Page 63 of Realm of Nightmares
Ceridwen buried her face into Brynn’s shoulder and the healer clutched her, holding tight.
Tiernan stepped back. Away from his sister, away from friends. He looked at Aran.
The High Prince nodded gravely.
“To Ashdara’s northernmost mountain.” Tiernan etched the faces of his friends, of those he loved most into his mind, burned them into his memory, thenfadedto the Winter Court.
* * *
It was so cold,Tiernan swore his fucking eyelashes were frozen solid.
Ashdara, the Crown City of the Winter Court, was caught in a timeless blizzard. Gusts of flakes swirled all around, accumulating on his shoulders and covering the landscape in mounds of powdery white snow. Branches of towering evergreens bowed over, their limbs weighed down by the severity of the storm.
An unnatural stillness had settled over the Court, the only sound the hollow whipping of the wind. Before him, as far as the eye could see, was a white plain ruptured by chunks of turquoise ice, as though someone had gouged the glacier with a mighty blade, leaving deep crevices in their wake. Indigo mountains jutted up on either side of them, following the final border of Faeven, their snow-capped peaks nearly invisible. Hidden away in a valley, protected by the rugged terrain and safe from outsiders, was Ashdara’s crystal palace.
From his vantage point, he knew the Rainbow River flowed somewhere to the south and that the city of Ashdara was a little further east.
Where he stood with Aran, however, there was nothing but an inevitable trek through lands whose legends were steeped in nightmares.
They shared a look, both understanding the gravity of the situation.
Tiernan ducked his head, ready to set off into the Ice Straits, when he sensed they were no longer alone. Unease slithered along his skin, heightening his awareness. A faint shadow, a blur of darkness, shifted from the corner of his eye, and he turned around to discover Queen Ciara and her commander, Malachy, standing a few feet from them. Ciara stood cloaked in silver fur, her cheeks flushed a pale pink. Her hair blew wildly around her, her vivid blue eyes haunted wells of sorrow. In her arms she held a bundle of thick gray fabric threaded with gold.
“Your Grace.” He glanced around them, ensuring they were still alone. “What are you doing here?”
“For your journey.” She stepped toward them, the billowing snow seeming to move for her. “I brought you blankets laced with fireweave. Their warmth is unrivaled and will keep the chill at bay.”
“We’re grateful for them.” Tiernan accepted his blanket, and blazing heat instantly spread through the gloves he wore, warming his hands, easing the bitter cold that sank deep into his bones.
“These would be useful in Autumn as well,” Aran mused, running one hand along the woven fabric. “The air is far colder than what we are accustomed to. Perhaps we can work out a trade upon my return?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Ciara beamed, pleased. “I’d be more than happy to help.”
Aran nodded, tucking the blanket under his arm.
“My lords.” Malachy bowed. “The pass of the Ice Straits is mostly frozen solid and you should have no trouble crossing, but beware the sea. She is turbulent and volatile, her moods as unpredictable as the weather. When you hear her roar over the call of the wind…be ready to run.”
“Well, that sounds ominous.” Aran offered a friendly smirk.
Darkness was falling quickly, the sky illuminated by glimmering lights of green and violet, made resplendent by the sparkle of a thousand stars. Veiled moonlight haloed the clouds, casting the drifts of snow in an eerie pale blue glow.
“Safe travels, Your Grace.” Malachy steeled himself against the frosty wind, doing his best to protect Ciara from its sudden, viscous gusts. He nodded once to Aran. “Your Highness.”
“We’ll see you when we return.”
Unsaid words hung between them.
If they returned.
“Fair winds, my lords.” Ciara linked her arm through Malachy’s and together theyfaded, their footprints already covered by the relentlessly falling snow.
Tiernan turned and faced the Ice Straits, staring out across the frozen sea.
Next to him, Aran lifted the compass he wore, cushioning it in his gloved hand. It was attached to a length of knotted leather and beads, but what caught Tiernan’s eye was the piece of rosy sea glass dangling from the end. The needle, he realized, didn’t point north.
Aran’s jaw locked in determination and tucked the compass back into armor. His green gaze slid to Tiernan. “Ready when you are, my lord.”
Tiernan debated on saying a prayer to any god or goddess willing to listen, then decided against it. It was probably a better idea to ask them face-to-face anyway, something he would be sure to do once they reached Maghmell.
