Page 5 of Winter Gods & Serpents

“What did she bargain to have you convinced to attend the festival?” I asked striking a stiff pose as a pin dug on my back.

He gradually smirked throwing an arm over Nia’s neck. “The pleasure of seeing you being taken measure for a dress.”

I swung round in a sneer, and then yelped at the prickle of pins on my skin. Nia sunk on the sofa, her mouth tight suppressing a laugh.

Cai waited for Lena to leave out back before he explained the truth, “There were soldiers seen close to crossing our border, they will rest by the village, probably attending the festival. I will follow them towards the ruins.”

“Nia,” I almost shouted. “When I told you not to fade onto Isjord, it was an order not a suggestion.” Nia had grown a penchant for pushing the tolerable limits of safety and I did not enjoy it. She was Adriatian born and an Aura, she could fade herself places even kingdoms apart but before she’d never tried even crossing Fernfoss. Cai was probably feeding her the unnecessarily dangerous courage she’d grown lately.

“It was only for a minute,” she grumbled as though it justified sense to her recklessness. “I needed some frost thorn and winter cress. The village herbalist is closing. Not that he had much there anyway.”

“Her salad trips are useful too,” Cai backed up.

She frowned at him. “They are herbs you fool, not lettuce.”

He fluffed the crown of her head, her dark coils springing free from the bun atop her head. “Grass is grass.” She didn’t laugh or reiterate. Cai was the master of word games and she knew not to enter that nonending trap.

I blew a long exasperated breath, refusing to meet eyes with myself in the mirror. I wanted to laugh too.

Nia stood, her hand on my shoulder, a reassurance she had felt what I did. “I know you hate this but I don’t, and it might be the last one you attend. You know he will come for you eventually, his soldiers are already looking around in bunches.”

End of my exile approached yet no sign of it. “I’m beginning to doubt that, apparently mountains spirits and ruin stones are more to his liking than I have ever been.”

“The crafter said in her visions you were in Isjord.”

Dark crafters were magical humans, different from Aura, their gifts were bestowed by a spiritual god, Celesteel, of magic, underworld, and spirits. They were able to summon another type of magic from the elementals, drawing power from the realm of their God—the terrifying realm Caligo also known as the otherworld, land of the dead. Dark crafters were able to manipulate and influence extraordinary magic—strange magic. Such powerful people were now growing rare century by century, their God had grown angry from the immense power being drawn from his realm that he had only let his true followers for now be able to do so. A couple weeks ago, one had showed us her visions of my return—the end of my exile.

“She said between snow, blood and a dark castle.” Did I mention, very vague in their wording?

“Sounds about the Isjord you have described,” said Nia.

“The witchling could have been wrong,” Cai spoke meekly but I knew there was hopefulness in those words, that I would not return, that he wouldn’t have to accompany me back to his own land of nightmares.

“Could have been but they never are,” Nia said straightening a pleat on my dress with some scrutiny. “Maybe you return without him sending for you.”

I shook my head. “He has to ask for my return and end my exile, the only way he will not doubt my intentions—the only way I won’t end up in a dungeon. Before I’ve been a child with a grudge and now a woman with revenge, he will not underestimate me, not unless he thinks me a child with a grudge still and for that he has to invite me in himself.” My eyes went to Cai who had fallen silent staring a hole on the ground. “Then we begin—then we ruin Isjord.”

His stare rose to mine and I offered him a smile. He stood and ruffled my hair. “Be on time,” he said to me and then turned to Nia. “Don’t let her run before or she will make you very late.”

* * *

Laying back on my bed half ready, I could hear Nia shuffling around her dress and fluffing the skirts. I propped on my elbows too tired to stand and my breath halted at the sight of Nia. Her beauty shone like moonlight through a cloudy night sky, easily the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. The white short sleeved gown hugged her waist accentuating her generous bust and curves, the ones I still was very jealous off. Pleats dropped in layers to the ground, the pearlescent white made her beautiful dark skin radiate. Her curls propped up to the back of her head with various beady pins giving onto her soft gentle features and a long red sash tied loosely around her waist.

The sash was a tradition of the autumn festival, maidens that wore it were chased around by the unmarried men to court them for the rest of the festival night. A tradition I detest but I would never outgrow the satisfaction of outrunning all the men that would chase me.

I rolled to my feet, my white dress draped over my legs and fell barely touching the ground. Different from Nia, the dress I was wearing had long sleeves and a neckline that came close to my neck. I was used to my scar, but it often made me easily recognizable, not only attracting danger but curious attention which to me was worse than that. My hair was loose, almost touching the end of my back. I thoroughly disliked having my hair tied or trapped in pins and contraptions, it made me feel restrained. It made me feel as if the hands of that man from the night of the attack still had hold of me. Nia did not know that, but I could feel her poking a hole in my head with her stare.

“Only one Nia, no more.”

She could not hide her smile when she started rampaging through her pins to find one to pin my hair. She loosely braided two thin pieces of hair each side of my head and pulled them together at the back with a pin dangled in loose pearls and emeralds.

“There, have a look.”

I turned to the object a moment too late as she was already guiding me to the mirror. Caught by surprise by my own reflection my eyebrows drew in. I looked too much like her, my mother, my own reflection mirrored a painful memory. My hair was the darkest shade of black falling in waves just below my waist, just like hers, my features slightly softer but everything else a side-by-side copy. My eyes on the other hand, the colour of honey, a bright deep yellow. I hated them, so unnatural and they made me look like him, my blessed father. Everything on my face served as a reminder of someone I lost and the cause of that loss. Nor my eyes or my face bared reminder of as much as did the scar stretched from the middle of my cheek to my jaw and towards my collarbone and shoulder. A flesh carved reminder of what I had survived. I could almost feel it leaking blood as if fresh. Five counts, five breaths and one look that was all it took for what stared back to warp into something of nightmares. My reflection resembled a black shadow, a floating lifeless creature of mist. Darkness and wrath. What I saw staring back at me—I hated it, like I had always.

Sensing I was lost in a deep perusal Nia pulled me face to face with her. “Do not allow anyone to cloud your view of yourself Snow, you know you are more than what they made and done to you.” She let out a deep sigh, frowned and went on, “Even though that person staring back at you is terribly beautiful. Now let’s go, you might not be worried about finding a lover, but I am starting to.”

I pulled a smile saved only for her and kissed her cheek. “Now let's not go and frown for pity reassurance, not when you wear a face like yours. And since when is miss ‘I hate all people’ looking for a lover?”