Chapter 39 The invitation

Chapter 39 The invitation

Arthur sat cross-legged by the water, hands hovering over the surface. "The mist of the North is thick, Luna. It does not like intruders from the south. The Goddess protects her own."

"I don't care about the Goddess!" Verena shouted her voice cracking. "I care about my face! Look at me! My hair is thinning, my skin is turning gray, and Jaxon... doesn't look at me the way he used to. He looks at me like I’m a reminder of everything he’s lost."

"Perhaps you are," the Seer said, his blind eyes turning toward her.

"Silence! Use the blood I gave you. Use whatever you need. I want to see this 'Northern Witch' everyone is whispering about. If she has the 'Frost Iron' to save our pack, I want to know who I’m dealing with."

Arthur sighed and drew a bone-handled knife across his palm. A few drops of dark, blood hit the water. The pool hissed. The oil began to swirl, turning from black to a deep, silver.

"Look now, daughter of vanity," Arthur whispered. "But beware... some lights are meant to blind."

Verena leaned over the water, her breath catching in her throat.

The mist in the pool parted. At first, there was only white light. Then, a figure emerged. A woman stood on top of a balcony of ice, wearing a gown made of what looked like silk and starlight.

Her silver hair flowed like a river down her back. Her skin was flawless, glowing with a health so bright it made Verena feel like a walking corpse.

"Gods," Verena breathed, her fingers reaching out to touch the water. "Who is she? Is that... is that a goddess?"

"That is the Queen of the North," Arthur said, his voice trembling with a strange awe.

"Look at those jewels," Verena whispered, her obsession taking over her. Around the woman’s neck was a collar of frost-fire gems, and on her brow rested a crown of thorns that pulsed with a silver rhythm.

"The necklace alone could buy our entire pack five times over. And her face... she has no scars. No marks. How is she so perfect?"

"She is a Zenith," the Seer replied. "She is the balance of life and ice. Her beauty is not painted on, Verena. It is the reflection of her power."

Verena didn't hear him. She was looking at the woman’s silver eyes "She looks... familiar. Those eyes. I have seen it somewhere."

"They should," Arthur said darkly. "They are the eyes of the one you threw into the dead lands"

Verena turned her head toward him, her face twisting. "Don't you dare. Astraea is dead. She was a sickly, pathetic omega who couldn't even shift without vomiting blood. This woman... this is a celestial being. She is a queen."

"If you say so," the Seer whispered.

"I want what she has," Verena said, her voice dropping to a low, manic hum. She turned away from the pool, her eyes burning with a new, terrifying purpose.

"The Frost Iron. The jewels. That skin. If we take the North, Jaxon can have his crops, but I want her. I want to strip that gown off her back and wear it myself. I want to see her bleed until she’s as gray and withered as I am."

"You speak of war against the Mad King for a necklace?" Arthur asked.

"I speak of the survival of our pack!" Verena shouted. "If Jaxon sees this woman, he’ll forget me in a heartbeat. He’s already obsessed with the 'witch.'

“If I don't give him a reason to kill her, he’ll find a reason to mate her. I know how men work, Arthur Especially Alphas. They want what they cannot control."

She stormed out of the chamber, her mind filled with jealousy. She found Jaxon in the War Room, looking at a map of the Deadlands. He looked haggard, his hand shaking as he traced the mountain passes.

"Jaxon," she said, coming close to him and putting a hand on his chest. "I’ve seen her. Through the pool."

Jaxon looked up, his eyes sharp. "The witch? Did you see the Frost Iron? Is it real?"

"The iron is real," Verena lied, her voice smooth. "But Jaxon... the Iron isn't enough. She’s using it to mock us. She sits on a throne of ice and laughs at the South. She told the Seer that she’s waiting for the 'pitiful Alpha' to come and beg for his life."

Jaxon’s jaw tightened. "She said that?"

"And more," Verena leaned in, her voice poison. "She said you were a boy playing at being Alpha. She said the south doesn't need a savior because the South is already a graveyard.”

“She has the power to fix our lands, Jaxon. She has a stone that can make the wheat grow ten feet high in a single night. But she’s keeping it for herself. She wants to watch our pups die."

"I’ll kill her myself after we get the frost iron" Jaxon said, slamming his hands on the map.

#. #. #. #. #.

A parchment sat on the map table, its edge scorched by a seal of frozen wax. It was an invitation to the continental summit, a gathering of the realm that hadn't seen a northern representative in over a century.

Fenris looked at the document, his lips curling into a snarl. “The audacity of the southern pack never ceased to amaze me. Jaxon's Pack is literally turning into a pile of dust, and he decides that now it's time for a tea party in the neutral zone.”

Astraea stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the twilight of the north. “It is not a tea party, Fenris. It is an ambush.”

“Look at the addendum.” Fenris picked up the heavy paper, his eyes going through the arrogant writing.

To the King of the Frost Citadel:
Your presence is required to answer for the disturbance of our borders. The realm also demands that the northern witch accompanying you brings a tribute of Northern frost iron and silver grain to compensate the south for its magical blight she has infected upon our soil. If she fails to appear and pay her debt, the realm will move to come after the dead land by force.

“A tribute,” Fenris said, “he wants you to pay him for the privilege of being insulted.”

“He doesn't know it's me,” Astraea said, her voice calm. “To him, I'm just a nameless disturbance, a witch in league with the Mad king. He's trying to reclaim his authority by bullying a woman he hasn't even met.”

“He wants to tame the witch,” Fenris said, throwing the letter back on the table. “He's desperate, boyce report must have terrified him more than we thought.”

While the north prepared for the summit. The south was drowning in their own poison. The air Jaxon's solar was filled with the smell of burning sulfur, a desperate attempt by the healers to stop the black rots from eating the tapestry.

Jaxon stood by his window, looking at the withered garden. He looked skinny his golden hair now grey. “Has the invitation been delivered?” Jaxon asked.