Chapter 50: The ultimate betrayal

“Let him come,” Fenris said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “We have the frost, we have the light, and we have each other.”

Astraea looked at him. “Do you really mean that? You would change everything for me?”

“I would burn the world and rebuild it in silver, if you asked me,” he replied.

He leaned down. “But you won't ask for that. You would ask for justice, and I would be the blade that delivers it.”

The carriage hit a bump, jolting them together. Astraea wrapped her hand around his neck, pulling him down. The kiss was a storm, a taste of ice and fire.

#. #. #. #. #.

The border between the North and the neutral zone was a desolate land where the wind howl like a wounded beast. Here, beneath the cover of the moonless sky, the ultimate betrayal was taking place.

Lyra pushed her fur tighter, her breath catching in her throat. She shouldn't be here. If Fenris found out, he would end her. But the sight of Astraea sitting beside him had driven her to the brink of madness.

“You are late” a voice came from the shadows.

Lyra jumped, her hand going to the dagger at her waist. “Show yourself, Jaxon. I don't have time for southern theatrics.”

Jaxon stepped out from behind a huge rock. The man Lyra saw was a nightmare. The black rot from the goddess curse had climbed up his jaw like a spider web. He looked haggard.

“The goddess might have cursed my skin, but she didn't take my hunger,” Jaxon hissed, his eyes burning with hate. “Do you have them?”

Lyra reached into her cloak and brought out a cylinder of weathered vellum sealed with the Iron hoar crest and held it out.

“The secret blueprint of the frost citadel,” Lyra whispered. “Every hidden tunnel, every weak point, and the exact passcode for the internal locks. My father spent forty years perfecting this defense. Now they are yours.”

Jaxon took the scroll. “And what do you want in return? Lyra,” Jaxon asked, leaning in close.

The scent of rotting flesh made Lyra flinch. “Why? Why give me the keys to your own home?”

“I want her gone,” Lyra snapped. “I want that silver eyed freak stripped of her title, I want her to suffer. Fenris was mine by right and blood.”

“She is an intruder. If you kill her, the north will fall into chaos, and I will be there to pick up the pieces, as the only one fit to lead.”

“A lofty goal,” a new voice said.

Verena came out from the shadows behind jaxon. She was a ghost of her former self, her cloths were torn and her face skinny. She looked at Lyra with a mixture of kinship and envy.

“We want the same thing then,” Verena said her voice a shell of her former haughtiness. “You want the king and we want the power. Once Astraea is dead, the northern frost iron belongs to Jaxon.”

Lyra looked at the two of them, the broken king and his rutting queen, and for a split second, a cold chill of regret came over her, then she shrugged it off.

“You must be fast,” Lyra warned. “Fenris is an ancient. If he senses your army before you reach the gate, the ancestors will wake up, and not even the map will save you.”

“Don't worry about the ancients,” Jaxon growled. “I have a few desperate alphas from the borderlands who hate Fenris as much as I do. We will have five thousand men at your gate.”

“Five thousand?” Lyra eyes wide, “Jaxon, the citadel is a fortress, but a siege of that size.”

“It won't be a siege, it would be an execution,” Jaxon interrupted. “You just make sure that the internal lock stays open. If you fail me, I will tell Fenris exactly who gave me the key to his home.”

Lyra swallowed hard. She had just handed the key of the North to a madman. “The lock will be opened,” she whispered.

“Good,” Jaxon replied. “Go back, Lyra. Act the part of the loyal subject. When the sky turns red over your citadel, you will have your throne.”

Lyra watched them leave. Every step she took felt heavier. She slipped through the postern gates of the citadel. Her heart racing as she reached her chambers. Without being seen, leaning against the door, she collapsed for breath.

“You are out late, Lyra.” A voice said in the dark. The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Lyra turned around her face, turning ash.

Fenris was standing by her window. Beside him, Astraea sat in a chair, her eyes glowing softly in the dark.

“My king, Astraea.” Lyra stammered, her hands shaking. “I was just taking some air. The stress of the summit.”

Astraea stood up, walked towards Lyra. “The air of the southern border is quite damp. This time of the year, isn't it? It leaves a specific scent of rot.”

Lyra's breath caught. “I don't know what you mean.”

Fenris stepped forward. “We know where you went, Lyra. We know who you met, and we know exactly what was in that scroll.”

“I did it for the North,” Lyra shrieked. “She's a danger. She changed everything. You are blinded by her Fenris.”

“You have done us a favor, Lyra,”

Astraea said, her voice calm. “You have given the south a reason to come after us. You have given us a chance to end this once and forever.”

Fenris grabbed Lyra’s arm. “You thought you were playing us. We let you go, Lyra. We wanted to see how far you would go.”

He looked at Astraea. “The army is coming, and thanks to Lyra, they are coming exactly when we want them.”

“Please,” Lyra, begged “don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” Astraea asked. “No, Lyra. You are going to stand and help us welcome our guests.”

#. #. #. #. #.

The valley floor of the frost citadel was filled with the filthy boots of five thousand desperate men. Jaxon stood at the front, his armor dull and dirty. Beside him, Verena sat on top of a white mare, her face gaunt.

“The gates,” Jaxon said. He turned to the man on his left, a treacherous border alpha who had stayed loyal to the south.

“Why aren't they opening? Lyra promised me that lock would be opened by dawn.”

“Patience, Alpha,” the traitor whispered. Although he was shivering, “The north is a fortress of ghosts. Even with a traitor, it would take time.”

High above on the battlements, Lyra was chained to the stone parapet. Kaelen stood behind her, his hands on the hilt of his sword.

“Watch closely, Lyra.” Kaelen said, his voice without pity. “This is the salvation you sold us for.”

Suddenly, the great horn of the citadel let out a loud sound. The massive iron bound gate slowly opened. Jaxon's army tensed. Spear leveling, bows drawing back with a collective stroke of wood and spring.

They expected an army of northern berserkers or shadow-sect warriors to pour out. Instead, two people came out.