At least there are no signs of Farron’s beast coming out. That thing could end us all.
Farron rushes up to stand beside Ez, and I twirl behind Keldarion. I could probably hold my own against him if I wasn’t so drunk. And if I had my swords. But I guess it’s going to have to be fists and praying that all the instincts of fighting in the Sun Colosseum come back to me.
Kel’s sword flashes blue as it clangs against Ezryn’s obsidian blade, sending chips of ice sparkling into the air.
“Let us leave, Kel!” Farron abandons his incantations and instead swipes his palms through the air: a line of fire ignites in a whoosh, but it’s doused by the rain as quickly as it came.
Keldarion doesn’t spare him a second glance, his attention solely faced on the mountain of metal in front of him.
Perfect. He’s distracted.
I strike, landing a powerful blow against Kel’s back. At least, I mean to—but he dodges, pushing both Farron and Ezryn away in a gale of ice before spinning to face me.
The Prince of Winter pauses for a moment—a moment where I should be able to strike, dodge, do bloodysomething—but my mind is so muddled I can’t think. Kel gives a dissatisfied grunt and knocks me on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword, grips my shoulders, and heaves me through the air.
I smack against the ground hard, rolling until I land in a pile beside Ezryn and Farron. Kel’s frozen their feet in a patch of ice.
Ezryn gives a mighty yell and brings his sword down, shattering the ice.
“Get me out of here!” Farron gasps, trying to pry free.
Stars cloud my vision. “I don’t have a weapon. I don’t—”
Ezryn charges, his great sword held high. Keldarion deflects the blow. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Ezryn.”
“What I know,” Ezryn lands a cut along Kel’s arm, “is the Vale calls to her!”
Kel glances down from the cut on his arm to Ezryn. “You think I can’t feel that?” His speed increases, a strength and fury in his movements like none I’ve ever seen. “You think it does not haunt me day and night?”
Ezryn tries to match Kel’s new pace, but I see it. Ez’s slowing, his movements growing sloppier as he tries desperately to stop Kel’s advance.
Then Kel lands a punishing blow. Ice and snow and magic erupt from him, and Ezryn’s sword clatters to the ground. Kel grabs him, holding the glittering ice sword to Ezryn’s neck, right between the gaps of his armor.
“If you want to stop me,” Ezryn’s metallic voice echoes through the mask, not a trace of fear, “you’re going to have to kill me.”
Kel’s ice-blue eyes flash with something so feral, so utterly primal and unhinged, I think he might just do it.
But in the end, he releases a long sigh and drops Ezryn to the earth in a heap. He takes one step away before his whole body shifts into the massive white wolf. “If you truly care for the girl,” he growls, “then you will leave her be.”
Ice trails behind the white wolf’s every step as he prowls back into the castle.
Ezryn stands, then looks at Farron and me sprawled out on the ground. “Well, are you coming?” he asks. “We’re going to get our girl.”
9
Rosalina
Dancingaroundthewillowtree in the middle of town at dusk on a Sunday is not exactly how I imagined my life going. But after you’ve spent months living in a castle with a bunch of shapeshifting faeries, at some point, you just have to say fuck it.
I prance around my father’s beloved willow tree, wearing a woven crown of daisies and daffodils. At the base of the tree is my backpack full of our Enchanted Vale possessions. I carry a wicker basket filled with a mixture of ground mushrooms, dried lavender, and carrot seeds, and sprinkle it like I’m the most cursed flower girl you could possibly imagine. I’m also wearing my favorite ‘This Shirt Glows Blue When Orcs Are Near’ hoodie, but that’s for my own aesthetic, and has nothing to do with the ritual. Maybe Mom’s necklace, tucked under my shirt, will help.
“My legs are getting tired,” I say in a sing-song voice to my father, who’s prancing right in front of me with his own basket.
Most of the various experiments we’ve tried over the last few months have been based on ancient folklore from across the world. This is from some creepy children’s book Papa found on one of his visits to the countryside of England. But at this point I’ll try anything.
Even if that anything means practically every resident of Orca Cove has gathered to point and whisper as Papa and I continue our ridiculous display.
“Keep going!” Papa looks back at me with a wild grin. “We’re powering this tree with fae magic!”
