I smother a small smile as he gets up and rips away the end of the moonberry root with his teeth, then squeezes the partially thawed sweetwater into the tin mug to warm.
“When no more Fever Lilacs could be found,” he says, returning to my side, “Colden came to his senses, and he was not happy. Colden looks innocent, Raina. In truth, he’s exquisitely beautiful. You’ll know what I mean when you see him. His appearance is misleading. He is not a fragile man to be trifled with. As for Asha,” he continues, “well, she miscalculated the man she’d tricked into her bed. While he’d been entranced by her flowers, she did a horrible thing. In what she believed to be infinite power, she rendered Colden immortal, a godly gift, so that he might be with her forever. And he hated her for it. So much that he almost killed her, but instead, he chained her to a cliff on Mount Ulra, in iron fetters, that he might flee and return to Neri’s protection. He hoped that if she lived, perhaps her curse could be undone.”
All of a sudden, I can’t help but question everything I’ve ever learned about the Frost King. All my years, I’ve been told that his immortality was a gift from Neri. Not a curse by Asha.
He was violated. His life stolen.
“Why iron fetters?”
“Because iron stifles godly power. When placed on the extremities—the neck, the wrists, the ankles—it binds. It can even burn the skin and seep into a god’s veins, rendering them as useless as any human.” He cocks his brow again. “Colden escaped Asha’s clutches, gathered his fellow warriors, and returned to the north where, in his rage, he began building a village. A place where he might seal himself off from the world.”
“Winterhold.”
“The very same. Colden and his men worked for months in the cold, right under Neri’s vengeful eyes. The God of the North was jealous of Colden, though he made no sign of it until later. A few years passed. In that short time, Colden considered death, but his friends challenged him against taking his own life.”
Confused yet again, I shake my head and sign. “I thought he was immortal.”
After a lick of his fingertips, Alexus snatches the mug from beside the fire and sets it on the stones to cool. “Immortality is a curious thing. One can live forever until someone manages to kill them. Magick can certainly compete with death, but nothing is eternal. Not even a life given by a goddess. And though Colden loathed his circumstance, little more is unbearable as the thought of losing a life you once loved, especially by your own hand.”
I press my hand to my chest, my heart aching at the impossible decision that must’ve faced Colden every day of his long life. Much as I have hated even the thought of him, I can pity that.
“What happened to Asha?”
“The Land Wars ended. For a time, anyway. The gods tried to force Asha to remove Colden Moeshka’s curse, but she refused. Her punishment, therefore, for bedding a mortal and granting him a godly gift, was that she would never—no matter what magick she attempted—be able to make him love her.”
“And she was furious.”
“Very. But what could she do?”
Alexus rescues the stone holding the roasting berries. He sits the flat rock on the ground and lifts my feet, turning me so that my legs are tucked between his, our knees bent, his encasing mine. He takes up the curved knife and begins slicing our fruit.
“A few more years passed,” he goes on, “then one day, the recently crowned queen, Fia Drumera, sent men to the vale to find Colden and give him a message. She wanted to make amends for her goddess’s wrongdoings and celebrate Colden once again for the sacrifice cast upon his people. It was essential to maintain peace with a man quickly becoming something of a leader in the north.
The queen’s letter swore Asha would not be there; the other gods would not allow it. Colden refused to go, but…” He pauses as something akin to regret flashes across his face, so fast I almost miss it. “In the years since he’d been in the desert,” he says, “he’d made a new friend. Someone unlike all his other acquaintances. Someone who hadn’t fought alongside him during the war.”
With the steadiest of hands, Alexus balances a piece of warm, blistered fruit on the flat of the knife and lifts it to my mouth. I lean forward, and with my teeth, carefully accept.
“Who was the friend?”
“A young man from the valley. They met while the man was hunting in Frostwater Wood. That friend told Colden he should go to the celebration, to honor his fallen men if nothing else. The gods had bound Asha. She was no longer a threat, or so it had been promised. Colden asked the friend to accompany him, and the man agreed, because he’d never been that far south, and it had always been a faraway dream. So they set out.”
He reaches for the metal cup and offers it. I accept and take a sip, letting the tin’s warmth heat my hands.
“The Summerlands are desert lands, marked by oases. Colden showed his new friend such beauty, the likes of which his eyes had never seen.” A hint of a smile curves his lips as he takes a bite of fruit. “The people were kind, the food so sweet and spicy, the water clear and crisp. Then Colden and his friend reached the great wall surrounding the citadel. It was impressive, but the gates—made of gold and ornamented with more jewels than the desert has grains of sand—had to have been forged by the gods. Inside, mud huts were freestanding though many were built into cliffs and under rocky overhangs, in deep caves and even in the side of Mount Ulra. For three days, the people of the Summerlands came together for festivities. There was music and laughter, wine and dance.” He looks at me sidelong. “And Fia.”
My eyes widen. Tales of the gods and the City of Ruin are fascinating enough, but to learn truths about the Frost King and the Fire Queen has me spellbound. I feel just as entranced as I used to when my father told me stories as a child.
Alexus returns to slicing our steaming food. “The moment Colden saw Fia, he became moonstruck all over again—a foolish notion for a man who might outlive everyone he would ever know. But Fia felt the same. The two were inseparable the first couple of days of the celebration, and on that third night, Fia danced with Colden until the poor man could barely see beyond the stars in his eyes. He’d found joy again, and he wanted to cling to it. With the rest of the world distracted, Fia led Colden to her dwelling.”
“For what?” I sign. Instantly, I regret the words, my fingers recoiling.
Alexus grins. “What do you think? She wanted him.” He looks at me pointedly. “You know how desire can be. Completely consuming.”
My face burns as unbidden images and thoughts cross my mind, images and thoughts that Alexus is undoubtedly watching play across my eyes.