Chapter 18 Chapter 18: The Child’s Whisper
The silver-white lightning carved a path of scorched glass through the permafrost. The Skard—those hulking monstrosities of ice and ancient grief—shattered into a thousand glittering shards where the bolt struck. But for every one that fell, three more rose from the drifts, their hollow eyes glowing with a freezing, necrotic light.
Fenris was a whirlwind of carnage beside me. Every swing of his claymore sent a shockwave of Lycan energy through the air, but the Frost-Collector—the man with the bruised skin and ice-shards for teeth—simply watched from the center of the storm, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips.
"You fight with the strength of the moon, King," the Collector’s voice echoed in my skull. "But the moon is cold. It cannot melt the heart of the Tundra."
I raised my hands again, ready to unleash another blast, but a sudden, sharp cramp seized my abdomen. I gasped, doubling over in the saddle. The amber fire didn't flare outward this time; it imploded, swirling inward toward the golden spark at my center.
“Mother.”
The voice was tiny, a vibration of pure light that felt like a bell ringing in a deep cavern. It wasn't the Ancient Queen, and it wasn't the wind. It was him.
“Look beneath the ice, Mother. The fire is not in your hands. It is in the earth.”
Through the soul-tether, Fenris felt my distress. He leaped back, his body shielding mine as a Skard’s claw whistled inches from his throat. "Nina! What is it? Is the bond breaking?"
"No," I choked out, my eyes turning a brilliant, solid gold. "He’s talking to me. The child is showing me..."
I slid off my horse, my knees hitting the frozen ground. I didn't reach for the sky. I slammed my palms into the permafrost.
I didn't try to create fire. I looked for the heat that was already there—the deep, tectonic pulse of the world that even the Dead Forest couldn't extinguish. I felt the veins of the earth, the dormant volcanic rifts that ran like arteries beneath the Tundra.
"Nina, get up!" Fenris roared, parrying a blow that sent sparks flying from his blade.
The Frost-Collector’s smile vanished as the ground began to hum. The ice beneath my hands didn't just melt; it vaporized.
"What are you doing?" the Collector screamed, his voice losing its melodic chill. "This land belongs to the frost!"
"This land belongs to the sun," I whispered, my voice resonating with a power that made the horses whinny in terror.
I pulled. I reached into the deep heat and pulled it to the surface.
The ground erupted.
A geyser of molten gold and white-hot steam burst from the earth, not in a chaotic explosion, but in a controlled ring of fire that encircled us. The Skard didn't just shatter; they evaporated, their icy forms turning to mist before they could even scream.
The Frost-Collector shrieked as the heat hit him, his shimmering robes melting into grey slush. He tried to retreat into the veil, but the steam was too thick, the light too pure.
"You cannot... the High Priest... he promised!" the man wailed, before he vanished into a cloud of his own making, leaving nothing behind but a single, cracked ice-crystal on the blackened ground.
Silence returned to the Tundra, but the snow for fifty yards around us was gone, replaced by steaming, dark earth.
I sat there, gasping, the golden light slowly receding from my vision. The warmth in my stomach was calm now, a satisfied purr.
Fenris approached me, his sword still drawn, his chest heaving. He looked at the steam, then at the scorched circle, and finally at me. He dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch my face.
"He spoke to you?" Fenris asked, his voice thick with wonder.
"He showed me the way," I said, leaning my forehead against his. "He’s not just an heir, Fenris. He’s a guide. He knew the earth was warm."
Fenris let out a breath that was half-sob, half-laugh. He pulled me into his arms, holding me so tight I could feel the silver-white energy still humming in his skin.
"The Sun-Forge," he whispered. "If a child not yet born can do this, imagine what we will find when we reach the gates."
But as we sat in the center of the steaming earth, a new shadow fell over us. From the mists of the receding steam, a woman stepped out. She wasn't wearing sky-silk, and she didn't look like Elena. She was dressed in heavy, bronze-scaled armor, her hair a wild mane of white-gold, and she carried a staff topped with a sun-stone.
"You have made quite a mess of my front yard," the woman said, her voice like the crackle of a dry hearth. She looked at me, her eyes glowing with the same amber fire that lived in my veins. "It has been a long time since a Vessel of the First Queen walked the Tundra. Come. The Forge is waiting, and your child is hungry for more than just earth-fire."