It’s better to feel nothing at all.
We round the corner and see Kel kneeling on the ground among the overgrown topiaries and briars. His long white hair falls in messy strands over his muscular shoulders. The Sword of the Protector lies untouched before him.
He’s a man.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Kel as a man. He’s been the white wolf day and night since she left.
Not left. Since he sent her away.
Behind us, Marigold and Astrid scurry up, bundles of cloth in their arms. Ezryn grabs the fabric and tosses it at Kel’s feet.
Keldarion gives a long sigh. “Fuck.” Then he stands, tugging on a pair of thick leather pants and a loose black shirt.
Kel runs a hand through his wet hair, then stares at us all in turn. For someone who was recently flung out a window, he doesn’t look angry. Only exhausted, a bone-deep weariness.
Ezryn’s grip tightens on his black sword. Now there’s anger, and I can’t even see his goddamned face. “Why did you send her away?”
No expression passes across Kel’s hard features before he turns away from Ez, voice rough from lack of use as he mutters, “I did what you all could not.”
Ezryn grabs Kel’s shoulder. “You took away our choice. You took away her choice!”
Kel simply brushes his hand off. There’s only the ringing of rain clinking off the Spring Prince’s armor.
“Rosalina found a way to contact me. The magic of the Enchanted Vale calls to her,” Ezryn says. “She wants to come home.”
Kel stills at that. His shoulders tense. “She is home.”
“No, not yet.” Ezryn turns away from Keldarion. “But I’m going to get her. Brothers, are you with me?”
He looks at Farron and me.
I blink, stunned. Ezryn has never disobeyed Keldarion. Not even when he should have, like during the War of Thorns.
But he’s forging his own path now.
For Rosalina.
The answer blazes in Farron’s golden eyes, and it’s the same one radiating through my entire being. “Of course we are,” I say.
A crystalline sound rings throughout the gardens, the long echo of cracking ice, and I look past Ez to Keldarion. He’s picked up the sword Ezryn threw before him. He hasn’t held that sword in twenty-five years, but he’s holding it now, and damn if he isn’t a scary-ass motherfucker.
The ice blade shimmers blue in his hand, casting sharp lines over his jaw and white hair. The rain around him turns to shards of ice as he snarls: “I will end everyone in the Vale before allowing her back here.”
Fear courses through my body, and Farron grips my arm. But Ezryn holds no such compunction and raises his sword. “Then you’ll have to start with me.”
Kel shakes his head, then rushes forward, and the sound of steel meeting steel reverberates throughout the gardens.
“We’ve got to get in there,” I groan.
Farron’s eyes are wide as he takes in the scene. Kel and Ez move almost too fast to track, swords clashing, feet moving as they dance across the grounds, neither giving an inch.
“What are we supposed to do?” Farron shakes his head, long wet strands of brown hair falling in his face. “Kel is—”
“Come on, Fare. It’s three against one. There’s no way we can lose.” I grip tight to his shoulder. “For Rosie.”
His throat bobs, then he says, “For Rosie.”
With that, he digs into his orange tunic. “I’m certain I put a good spell in here.” He pulls out a soggy piece of paper and murmurs a low chant. A dancing spiral of leaves and wind swirl from his palm. They slam between Kel and Ezryn, jolting them apart for an instant before falling to the ground in a sodden heap.
“Oh fiddlesticks,” Farron mutters before pulling out more soggy paper from his tunic. “I thought that was a better one.”
Each High Ruler learns a way to channel the vast amount of magic we’re blessed with. Ez and I usually manifest ours into physical strength. Farron prefers to use spells, either from within himself or using written incantations as a conduit.
But Keldarion…
Keldarion’s a master of both.
“Guess it’s my turn.” I reach for my swords before realizing they’re back in my room. I only have time to mutter a quick curse before a torrent of hail and sleet strikes me in the chest, and I fly into a hedge.
“Get out there and fight!” Soft hands push me up. I blink to see Marigold huddled in the bushes, Astrid beside her. “You’ve got to bring her back.”
I gently touch my aching head. “But I don’t have my swords!”
“Are you a gladiator of the Summer Realm or not?” Astrid narrows her red eyes. “I want my best friend back, so don’t give up, okay?”
My head whirls as I stand. Ez and Kel move like flashes of lightning. Farron’s doing… I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. Discarded pieces of paper lay littered on the ground, along with red mushrooms and strange spiky twigs.
I rush past him. “Lose the paper, Fare. Feel for your magic.”
He gives a frustrated sigh, running up beside me. “It’s not so easy.”
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 bloody something—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