have tired of this talk of war.”
I slipped my hand out from her grip and pushed my chair back.
Her palm lay flat on the table, frost spreading out beneath it as she glared up at me.
With eerie calm, I rose. “I thought you would care more about your people.”
“Watch your tongue, angel. You know nothing of war.” Her face, a rich tawny beige that glowed against the icy realm like a tiger’s eye, blanched with ire. “I care about my people now. I cared about them a century ago. The battle cries still came to my door.”
“Did you have a chance to stop it?” I managed to keep my voice steady, despite every bone in me shaking with rage and unchecked magic. “Or were you too tired of all the war talk then, too?”
A plate shattered against the herringbone floor, hurried footsteps rushing to clean it. Freyja’s arctic eyes were on me, a hand secured on her waist.
It was clear nobody talked to the queen like that, but I didn’t care.
“Dear girl.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of Hildur’s mouth. “I’ve had this very conversation in this exact room more times than the history books can date. For me, it’s simply a case of déjà vu.”
My hands clenched at my sides.
She stood, shooing the servants darting to her aid. “So long as Chthonia and Empyrea exist, there will always be a side. This time the elves will not choose. We will not help.”
Source swelled from my fists; the ceiling began to rumble, crown molding breaking off the corners, cracks slithering up the walls. Frozen water jutted out of the fissures, leaving a line of glistening icicles.
Our breaths clouded in the air as the room grew colder. “Forget my vision, forget the Watchers, forget the growing threat of Chthonia’s supporters. This is… different. It’s not war. It’s Armageddon.”
Hildur’s gaze swept over the icy seams in the walls, a flash of power circulating in the lavender of her eyes.
“If you’d rather hide out in your frozen palace, be my guest.” My fingers curled around the lip of the table, knuckles going white. “I will find a way inside Gaia’s watchtower. To hell with your elven laws.”
Plucking a frostbitten lupine out of the vase closest to her, she regarded me over the sea of flowers that had been fresh literal moments ago.
Color flushed her face, the look of twisted anger gone. But something even more peculiar brightened her stare, as if I were a rare object she might choose to acquire. “Very well.”
“Very well what?” Confusion shot through me, snapping the tether I had with my magic. In an invisible wave, it ricocheted towards me, knocking me back a step, and the room stilled.
“Kristjan.” The queen barely had to raise her voice. The door creaked open and an older man flurried in.
Hildur drifted towards the threshold, the long, belled sleeves of her dress draping behind her and sliding against the floor with her skirts. Pulling off his wool cap, Kristjan greeted the monarch with a bow, pushing his spectacles up his freckled nose.
Servants flocked to the table, clearing the dirty dishes, most covered in a sheet of frost. Their conversations were fluid and hushed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Freyja’s gravelly voice was shielded by the bustle of quick-working hands.
“Me?” Jabbing my finger in Hildur’s direction, I whispered back, “Does she enjoy being this difficult, or does she really just not care about the fate of her kingdom?!”
