Page 2 of Dark Master's Redemption

Though Curio throws out an arm now—his palm slapping to Eiseth’s breastplate and stopping our group from going any further.

“Wait.”

Eiseth glances at him as I huddle against Lucca in the biting cold.

“The entrance is right there. What are we waiting for?” Lucca gestures at the doorway with a scowl now.

“For my father. And his traps.” Curio is terse as he holds his ground, giving us an eyeball to make sure we stay put rather than enter the citadel just yet. As Lucca lifts a challenging eyebrow, Curio gives him a dire look. Scooping up a handful of snow at our feet, Curio tosses it out before us.

Power bursts in a shockwave through the air, as the snow is zapped into nothing. All at once, the towering reaches of the black ice wall are no longer empty. As the high, sleek cliffs shine dark beneath the moon, niches and guard towers are carved out of all that ice. It’s the same magic that carved the beautiful scenes beneath Curio’s feet and upon the walls—except these are filled with guards now as thousands of sentinels stand tall in those niches.

Massive, ice-armored behemoths, those sentinels are made of the fortress itself as higher niches carve away to reveal actual Dark Fae guards standing above them. The Dark Fae guards raise their hands as one to create a seething cloak of blue-white magic that cascades down the wall of the fortress now, blazing in the night.

That magic rushes out, and the towering ice-sentinels come alive. A grinding chunk comes as the enormous sentinels heave massive ice-lances up into their fists, hefting huge ice-shields to boot.

They step out onto promontories that carve out of the wall for them, poised to hurl those incredible lances right at us. As the cloak of seething ice-magic protects the Dark Fae in their high niches, the sentinels’ lances glow a caustic blue-white, covered in ancient Fae runes.

That I’m certain will kill us the moment they strike.

“Fuck.” Lucca’s low growl says it all as Curio stands tall beneath the ice citadel’s terrible protection, watching his father’s warriors and the mighty sentinels they control.

No one has made a move yet; though the giant ice-sentinels are ready to strike, they wait now, the Dark Fae guards far above holding their position with hands elevated. Though they’re ready to make those ice-guards move with their terrible, coordinated magic, Curio doesn’t blink at our welcome. Steel comes into Curio’s eyes now as his winter-white power flares beneath the chill Siberian moon.

Roaring up the ice wall to pummel the guards far above.

“I am a Prince of the Dark Winter Fae come home. What is this welcome you give me, Defenders of Novakitsk?”

Curio’s voice is in my mind and my ears all at once, thundering through me in a terrible shockwave as he speaks. As it barrels through me like an avalanche of ice roaring down a mountain, I clap my hands to my ears. A grinding, bone-shredding agony fills me from the sudden power in Curio’s magic. I’ve never felt him do anything like it; as Lucca grunts in pain beside me, Eiseth grits her teeth. Still, Curio seethes up at the guards who waylay us.

Giving them what-for with his massive power.

They say nothing, only hold their standoff at the fortress’ door. Curio lifts his hand, whispering his wintery power through the air before us now. I see fractals of ice shimmer upon the invisible power barrier that bars our way. It wavers in the air with a chill mirage, but holds fast.

As Curio scowls—setting his hands on his hips and lifting his chin in defiance.

“Well, friends. Welcome to my home,” Curio says with a sour chuckle as he turns towards us. Ungodly Dark Winter Fae power still shines in his blue-white eyes, something I’ve never seen from him before, though he snorts entirely like himself at our hostile welcome. “We’re going to have to wait a moment, I’m afraid.”

“Wait for what?” Lucca snarls as he gives a deep shiver. I second it. Beyond chilled, I can barely feel my fingers and toes, despite the heating breaths Lucca and I have been doing for the past hour. I shiver like I just might shake apart now as Lucca wraps his arms around me, briskly rubbing my shoulders with his hands in my thin Vampire couture to warm me up.

But he’s just as cold as I am; both of us were born Summer Fae in Italy and are not made for the far north ice and snow.

Not to mention Novakitsk’s deeply cold shoulder.

A presence swirls into being before us, then. In a whirl of ice and snow, a man coalesces from that brisk vortex of power. Tall and so thin he’s almost gaunt, Vasily Ilyov, the Master of Novakitsk, stares us down with his wintery white-blue eyes. Though we’ve met before, I can see now how his eyes are just the same as Curio’s. Master Ilyov’s gaze is penetrating, though, and terrifying in its judgement as his regard slowly sweeps us, standing in our thin Vampire couture on his doorstep.

Dressed in laced black leathers and black leather boots like one might wear hunting in the Dark Ages, the Master of Novakitsk has a white ice-cat pelt slung around his shoulders. His long, silver-white hair is braided half back from his temples in Fae fashion tonight, the rest flowing freely over his shoulders. His hair is so long, it whispers around his hips in the night wind. He does not release the power barrier before us, as fractals of ice spread across it from the other side, from Master Ilyov’s incredible might.

Only watches us with his icy, intense stare—like we’re intruders he must keep out.

“Father. Nice to see you.” Curio’s smile is the coldest I’ve ever seen as his eyes burn, frigid upon his father.

“Curiosity.” Master Ilyov pins his son with an equally cold stare, giving him tit for tat. My eyebrows lift in shock, however; I never knew Curio’s name was a moniker. It’s not the time to wonder about Curio’s past, however, as father and son stare each other down across the barrier.

Each of them, frozen with pure hate.

“Your welcome leaves something to be desired, father.” Curio jests now, though his eyes still hold pure wrath as they pin his father. “You’d think we were midnight marauders come to sack the citadel, rather than allies and friends. And your own flesh and blood.”

“You bring something dangerous here, my son. I could not, in good conscience, let you in. With all the innocent souls we protect in this place,” Master Ilyov says, as his gaze bores into his progeny.

---