Page 168 of Autumn Queens & Shadows

Her feet came to an immediate halt when she was but a foot from me, the tip of her dagger resting on my chest.

“Tell me, Isa. Can a human heart still freeze if it is already frozen?”

“Let go of them!” Iskyla bellowed, shaking as her hand unwillingly moved to angle her blade to her other arm and slashing across it.

Her sisters repeated the same motion at my command.

Blood gushed immediately, pooling on the snow below.

Their hands moved again to make another cut, just a little higher.

Then another, until their blades were pressed to their necks next.

One last cut.

And they would be gone.

No longer my issue.

Just when I was about to make it final, my eyes lifted to the distance around us still blurred by craft, beckoned by a strange call to my senses. I shook my head as the reality began clearing and unveiling from the dark magic.

That is when I noticed it. The wind and snow had cleared from around us. No longer shielding and disguising our fight.

The distant heartbeat returned after being gone for days, pulsing under my fingertips, below my soles, around my limbs as I spun to look at every face surrounding us.

Somewhere during that distraction, Iskyla slithered away, reaching for her sword and running towards me again full force.

Her feet halted at my command. Her whole body did. She remained still. Everything remained still. Even the wind died down. The heartbeat died down, too, when I realised everyone had just seen everything. Every Isjordian and Isliner. Even the kids.

Then I heard his cursed voice call to me like it did last before I nailed a dagger through his heart. Dragging me to the pits of memory I tried to forget.

“Thora, my young rose,” Silas’s voice boomed around me, and the blood dripping down my shoulder began twisting over my skin.

The smell of craft lingered in the air again.

Murmurs travelled around me. Like a memory at first, but then they grew louder, drawing my attention to the Isjordians and Isliners watching me. Every eye was on me. Wide eyes. Fearful eyes.

I had nowhere to hide.

No way to lie.

I stood there bare. Fears in the open. Truth in the open.

But those eyes didn’t remain on me for long. All of them remained wide and fearful on something else as the crowd parted for the other wonder to pass.

Against my will, against my hold on it, the wind stirred again. The skies pulled together to pour a strange shade of winter over us. A miserable shade of winter. One old as time. One tinted with raging skies.

Loud stomps shook the ground. They were coming towards me. An army of the dead all wearing silver armour, weapons and shields with the Isjordian insignia.

They parted, too. Bowing as they let only one pass. One wearing a gold armour, carrying a sword dressed all over with rubies, from pommel to hilt and along the flat centre of the blade up to the tip. The crown the skeleton wore was the same. Made entirely of gold and heavy colourful diamonds.

“King Edric,” a hushed whisper echoed in the wind. “King Edric,” it continued until everyone began murmuring it under their breath like a prayer.

Gasps were quick and hushed before all, Isjordian and Isliner alike went to their knees, bowing their heads and holding their hands in holy greeting.

King Edric’s remains limped towards me, his jaw barely clinging to his skull, some bones missing here and there, the heavy armour barely hanging to them.

Everyone had gone to their knees, bowing their heads to the first ever king of Isea who was marching towards me, holding a crown and sword I’d only ever seen in history books and a few paintings and sculptures.