An Invitation
ASH
The sprite sputters in front of me, barely gathering air. "My ch-chest, m-m-my-y-y ch-che-chest," the sprite forces the words out, teeth chattering as the ice around his face cracks and tumbles toward the ground. "P-p-p-plea-ea-ease."
"Absolutely," I sigh with relief, happy that this creature is displaying all good signs of conscious thought. I have many the question I will need answer to, and this little bird will be the first I interrogate. "Tell me...how long have you been like this?" I ask, turning myself so that I am presented alongside of him, with one hand on his chest and the other on his back.
As the warmth of my fury begins to heat the ice around his middle, melting it into a puddle that takes a good portion of cracked ice with it, the sprite inhales sharply, his muted brown skin rising and falling and begging for color. "I-I don't kn-know...n-not sure. M-moonr-rise...it was...I think."
The sound of ice shattering momentarily steals my attention and I glance behind me to see that Bregda has freed the two brownies that I directed him toward, leaving them to shiver on the ground while he moves on to check for more survivors.
I turn back to the sprite, regarding him warily as his gaze seems to flit about the sky in fear. As if he is searching for something...or...waiting.
As the majority of the ice melts from his form, the sprite falls forward, splitting the remainder of his bondage into slivers to decorate the ground with. "A-are y-you th-the P-Prince of Rekyr. Th-the ruler of sm-smoke a-and...f-f-fury?" he stammers, falling into the fetal position as he quakes for warmth.
His moss green eyes find mine and I frown at him, granting him the smallest of nods. "That I am, were you expecting me? Because I can promise you this, a savior I am not, and if anyone has informed you differently, they have certainly lied to you. You are a child of the Woodland Realm, part of my betrothed's kingdom, and that, is the only reason for my sparing your soul. Is that understood?"
"B-betrothed? The lost one. She has r-ret-turned. I-I kn-know."
A cold spike of dread slices down my middle, speaking to the dark fears inside of me, the ones that have been telling me that it is much too late for secrets and gatherings. That the entire reason behind the escape of Daphne's sister is due to the fact that somehow that frigid whore figured out she had the wrong mortal and then, even that the right mortal, wasn't in fact mortal at all. But there begs the question...why would Issorehl, the Prince of the North, take his mother's bounty and flee? Why would he do such a thing knowing she was the only leverage his mother had over my little peasant? Everyone knows how much that bastard hates humans. It is in fact rumored that he acquires them as pets. That he cuts them apart, encasing their most valuable limbs in blocks of ice to decorate his rooms with.
Damn it, I need to speak to Azriel.
He may be heading into a trap.
The sprite swallows thickly, his body wracking with shivers as he raises on hand and points toward the well. "A-a m-message for y-you, y-your highness. L-left b-by Bjordess, the c-cold one. A m-message she c-called a g-gift. I-in the bottom of th-th-the w-well."
Fuck.
"A gift?" I reply, repeating his words with the slither of warning on my lips. "If it is your plan to have me step upon enchanted stone so that you might smite me, I promise you I will spark you alight with electric flame, a fire so hot your eyes might explode, and at that point a frozen lung or two will become the least of your worries."
"He is a woodland sprite!" Bregda's voice finds me from across the chilled space. "Not a bloody assassin."
I turn around and meet Bregda's gaze, concealing my shock when I find that he has freed at least ten more shivering souls. Two more brownies, five meadow kelpies, another sprite, and a pair of wolven fae. A silent question passes between us and with the shake of his head, I have my answer.
Thirteen. Thirteen of the some fifty or so faeries that must have answered their kings call survived the frosted curse of the Bjordess, the rot of the Winter Cunt.
Glancing down where the four foot woodland sprite now rests upon his knees, I ask him, "How did she enchant you? What did she have you do?"
The sprite's eyes fill with tears and he points toward the ruined stones. "She placed a curse upon the water. Then...she bade us drink from it."
"A curse?" Bregda snarls. "A curse is not free. She had to have paid with-"
"A life. A sacrifice," I whisper, the cold stone in my throat branching off to fill my veins with the sharp tin of dread. "Whom did she spend, imp? Did you watch her? Do you know?"
The sprite swallows thicks, tears streaming as he sobs and says, "No, highness. I am sorry. She was waiting here with our king-"
"He's not your goddessdamned king!" I can't help but scream, causing the trees to tremble and icicles to drop from the branches upon the hill.
The sprite shakes and one of the brownie's steps forward, her wide doe-like eyes filled with sympathy. "She spoke to us a message...even as we froze from heel to nape."
"What message?" I growl.
The brownie's chin jerks upward and she nods toward the well. "She said that you...should make a wish."
Stepping toward the ruins, my heart bumps in my chest, the irrational fear that I might find Daphne dead at the bottom snaking through my chest and hardening my heart.
I'll burn the entireity of this plane to the ground and beyond.
"It's not her," Bregda says softly as if reading my mind. "All hidden fae are tied to the magic of their queen and had she...expired...I would have felt it."
I send him a faint, grateful smile and then proceed toward the gaping hole now surrounded by shards of exploded stone. The sound of my footsteps thud in time with the slow regulation of my heartbeat and once I am at the edge of the wide, enchanted pool, I inhale a slow steady breath.
Gazing down into the crack of frosted water, I can see nothing but mottled ice. Then...I raise a palm, holding it over the well until the heat of my fury glows red and angry, melting the veil of ice on top of the broken, tattered relic and revealing what lay beneath.
When I finally see what floats beneath, it is not the body of the familiar fae that has lightning sparking at my fingertips, nor is it the fact that my cousin's throat has been slit from ear to ear, leaving his head to bob backward like a loose marionette. No. It's what has been tied to his chest.
A message.
An invitation.
A hand.
My scream shakes the air with thunder as I retrieve it.
The signet rings.
They are Dionie's.