My throat ached with the desire to beg for Brann’s life, something I knew would fall on deaf ears. I stood taller, staring down the Mist Guard in an attempt to divert his attention off my innocent brother. “Some Mist Guard you make,” I snapped, forcing a sneer to my face when all I felt was terror; for myself and for Brann. “Can’t even properly kill one Fae whore in the woods.”
My lips twisted as I held my stance, watching as the Guard’s head turned away from Brann and toward me. I shoved my hair away from my neck, letting the Fae Mark glow in the softly lit woods where the sun shone through the canopy of pine trees above us. There was something robotic in his motions, all semblance of humanity gone from him as he raised dark eyes to sweep over the Mark on my neck.
His iron helmet covered the top of his head and curved around to lie against his cheekbones, leaving only the space from his eyes to his mouth visible. His dark eyes were sunken into his face, his skin unnaturally pale, as if he’d never seen the light of day. His crooked nose and tense mouth gave no illusion of kindness, while his nostrils flared slightly as he fixated on me. I’d thought I knew all the Mist Guard, thought they’d lived among us and walked Mistfell freely, but this man with no trace of emotion was a stranger to me.
But it would seem I was no stranger to him.
“Estrella Barlowe. The girl who turned two men to snow,” he said, shifting his hold on his sword as he spun away from Brann. He stepped toward me, the heavy falls of his feet where his armor encased him clattering with a metallic ring. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I backed away, pulling him further from Brann’s side and demanding all of his attention. I gave Brann the chance to escape, drawing the Mist Guard soldier to follow me further into the woods. “What makes you think that number won’t become three, soon enough?” I asked.
When I was certain he’d come far enough that pursuing me was more likely than turning back for my brother, I turned and bolted through the trees.
He chuckled behind me, the sound filling the air with menace. Metal clanked as he followed, running as quickly as he could manage with all that weight on his body. “Have you ever heard the rumors of what happens to the Fae when you cut them with an iron blade?” he called to me as I hurried away from him, the words slithering over my skin. I ducked behind a tree, zigzagging to try to throw him off my tail.
I didn’t answer; didn’t give him any sound in response that might have given away my location. My spine pressed into the oak tree behind me, my breath heaving as I waited and listened for where he might have gone. I carefully turned to peek around the tree, finding no sign of the Mist Guard who meant to cut me down.
Turning forward once again, I scanned the trees for any sign of him and found none, as if he’d vanished into thin air, a figment of my imagination.
A whistle came as his sword cut through the air in an attempt to sever my head from my body. I ducked low, dropping to my ass on the ground and scrambling to the side as the thunk of his blade cutting into the tree reverberated through me. “They die. So what do you think my iron blade will do to you?”
I scrambled to my feet, jumping back as he swung once again. Magic surged along my skin, consuming my Mark with every strike he committed against me. I shook as I tried to hold it back, undecided on whether I should live or die.
Even now, staring my death in the face, I couldn’t commit to going into the Void that awaited, after the end. I couldn’t surrender to the resounding peace I’d felt the day before, in the moments when I’d thought it was all over.
Something had awakened within me, and it was only when staring down the edge of a blade that it felt hungry to live for the first time.
My fingers burned with the cold as I dodged his blows that were intended to cut me down. Minutes passed, the building power within me coming far slower than it had when we’d first fled. Then finally the freezing ice of winter consumed them, turning my fingertips white as I jerked to the side to avoid his stab for my waist. I reached up with those white fingers, gently touching the tips to the bare flesh at his neck.
White specks like snowflakes danced across his skin, the patterns swirling and writhing like the lightest of snow upon a field when the wind caught it. I watched them, mesmerized for a moment as they danced up his neck and toward his eyes.
Something heavy pressed against the front of my throat and the cut left by the priest, snapping closed around the back as my body felt weighed down. The white swirls on his skin stopped dancing, fading from view entirely as he sucked in a relieved breath. I wheezed, my lungs tightening with the need to breathe. There was no energy left in my body, nothing left to keep me upright as my knees buckled and I fought to stay on my feet. “You’re a clever little bitch,” he said, pressing the hand that gripped the front of my throat tighter into my skin and helping to hold my weak body up. The metal there burned me, lighting my skin on fire as I fought for breath. “But not clever enough to fight with my iron dampening your magic.”
He gripped my neck cruelly as he raised his sword and touched the tip to my dress. He cut the top button away, parting the fabric so he could see the skin above my heart. “It’s almost a shame to end it so soon,” he murmured, leaning forward until his dark eyes stared into mine. “I like a woman with some fight.”
“Then take off the collar and fight me like a man,” I hissed, trying to think past the press of his blade sinking into my flesh, against the burning that consumed me just from that minor cut.
He tilted his head to the side, studying the burning skin that began to char around his blade. “What are—”
He gurgled around his own blood, choking on it as I looked to his throat, and to the dagger I hadn’t known Brann still possessed. He pulled it free, sending a shock of red arcing through the sky. The Mist Guard crumpled to his knees in front of me, staring up at me as he fought for breath.
Brann wiped his dagger on the man’s coat, studying me quickly and stepping forward. He fought with the clasp at the back of the collar, yanking it free from under the curtain of my hair. I heaved a sigh of relief as soon as it was gone, drawing my first full breath since my shackling.
“It’s almost a shame,” I said, quirking my brow at the dying Mist Guard as something dark and hateful consumed me. That darkness within me made me bitter, taking joy in the sight of the man who would have killed me drowning in his own blood. “I do so like a man who can fight.”
11
There was blood on me, yet again. I was quickly becoming far too accustomed to the red stains on my skin, and the monster in me wasn’t as horrified by it as I would have thought. I’d felt guilty when I’d killed Loris, wanting nothing more than to stop the magic that took control and ended his life. I’d even felt bad for killing the commander.