Page 30 of Season Warriors & Wolves

The further away I moved, the more I could feel the tingle of magic itch my fingertips. The witch was in labour.

Guards were stationed before the castle temple, all armed to their neck just as Nissa’s mother had warned me. Turning round, I made my way back toward the winter gardens and right inside the apple tree maze resting beside the old quarters of Edric, the first king of Isjord.

Empty of life. Empty of death. The quarters were void, and the brisk wind made the dark wooden doors creak as it crashed against them.

I tugged on a red apple hanging from the oldest tree in Isjord and bit into the sweet fruit before pushing inside the forgotten space.

The heavy scent of magic still lingering inside made me dizzy for a moment. Pure magic. Unadulterated and unspoiled. Prime magic. The touch of the first king was everywhere, still eerily present.

“Bet you feel a bit ashamed,” I murmured. “For reproducing.”

Nissa’s mother had taken weeks to figure out for me where Melanthe’s lair hid. I’d had my doubts that the temple would be where she hid since the day I’d caught her kneeling before Krig. A loyal servant of Celesteel such as her would never fall to her knees for another god—not unless forced to.

Edric’s quarters were the one place Alaric had wanted me to stay far away from. And I had obeyed since the last thing I wanted was a long conversation with a spirit. But I’d also read that the first king had a direct entrance to the temple from his quarters.

It took me more than ten minutes to figure my way around, pulling and tugging on everything that could lead to a hidden door. Until the candle handler in my hold twisted, making the tiles groan and shift, opening enough for a body to go through them. A long corridor led me right into an open plane cave filled with tables and tables of potions, herbs, books, dust, spider webs and most importantly, a rotten stench that was coming from one particular direction.

My.

What a treat.

Every shade of every herb, potion, powder and Crafter book was spread out before me.

Carefully, I drew open a wooden cabinet to find stacks and stacks of blood vials lining it. The scent…good gods, the scent. My stomach recoiled.

“What do we have here,” I whispered to myself as I not so carefully picked a pretty blue glass vial filled with a cinnamon smelling liquid.

First rule, Nia had once told me years ago after a Crafter had tricked me into drinking some dizzying portion, If it smells sweet, it means danger. Sour is just water and consumable herbs. A foul smell is a trick, water enchanted to deceive you into thinking it’s dangerous. Remember, death is the sweetest.

I had not realised that I'd been standing still and lost for a long while, recalling that memory, until I heard voices coming from outside the temple. Quickly, I poured small drops of the cinnamon smelling liquid into the blood vials, hoping to spoil whatever Melanthe had been cooking.

I lurked over the herbs, sniffing them one after the other until I found what I needed. Blue gyre for a little dark magic problem, and grey lock powder. Once I pocketed what Nia had told me was a paralysing herb, I went searching for what would cover my magical scent I would have left behind. The same Lysander had me eat, breathe, wash, and spray every day since I was born.

I grind a bit of ember salt and rubbed it all over me, making sure to sprinkle some around the room before leaving.

Moregan moved slowly along the corridors after leaving the training courts, her attention set forward towards wherever she was heading. I had learned two things following her around almost all afternoon. She often lost sense of surroundings. And that her memory often failed her. Twice she had gotten lost along the corridors. Whatever father had done to her in Ulv islet clearly still affected her.

Grudges were such a profitable thing to capitalise.

I followed swiftly behind her, my steps light and airy while trailing on the hard stone floors. The closer I got to her, the more her steps slowed. And then stopped entirely when I wrapped a hand around her neck and pressed the dagger to her jugular, hard enough to poke a small wound that gushed with thick, almost black blood.

“Shhh,” I hissed in her ear. “The more you move the more the poison will spread.”

“You think that can kill me?”

“Kill you? Why would I ever want to kill you?” She made to move but I tightened my grip around her and forced her to stay put. “You will want to hear what I have to say.”

She growled and made to move again, only that she couldn’t.

“Grey lock. In about ten more seconds, all of your body will lock in place, paralysed. Everything except your tongue. Now hurry those nice feet of yours.” I pushed her forward and onto her chambers where she stumbled and almost crashed onto a chair, her body convulsing and shaking till it began locking in place like a rusted lock.

“Hm.” I moved around her bedroom and studied the nothingness of it all. “What a simple life for a fallen queen. Humble,” I said, sitting at the edge of her bed and leaning back onto my hands. “Or pitiful. Leaning more on the pitiful. Wouldn’t you think so, Skadi?”

Her eyes shot wide. “How…how do you know?”

“What did father promise you?” I leaned forward on my knees and studied her. “To take over the Islines and return your crown? Perhaps revenge on your sister? Or a position in his one and only kingdom of butterflies and hopeful peace?”

“And you’d like to know, why?”