Embers in a Dark Frost
Page 4

As I sat there stunned, Lidi rushed at him. “You’d trade her to win your war? She’s your granddaughter!” She slapped at him as he tried to grab her flailing arms. She struck him several times, but not once did he strike her back. “After all you’ve done to her. How could you do this?” She fell to her knees crying.
My grandfather straightened his tunic with shaking hands. “Aye, Lidi. I have traded her. The Legions of Sydhr may be the only thing to stop Nox of Annwn from taking over. At least then we will grow old in peace, or perhaps find a way to stop the darkness.”
“May I go with her?”
“She goes alone.”
Lidi crawled to me, kneeling before me to cradle my face with her hands. She touched her forehead to mine and then whispered in my ear, “There must be another way. Escape.”
I knew she wouldn’t let go until I gave her hope. I gave her a quick nod. But I had no idea what I’d do, for the turn of events had shocked me completely.
“Gather what you can carry,” my grandfather commanded gruffly.
The faint urgency in his tone propelled me to task. My limbs were weak and shaky as I grabbed my notebooks, writing supplies, and my father’s books, shoving them into a satchel with Mother’s pendant. Once I was done, I donned the heavy gray cloak lined with fur—a gift from Lidi.
Lidi went with me through the palace, my grandfather ahead of us, the guards behind us. With every step, fear quickened. As we stepped outside, frigid wind tangled my cloak about my legs and stung the wet tears on my face. My steps faltered. I tried to stop, to go back. “I’ve done nothing.” I struggled against the two guards, digging my heels into the snow, anything to prevent my short journey across the courtyard. “Please...”
People were gathered there. I scanned the courtyard, searching for help, for mercy, for someone to come to my aid, but no one did. They were all strangers staring back at me, whispering of me, staring with curiosity or disgust. How odd I must look to them with my bright red hair whipping around against a backdrop of fresh white snow.
Lidi ran in front of us, stopping the procession. She hugged me hard for a long moment. Against my ear she spoke, her voice thick. “Deira.” Just my name. Nothing more.
I struggled to swallow the grief, and steeled myself. “You’ll catch a chill without your coat,” I told her. “I won’t forget you.”
Taking a deep breath, I walked around her and didn’t look back.
As I stepped through the outer gate, a blast of cold wind pushed me back a step. I pulled up my hood and gathered the cloak at my throat. My grandfather managed to face me. He reminded me very much of my mother with his clear blue eyes and his thick, straight hair the color of daylight and sea foam. Eternal youth still clung to him, but not as vibrant as it should have.
With a long sigh, he surveyed the city below and far off into the distance. “Your fate is the will of Anu now.” Regret came into his eyes. “What I’ve done, Deira, I have done for all of Innis Fail. You understand?”
I didn’t. “I understand.”
Then he hugged me—a stiff, awkward embrace and a whispered, “I loved your mother.”
Coward. He’d part ways with me here at the palace rather than leave with the memory of forsaking me to the Fire Breathers. Cowards all. And I hated them all. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps one day I would betray them, not out of blood, but out of retribution. I might be leaving Murias for an uncertain fate, but I’d find a way to survive and even prosper despite them. And, one day, they’d regret what they’d done to me.
My anger bolstered me as a guard led me away from the palace to a group of waiting horses and more guards. I rode through the city, villages, and meadows to the docks of the great lake where another escort waited to take me by boat to the far shore.
I’d gotten my boat after all, I thought, nearly laughing aloud at the irony as I dismounted and climbed aboard.
CHAPTER 3
The quiet of the water, the creak of the boat, and the gentle dip of the oars had a lulling affect that seemed fitting as I watched the island grow distant. Mother had often talked of her home, her family, and of the island, but I never saw much of it since I was kept within the palace complex. Would that I’d had the time to truly see it, the whole of Murias, at my leisure and by the dim light of day. But even by moonlight the island looked beautiful, cultured, and grand, reminding me so much of Mother.
I turned away, finally, and faced the shoreline.
By my estimation, more than an hour had passed since I’d boarded the boat. My bottom ached, and I was sure it had frozen to the hard bench. As we drew closer to the dock, the lights from the sprawling camp grew brighter, outlining the small mounted party waiting by the water—riders with torches.
Sydhrs.
Warm breath swirled like smoke from the horses’ nostrils. The torch flames flashed off polished black armor. A light blanket of fog covered the ground, making the air damp and thick. I clutched my cloak tighter around me. Even my escorts had stilled, letting the boat glide toward the dock. The thin sheet of ice that had gathered there cracked and split.
Low voices and directions filled the air along with the boat as it knocked against the dock. I rose stiffly, my muscles and joints cold as I slung my satchel over my shoulder and grabbed at the ladder for balance.
No one helped me from the boat, but then, I didn’t expect they would. As I climbed the three steps to the dock, my heart pounded and the very beginnings of panic began snaking beneath my skin. There was little escape from the docks unless I wanted to plunge into the frigid water, so I had no choice but to turn my attention to the Fire Breathers on their dark horses.
The boat shoved off behind me. I held the satchel against my breast, as though it would protect me.
A rider separated himself from the group, directing his mount right onto the dock. Its hooves echoed like thunder on the boards, and I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. The bridle jingled as it gnawed on the bit, coming closer and closer.
The beast halted before me, so close its muzzle inches from my forehead. Warm breath stirred my hair. The rider leaned forward and offered me a black-gloved hand. Dagda give me strength.
I lifted my chin and met a pair of brilliant amber eyes. Balen of Sydhr.
You’re strong, Deira. You’ve been through much worse than this and survived. You can do this.
“Come, Deira. No harm will befall you.” He leaned over the saddle. “Take my hand.”
In my years at the palace, I’d become adept at reading disgust in the eyes of those around me. I saw none in his. But that didn’t mean much. Balen was a warrior, a king, and as such, he’d be an expert at concealing his true emotions. And even though it felt like he was giving me a choice, it was clear I didn’t have one. An opportunity to leave might present itself in the camp. I’d have to focus on that, have to bide my time. And the farther I could forge into the Grasslands the better.
My grip on my satchel eased, and I reached out. He did not take my hand, but instead, leaned down, caught my waist in both hands, and in a flash, I was swept onto the horse, my cry of surprise stuck in my throat.
Securing me in front of him, one arm tightly around me, Balen spun the beast around and it cantered off the dock, passing the other warriors, who fell in behind us. I held onto my satchel and Balen’s arm as though my life depended on them. Perhaps it did.
Harsh wind stung my face as we galloped down a main road, passing legion after legion. The Legions of Taranis and Anu. Pennants and banners flew. Fires from torches and campsites blazed everywhere. The smell of horses, snow, mud, and wood smoke hung low in the air.
Before long, we arrived at the outer edges of the encampment where the Legions of Sydhr had made camp. The horses slowed to a canter as we veered down a narrow track lined with tents, and finally came to a stop at the end where three large tents formed a half circle. Balen lifted me off the horse and then dismounted.
The atmosphere was quiet and tense.
The wind snapped and pushed at the tent roofs and riggings. A large fire burned in a pit in the center of the half circle. The snow had melted away, making the ground a soup of mud, snow, and ice. Wood planks made walking from tent to tent easier than slopping through the mud. No one spoke except in the lowest of tones.
With a light hand on my back, Balen directed me to the large center tent. I glanced over my shoulder, feeling the somber gaze of the warriors on my back. Inside, warmth rushed over me and I forgot about the unnerving stares. Balen’s large form followed me in and seemed to steal most of the air in the tent. I moved out of the way, watching and waiting as he went to a table, and began removing his leather gloves. The gloves landed with a soft lop.
He leaned one hip against a long side table, black eyebrows drawing together, as though he faced a problem he could not yet solve. “The washroom is through that flap.” He tipped his head to the right. “There’s drink on the side table. The bed is there. Get some rest. We ride at dawn.” He spun on his heel and strode past me.
“Wait!” He paused just short of the tent’s entrance. “Why am I here? What are—” I forced down the lump in my throat— “your intentions?” I was already thinking the worst, and he could see it plain on my face.
“You are not here to warm my bed, Deira. Or the bed of any other. You have my word. You have nothing to fear from me or my men.”
Balen might be a king, but he was a stranger, one whose word—royal or otherwise—I had no reason to trust. “Am I to be your servant, then?” Perhaps he wanted an oddity to serve him. Perhaps he collected strange things and wanted to show off his prize. “Don’t you care that I’m a halfling?”
“No, I don’t care. Sydhrs aren’t so quick to fear as others. We’ll speak of this later.” With that, he ducked under the tent flap.
I stayed there unmoving for a time, unsure of what to do or think, unsure of the things Balen said. Everything had happened so quickly. Too quickly. And now that I was warm and safe, for the time being, weariness settled over me. I removed my cloak, found a peg to hang it on, and then drank two mugs of cool water before ducking through a narrow flap to find a small room set up for dressing and bathing.