He keeps glancing at the cavern’s entrance. It was a wolf that I heard earlier. An entire pack howls in the distance, likely descending upon the bloody feast left in the wood.
At least the crows have stayed away. I tell myself that they’re too startled to come anywhere near Alexus Thibault again. I should probably follow their lead, yet I’m more trapped than I’ve ever been. And not because of the construct and not because of the prince.
Alexus lets out a tired groan, a sound that’s somewhere between resignation and dread. “I don’t suppose you’re going to eat first and talk about all the other stuff later? I’ll keep watch.”
I raise a brow as sharply as I can. “Not a chance. Tell me how you did what you did. Why did you not use that magick before?”
Setting the pack aside, he stares into the fire. I study his profile, the way the firelight casts shadows along the sharp lines of his face and dances in his eyes.
“My magick is contained,” he finally says, placing his elbows on his knees. “Asleep, in a sense. I can no longer access it with ease. It’s…sort of tangled with another source of magick. A power I never asked for. When I unleash that power, even a small amount, some of my old magick comes with it. I’m not good at controlling the force of such a release, so I never do it, unless I know it’s all right to destroy everything in my immediate vicinity. Which is why I didn’t employ that particular ability when the Eastlanders stormed the valley, nor when the wraith attacked. It’s also why I asked you not to follow me. Not so much because I didn’t want you to know, but because I wanted you safe.”
My face warms. “If you had said it like that, I would have listened.”
“No, you wouldn’t have, because that’s who you are. It’s part of your fire.” The corner of his mouth curls up, and he nudges me with his shoulder. “You little rebel.”
I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear. I like it when he says that. He says it in a way that’s…accepting. No judgment. No voice of reason trying to convince me that it’s better to be anything else but the way that I am, a person who doesn’t always do as she’s told. He says it like he’s learned to like that part of me. No one else—not even my parents or Finn—made me feel as though it was all right to be flawed, and even that perhaps my flaws might also be my strengths.
“Where did you get this power?” I sign.
His face goes hard, and his eyes darken, but not in the way of magick. They darken with memory, like he’s seeing things he doesn’t want to reveal.
He scrubs a hand through his long hair. “Where to begin.”
“From the beginning.”
“Ah. So simple, yet you know not what you ask. There are so many beginnings, Raina, and they all flow into one long story.”
“Then tell me each one,” I reply.
A pause tightens the air, but finally, his eyes go distant, and he begins.
“I suppose a good place to start is with Colden Moeshka, and a tale of the gods.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it isn’t this.
“Before he graced the throne as the Frost King, and long before the Northlands were a neutral kingdom, Colden Moeshka was a young warrior for Neri, God of the North, in the Land Wars a little over three hundred years ago. Just a boy at the time. Barely twenty, I think.”
I blink, confused. This is a tale of the Frost King. We’re supposed to be talking about Alexus. Still, I’m surprised by this information for other reasons too. I’ve heard about the Land Wars, only from history passed down through legend, but I’ve never imagined the king as anything but a king. Certainly not a warrior and most definitely not a boy.
“And how did he become the dreaded Frost King?”
Alexus gives me a half-smile that quickly fades to seriousness. “He and a small army were sent to guard the Summerland queen’s gates during the war. Toward the end, when a small front to the north had been conquered, they found themselves battling a retinue of Eastlanders attempting a sneak attack. Colden and his warriors were outnumbered, but Colden is a fury and a leader. His small northern band destroyed the enemy outside the queen’s gates. When it was over, the queen sent for those who remained, to thank them.” He studies his clasped hands. “It did not end well.”
“What happened?”
“Everything,” he replies. “You see, the Land Wars were never about the lands. They were about the jealousy, lust, and bitterness of the gods. Neri wanted Asha. And Thamaos, God of the East, wanted Asha’s beloved Summerlands. Neri offered his army to Asha and her queen, but at a cost. Not only did he make a devout enemy of Thamaos, but in exchange for his aid, he wanted Asha’s heart. She agreed because Neri was strong and handsome, and even though he had no earthly queen or king to rule his northern warriors, they served him anyway. Worshipped him, even.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. Some things never change.
“Asha knew that kind of loyalty would be to her advantage in saving the Summerlands from Thamaos,” Alexus goes on. “So she promised her heart and body to Neri, becoming his lover. And for that, many lost their lives, and the lives of a few were forever changed.”
Though we’re only inches apart, I move closer to him. I enjoy the story, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also enjoy the soothing sound of his voice.
“Go on,” I insist, tugging the blanket tighter around me.
“The wars raged for a long time before Colden was sent to fight. Northern men and Summerlanders fought the Eastern armies until little remained of the enemy. Things grew quiet for a time, and Asha, being the seductress that she was, tired of Neri. So when that final battle happened outside the queen’s gates, and Colden and the other surviving northern warriors were brought to the throne at Mount Ulra, Asha was there, without the ruling eyes of other gods, and in her loneliness, one of the men caught her attention.”
I stiffen. “Colden Moeshka?”
“Yes, Colden Moeshka.” Alexus turns our fruit with his stick. “Asha fell for him instantly. Relations between gods and mortals were forbidden, but Asha was foolish. The queen let her have her way with Colden, because even though the Summerlanders owed him their lives, no earthly ruler would dare defy their land’s god or goddess.
So Asha beguiled Colden with the Fever Lilac, a flower whose roots contain the powers of desire. Summerlanders grind the root into a golden powder and paint brides’ and bridegrooms’ bodies on their wedding night. The flower only solidified his lust for her, though, not love, because Colden never gave his heart to Asha. In fact, during his first days at Mount Ulra, before Asha deceived him into her bed, his soul came alight for Summerland’s budding princess, a young girl named Fia.”
“Fia Drumera? The Fire Queen of the Summerlands?” I feel like I’m hearing royal gossip, only Tiressia’s royal fiction has never been quite so intriguing.
Alexus holds up a finger. “Just wait. Don’t get ahead. It gets better.”