Hi everyone! I don't know if anyone is still reading this, but if you are... enjoy! 

Slight warning- there is some violence in this chapter, rather mild and no described gore. Just thought I'd put it out there.

(Please comment to tell me what you think; don't make me grovel at your feet for comments... You honestly have no idea how happy just seeing the views count makes me, must less a single comment...)



BLOOD FLOWS

“Frost Breathers?” Ellie repeated. “Well, of course I’ve heard of them. They were the settlers here before the motherland started the colony. They all died out years ago.”

“Right, and the indigenous humans to the west are really my ancestors,” Miss Highwater scoffed.

Ellie frowned. “They’re not?”

“No, Ellie! I’m west-born, but even further west. Beyond the desert.”

“There isn’t anything beyond the desert…”

“Except the Alti,” Miss Highwater said, “and to the north lie the Frost Breathers.”

Ellie shook her head. “No. No way. You’re not suggesting that I’m- that I’m-“ She ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts running in fifteen different directions. “You can’t possible mean that I’m part made up creature?”

Miss Highwater’s mouth fell open. “Ice came out of your fingers and you don’t believe me?” She pressed a hand to her temple, shoulders drooping. “I see. Well, if that’s the way you feel, I can’t change it.” Her voice dropped. “But Ellie, just because you’re going to leave them alone doesn’t mean they’ll leave you.”

“What do you mean? Who won’t leave me alone?”

“Your mother’s relatives.”

“What?”

Miss Highwater sighed. “At this point, I am absolutely certain that Eleanor Giata was not your mother’s real name. She must have been a Rerren, or otherwise they wouldn’t care about you.”

“What?” Ellie repeated. She didn’t like feeling so completely clueless.

“The royal family of the Frost Breathers. Ellie, there’s a chance you’re eligible for the throne.” Miss Highwater sat down and crossed her legs. “It’s a terrible predicament, to be sure. I doubt you have your sights set on it, but they don’t know that, and they’re bound to panic.”

“Why would they panic?” Ellie asked.

“The current queen is the rightful holder of the throne,” Miss Highwater said. “By all legal and birth rights, Sable Iceheart is the queen of the Frost Breathers. Unfortunately, the Rerrens are hardly what you’d call a united family. Coup after coup after coup has marked the dynasty, and this regime is no different. From what I understand- I don’t keep up with their politics, see- Sable’s younger sister by ten years, Freyja Rerren, has attempted to take the throne at least three times so far.”

“That sounds like their problem,” Ellie pouted. Pouting was undignified, but it somehow fit at the current moment.
“It is indeed their problem,” Miss Highwater agreed, “but it’s also yours. As a Rerren, you could be an immense aide to either side of the battle. Both Sable and Freyja could appreciate a pawn like you, especially one with connections in Roulinn government.”

“I don’t have connections in Roulinn government!” Ellie protested. “I’m married to Damien, a governor’s son. That’s as far as it goes.”

“You are not very social, I see,” Miss Highwater said. “Just that one connection could blossom into many. Surely you’ve met high-end officials in the four years you’ve been married to him.”

Ellie had to admit she had. “So what? They think I can raise them an army?”

“Money. Support. Anything. Or they may not care, especially if you stay out of their way.” Miss Highwater’s green eyes looked into Ellie’s blue ones. “Ellie. I am the daughter of an Alti general and a chief of the Sand Tribe. I myself have had to worry about assassinations, when I have no chance whatsoever of succeeding my father’s power. Look at me! Do I look anywhere near ten feet? I’m nothing like an Alti. I have green eyes. I have pale skin. I'm not tanned and yellow-eyed like them. I’m nothing like them, and yet they came for me! The Frost Breathers could be just as eager to finish you off.”

“But if I just make it clear I don’t want anything to do with them…”

“One can only hope,” Miss Highwater said. “I don’t mean to scare you, but you have to understand. Half-breeds are not tolerated very well. It goes without saying you probably shouldn’t tell anyone about this.”

Not that there was anyone she wanted to tell, she supposed, except perhaps Gracie. Oh, wouldn’t that make a wonderful letter? Dear sister, I’m still upset our father doesn’t want to know I exist, my marriage sucks, I miss you- oh, and I’m not human! Love, Ellie. Yeah, right.

Thinking about Gracie made another question pop into her mind. “What about Gracie? She’s not… she’s not part Frost Breather, is she?”

“She might be,” Miss Highwater replied. “That may also turn out to be problematic. I’ll keep an eye on her. You won’t have to worry. You should concern yourself with what to do the next time you start having ice show up again. It’ll come and go. Don’t bother with gloves; they don’t help. I would soak my hands in warm water for a couple minutes. It’s controllable, though, so with time it’ll get better.”

“I see,” Ellie muttered.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more of a help,” Miss Highwater said. “You can call me at any time, for anything, all right?”
“Sure.” She frowned, then asked, “Did you know my mother?”

Miss Highwater didn’t look at her as she answered, instead standing and rummaging through her purse. “Yes, I did.”
“Did you know her real name?”

Miss Highwater clicked her tongue. “Ah, yes. Alienora. I believe it’s whatever language they speak up north… It translates to Eleanor in our tongue.” She shrugged. “Names are a tricky business, mm?”

“I suppose…” Ellie found her mouth was light years behind her mind, which was screaming all sorts of questions, objections, and protests at the unfairness of it all. Yet, life had never pretended to be fair for her, had it?
“Be careful, Ellie.” Miss Highwater smiled tightly. “You’ll be fine.”




The next morning, Ellie awoke to find snow on the windowsill and covering the outdoors. The mounds of cotton appeared strangely downy, as if a million white birds had abandoned their feathers there.

Damien helped Ellie ambulate to the car, whispering words of encouragement that she largely ignored as she was largely strong enough to walk on her own quite well- merely stiff. Behind them, Damien’s parents clung to their shadows and tittered that they were so glad Ellie could come home.

Hans opened the car door with a cheery greeting of, “Welcome back, ma’am!”

Ellie sat next to Damien, his hand clasping hers, as his parents sat opposite them in the limousine. “I tidied up the kitchen while you were gone, Eleanor,” Damien’s mother, Erinn, informed her. “It wasn’t too much work; you keep it so organized, after all.”

Ellie resisted the urge to gag. She had no real reason to hate Erinn, just as she had no real reason to loathe Damien. “Thank you,” she said. “And thanks for the flowers, too. They’re quite nice.”

“No problem at all, dear. Flowers at the bedside do health guide,” Erinn said. “It’s an old proverb.”

“Interesting. I never heard it,” Ellie said.

“Even though you read so much?” Erinn laughed.

“It’s because she made it up on the spot,” Damien scoffed. Erinn had once been a famous poet and speaker before her retirement, and her specialty had been, of course, impromptu. Ellie knew this but also knew better than to comment.
“I think it’s nice,” she replied, elbowing him lightly.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Erinn said, positively glowing. Next to her, Mitchell rolled back his shoulders and asked Hans to turn on the radio. After a moment of static, the request was rescinded. “Our Damien really struck it lucky when he found you. You’re quite an improvement over his first girlfriend Sonia-“

“Mom,” warned Damien.

“Still,” Mitchell said. “It’s nice to have you in the family.”

Ellie smiled and thanked him.

“Of course,” Erinn said, “hopefully some new additions will also be coming along soon?”

Damien groaned while Hans hid a smile. “Mom!” he crowed. “Don’t bring this up with Ellie! We already discussed this! We’re not ready for children yet!”

“I haven’t heard her say that,” Erinn sniffed. “Was that your mutual agreement or your decision?”

“Mutual agreement,” Ellie said. There was no point explaining that, in their house, Damien’s decisions and mutual agreements amounted to almost the same thing.




Nido had been running the second he’d gotten off the train in Gett City. He wasn’t sure which direction Ellie’s house was, but he had to find it quickly.

The two hours he’d spent on the train were the worst of his life. Unlike his flight as a Fenris, he hadn’t been able to control the speed and was just sitting there on the cushioned, plush seats, watching a boring landscape roll by. He couldn’t do anything, and Nido was not one to not do anything. Those hours provided plenty of time to think, and his thoughts turned to how he could best dispose of the Mirror. He was certain now that it was some type of cancer, and he hadn’t seen any value in it that would make Sable want to keep it around. None whatsoever.

It occurred to him, then, that if he could get more people to help him destroy the Mirror, for Sable’s own good, he’d have a better chance than if he went at it alone…

And if Ellie was a threat to the Mirror, she just might be helpful to him.

He hadn’t realized he’d sprinted onto the road until the car came hurtling at him, honking and screeching. Judging by the whir of the tires, the driver had tried to press the brakes, but it was too little too late. Nido couldn’t see the driver’s face, but he had the feeling that he was panicking. Nido, however, knew he could easily avoid this with perhaps just a hint of magical assistance when he realized he had seen this car before, several nights ago when he’d made his other trip to Gett City on Sable’s birthday.

Well, speak of the Devil, cookies and cream, Nido thought, and on the spur of the moment, dove out of the way- but intentionally, not completely. His leg stuck out in front of the left tire, and he gave a shout as the car ran over it.
The vehicle skidded to a stop several feet ahead, and then the driver and four Barons clambered out. His gamble had paid off; two of them were Ellie and her husband.

“My goodness, Hans!” Damien shouted. “You ran over a kid’s leg!”

Ellie made it to him before anyone else did. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “We’ll get you help, okay?”

Nido nodded, gritting his teeth because, hey, it hurt. “Th-that sounds good,” he said, feigning a little more agony than he was actually feeling. “I’ll b-be fine, r-right?”

Ellie reached out as if to stroke his hair and comfort him, but just before she made contact, she drew her hand away. “Yeah,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

Nido closed his eyes in a content smile, heaping up the melodrama and completely stringing these humans along. The Baron woman shrieked. “Is he dead?!”

“I think he’s still breathing,” he heard Ellie say. “His breath is clouding up.”

“He must have parents,” the Baron man said. “Somebody contact them!”

“Dad, we’d have to wait for him to wake up first.” Damien’s voice, nearer now. “We should take him to a hospital.”

Oh, crap. Nido had not thought that far. On top of things, by now a gaggle of onlookers and passers-by were loitering around to catch a glimpse of the commotion.

He let out a loud groan. “No, I don’t have the money!”

Someone gave a sound like, “Eek!” followed by “He’s awake.”

“We see that, Erinn,” the Baron said. Nido opened his eyes and glared at him. “I’m Mitchell Morvant, son. I have the money you don’t.”

“Dad’s richer than sin, so he can pay for you,” Damien said.

“It’s the least I can do for the boy my son’s driver ran over,” Mitchell added, with a glare at Damien and Hans. Hans winced.

“I’m sure it’s…” Insert dramatic wince here. “…not that bad,” Nido finished, and looked down at his leg. If it wasn’t for a Frost Breather’s high pain threshold, he thought the mere sight would have made him pass out. His leg looked like mincemeat, glistening pink with patches of white that must have been bone. Blood was forming a puddle around it. He winced again, this one genuine.

“Your leg was nearly torn apart!” Ellie protested. “You need a hospital.”

“I can’t go to a hospital!” Nido exclaimed. “You’ve got to understand.” He caught an image of her questioning thoughts, and wondered how much he could reveal. I came here for you. I came here to use you or kill you. I came here for you and I can’t go to a hospital because I’m like you. I’m not human. He found he must have been saying some of his thoughts aloud, because he kept repeating, “I can’t go the hospital, I’m like you,” under his breath.

He grabbed a hold of another image, of Ellie being frozen solid and his laughing form, and he shook his head. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispered. “Don’t take me to the hospital.”

Nido had absolutely no idea what Ellie would do to get him out of this, but he had to admit that he had cast his fate with hers.

“I don’t think he’s here legally,” Ellie whispered.

“What, an illegal immigrant?” Damien asked.

Nido nodded vigorously. Oh, yes, this was wonderful! Good job! That was a perfect excuse. “Yes,” he croaked. “I’m from… from beyond the ocean… the motherland…”

Mitchell did a double-take. It was actually quite comical, though Nido knew he couldn’t afford to laugh. “The motherland? That’s hundreds of miles away!”

“And a sucky place to live,” Nido nodded, completely winging it.

“I could get a medical staff to your house, then,” Mitchell said, “and with enough money, I’m sure they’ll be quiet.”
“Sounds good,” Damien said. “Hans, carry him to the car, will you? Careful not to aggravate his leg.”

Ellie followed behind as Hans gently lifted the boy and began walking. Nido groaned or moaned every now and then to put on a show, though in all truth his leg was merely throbbing and he could handle it quite well.

“Do you have anywhere to stay after you heal?” she asked. “Parents we can contact about this?”

“A sister,” he said, “but she’s… don’t bother calling her.”

“I see,” Ellie said. “Well, if you have nowhere to go afterwards…” She paused, waiting for confirmation on whether or not he had nowhere to go afterwards.

“I don’t.”

“…He could stay and help Jannston, couldn’t he?” Ellie asked Damien. “I mean, we’ve been thinking of getting Jannston a helper anyway, right?”

“I suppose,” Damien said. “Jeez, kid, I’m sorry.”

Hans nodded. “My sincerest apologies. It was like you came out of nowhere. I cannot repay you at all, but… if you ever need anything…”

Nido tried shrugging, but it was hard with Hans carrying him. “It’s fine, really. I’ll get over it.” You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.




Once the medical staff had treated the boy, Ellie knocked on his door. “I brought cookies,” she said.
The boy called, “Come in!” She entered timidly and laid the tray down on the bedside table. “Do you like chocolate chips? Erinn made them.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Chocolate chip is good. I’m Nate. Nate Dan. You?”

“Eleanor Giata-Morvant,” she said. “Everyone calls me Ellie, though. A pleasure to meet you, Nate, though in terrible circumstances.” She glanced at the white bandages wrapped around his leg. “Does it hurt? Should I get you something for the pain?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” he said. “So, Ellie… great thinking back there.”

Ellie gave a tentative smile. “Um, thanks.” Then she shut the door and sat the edge of the bed. “Are you- you said you were-“

“My breath clouds in doors,” he said. “If someone’s breath does that, you can tell they’re a Frost Breather.”

“Why’d you come down here?” she asked.

“Remember that sister I mentioned?” Nate said. When Ellie nodded, he continued, “She’s sick, and I think I can find the cure here.” It was close to the truth, in a sense.

“If you Frost Breathers are so magical, can’t you use sorcery to cure her?”

“If you’re so rich and special, why aren’t you happy?” he retorted.

Ellie felt her cheeks warm. “I never said I was special, nor that I was unhappy.”

“Yeah, but it’s dead obvious,” he said. “Whatever. You half?”

The question took her by surprise, but she didn’t need to ask if she was half of what. She could tell what he meant. “Maybe. What’s it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t matter at all,” he answered. “I would’ve thought that it mattered to you.”





So it was today.

“It took you long enough, Eir,” Freyja snarled as her loyal subject unlocked the cell door. “Where are the others?”
“Stealth mission,” Eir breathed, opening the door. “It’s just me and Saxi.”

Like most Frost Breathers, Eir had the classic Snow White look. Her hair was long and curly, though pulled into a ponytail for practicality’s sake, and her skin was remarkably pale. Her lips were naturally red, and Freyja recalled that she used to paint them with some type of berry juice to make them stand out even more. Her eyes were large and rounded, giving her a dangerous disguise of vulnerability. She was, Freyja had noted with more than a hint of jealousy, remarkably attractive for a Frost Breather. Although Sable was considered the poster child for exquisite allure and dazzle, Eir made a close second, a position reserved for Freyja until this cute noblewoman came along.

Eir also held two daggers in her left hand, the second temporarily being held because her right was opening the door to the cell (another thing that irked Freyja- Eir was ambidexterous and thus unpredictable, unlike Sable, who was left handed, or Nido, who was right handed). The daggers were probably because she planned to paint Sable’s floors red in case she ran into any guards; Eir did so like dramatic flair.

Eir had been one of the few nobles to actually support Freyja during her first coup, and remained loyal during the second and third. Well, her loyalty could be questioned, considering Freyja’s third coup resulted in her in the dungeon and most of her followers being killed. Eir had fled, abandoning her comrades, which was, to say the least, a great annoyance. The daughter of the late captain of the guard, who unfortunately remained loyal to Sable and later found his offspring cutting him a new smile, Eir had grown up near the nobles of the Frost Breathers. Her devotion and semi-obedience to Freyja was a mystery, and Freyja had no idea why Eir had chosen her side over Sable’s. Sometimes she imagined it was because she’d flipped a coin.

Eir had once been in the running for being elected captain of the guard before it surfaced she had killed the last one. There was no doubt that Eir was certainly capable of handling the position, from her proficient skill with a knife and adept strategy when it came to battle, but there was no way she could take the post if she was an outlaw and a murderer.

All for Freyja’s sake.

Freyja had no idea whether she was supposed to be moved that Eir had actually come to rescue her or irritated that it had taken her nearly forty years.

“Just you and Saxi?” Freyja repeated. “An important job like this, and you bring all of two people?”

“Too many would get us noticed,” Eir replied. “We thought it impractical to storm Sable’s gates.”

“Yeah, yeah. What took you forty years?”

“We had a hard time locating you.”

“It’s not like the harpy has all of one palace!” Freyja snarled. She was being unfair, and she knew it. The harpy in question may have had all of one palace, but she also had dozens if not hundreds of prisons, mines, jails, and penitentiaries scattered throughout the kingdom. Of course, Freyja being such a high-profile prisoner, it made sense she’d be more heavily guarded. Speaking of guards…

“What happened to the guards?” Freyja asked. “Not to brag, but I’m sure I’ve got plenty swarming around…”

“Saxi was taking care of the ones that would directly impede our escape,” Eir explained, “such as those nearest your cell- they’re all dead and in a storage closet, don’t worry- and we’ve got a route that will hopefully minimize confrontation.” Eir transferred one of the daggers to her other hand as Freyja exited the cell.

“Great,” Freyja said, as a ‘thank you’ was beneath her. “Now let’s get out of here.”

The dungeon had several levels, the lowest of which was Freyja’s plush cell. Passing the others on the way to the stairs, prisoners rattling bars and screaming for release, Freyja realized that her furnished cell was a million steps above what the rest had. Though they weren’t cruel dirt pits, the cells were barely furnished and rather dirty. Perks of being a high-profile prisoner, or perks of being Sable’s sister? Ah, like Freyja cared.

They found the stairs up to the next level, but not before someone’s hand reached through the bars and grabbed Freyja’s sleeve. Eir stopped, pivoted, and prepared to slash, but the pale, bony owner of the hand flashed a white-toothed smile.

That was what struck Freyja. The smile. Who, after spending time down here without a toothbrush, still kept a white smile? But that wasn’t all. The teeth were pointed and the eyes… oh, the eyes… had no pupil, just a ball of blue stuck in the middle of whites. “You’re not a guard,” the creature hissed. “What are you doing out of your cell?”

“Eir, cut its bloody hand off!” Freyja cried, and Eir moved to comply. The creature’s grin widened. It appeared androgynous, which just upped its creep factor.  “If it so much as tries to scream, cut its cursed mouth off,” Freyja ordered, taking a step back. “Or you could just kill it- that sounds like it’d work too.”

“Much obliged, milady,” Eir replied, and as she drew near, the creature drew its hand back and hissed.

“Just leave it,” Freyja ordered. “I don’t know what sort of filth Sable’s keeping penned up in here, but it’s not my concern.”

Eir made a face as they continued past, and then pulled Freyja behind a barrel fortunately placed in the hall. “What?” Freyja hissed, but Eir held a finger to her lips as two guards paraded forward, hands gripping long, curved swords. From their faces and the way they held the swords, with a loose, almost nonchalant grasp, they were clearly just making their rounds and had yet to find the dead guards Eir had mentioned Saxi had taken care of.

The guards wore Sable’s emblem of a blue flame stitched to their tunics, freshly pressed and ironed. Freyja rolled her eyes. So the dress code was still stringent about minimizing wrinkles on duty?

The two men stopped right in front of the barrels and sighed. Freyja bit her lip. If they so much as looked down, she and Eir would be given away. Although Eir could easily destroy them, and Freyja was no slouch herself if it weren’t for her being unarmed, it’d be best to do so before they started screaming.

“Aah, please,” one of them said to the other. “I get the creeps coming down here. I thought it was my turn to be on the balustrade.”

“No, sorry,” the other shrugged. “Cheer up. Sable’s sister is down here, you know, and she’s not exactly far from a looker.” They both chuckled, though Freyja failed to see what was so funny.

“Speaking of looks in the royal family,” said the first guard, “on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate each member?”

“I’d give Sable a 12,” the second joked, “and Freyja a 9.”

A nine? They deserved to die just for that!

“Queen Anya was a definite 10,” he continued. “Sable takes after her.”

“Luckily not in everything,” the first said. “During Queen Anya’s reign, I only got paid half of what Sable gives me now.”

“It’s to keep our lips mum about her sister,” the other shrugged.

Eir took this opportunity to jump out and throw the daggers with a morbidly elegant flick of the wrist. One embedded itself in a guard’s forehead, the other in the second guard’s throat. Eir took a moment to make sure they were dead, then pulled her weapons free, wiped the blood on their tunics to avoid staining the blade, and said, “Thanks for keeping mum.” She then handed one of their swords to Freyja, with a look that said, ‘You’ll probably need this.’

“We have to hurry,” Freyja said, hand tightening on the leather grip of the sword, feeling its weight and already imagining how it’d feel to sink it into flesh if need be. “It only takes about a half hour for a pair to finish their rounds, and half an hour is not a good head start. We’ve got to get out of here before anyone notices these idiots are gone.”
“Mm, true,” Eir agreed. “Let’s run for it. Saxi should be joining us soon.”

Abandoning caution was never Freyja’s plan, but neither was a paranoia of guards jumping out of every stray shadow. They ran with silent fluidity, footsteps muffled on the stone of the dungeon. When Eir threw open the doors that led to the courtyard, Freyja’s eyes instinctively closed. Compared to the flickering, dull orange embers of the torches in the dungeon that barely banished the gloom, tinting everything in darkness, the silver moonlight of the True North was garishly shining.

Eir waited patiently for about twenty seconds, allowing Freyja’s eyes to adjust, before gesturing for her to follow.
The courtyard was relatively open-spaced and abandoned at this time of night, though it was decorated with a large fountain in the middle. The fountain was circular in shape, with a statue of a Frost Breather of legend throwing his arms up into the sky, head thrown back in laughter as water came arching out of his mouth and hands. Even at this forsaken hour, the water skipped and capered about before falling into the basin of the fountain with giggling splashes. Around the fountain, Freyja noticed that the stones had been colored and arranged into a depiction of Sable’s blue flame cupped in small pale hands. Furthermore, the courtyard was ringed with columns and pillars, the cylinders of stone decorated with carved vines of stone ice and snowflakes.

The trick with the courtyard would be reaching the tower nestled at its corner, which also led to a small exit outside of the palace without having to breach the main gates. It was a guard entrance, so naturally the tower would be swarming with them, but the problem was also dashing across the exposed portion without alerting the entire palace.
Eir eyed Freyja, a question repeating itself over and over in her gaze. Freyja put a finger to her lips, raised the sword, and then nodded, her own eyes giving Eir the answer.

As they ran, Freyja whispered to the newborn wind that was beginning to gather strength, letting words of power flow from her. Here in the palace, there was no doubt that someone could detect the residue, but she had to conceal herself. As she breathed her intention to the air, any sound she would have made diminished and then faded entirely, and she was wrapped in a cloak of obscurity, a charm to make her unseen. My, it felt good to use an enchantment again! She wasn’t particularly gifted, and the cell door had been impervious to any and all spells she attempted (and she’d attempted all in her repertoire), but it sent shivers down her spine to allow herself the basic pleasure of all Frost Breathers, the thrill of playing with the surrounding environ, especially if the environ was ice and snow.

Of course, her breath still fogged in front of her, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about that.
Beside her, Eir had repeated the spell, and then they entered the tower, delving into a corner opposite the opposing door as a guard came down the stairs, his boots thumping heavily on the wooden flight of steps. His boots came into view as he climbed down, and then his tunic, and finally his curly hair and pale, pinched face. He reached the base of the stairs and then sat down at the table between Freyja and the door, putting his feet up. When another pair of footsteps began clacking above, though, he quickly put them down. A pair of heels and shapely legs came into Freyja’s vision, and her jaw clenched as Sable also sat at the table, opposite the guard.

“I appreciate everything you do, Captain Renn,” she purred, twisting a stray lock of hair around her index finger as she spoke. “I am sorry to come calling so late at night, though.”

“It was nothing, Your Majesty,” Renn replied, gaze down and avoiding eye contact. “As you can see, this tower is kept in suitable condition for your troops’ activities.”

“Yes, and it is one of the three guard entrances, but still, it’s guarded rather lackadaisically,” Sable said, and Renn reddened, as if he was personally at fault. He probably was.

“Majesty,” Renn said, “I apologize, but what is keeping you at such an hour?”

“Boredom,” Sable answered. “I decided to take a walk around my domain. Surely that is permitted?”

“It’s not my place to know, Majesty, but I would recommend taking walks with guards.”

Sable laughed. “I’m not in any danger here.”

“Still, in the wee hours of the night, one can never know what aberrations might have conspired against you,” Renn said.

Freyja fought down the urge to snicker at both the phrase ‘wee hours of the night’ and the fact that Renn had unknowingly called her an aberration.

Eir tapped Freyja’s wrist and whispered in her ear, “How long do you think it’ll be until she leaves?”

Freyja murmured back, “I don’t know. She comes calling sometimes, but I don’t see her making lovey-dovey eyes. She’s bound to get bored quickly, or go finish her walk, or other some such nonsense.”

Indeed, as she finished saying this, Sable said, “Well, thank you again, Captain Renn. I should probably head back to my chambers tomorrow. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, what with the Djinn ambassador.”

“How I wish you wouldn’t deal with those abhorrent brutes of fire, Majesty,” Renn said. “They have been nothing but our enemies, and when they came to us with peace, they plotted against us in their hearts. There is nothing changed since the last War of Fire and Ice.”

“I know that, but if they can plot in times of peace and tranquility, so can we,” Sable said. “It is not in our interests to provoke their raging tempers into another war- at least, not at the time being.”

“So, the plan is to buy time, Majesty?” Renn asked.

“Basically, yes. When the ambassadors arrive tomorrow, I want no accidents. I want the guards positioned nearby enough to both keep them safe and limit their… interactions… with my staff, my subjects, and my property.” She stressed the word ‘my’ every time it occurred. “I especially want them far away from the dungeons. There is no need for them to see the mongrels under lock and key.”

“I understood they wanted an exchange for some Djinn you have imprisoned,” Renn said.

Sable shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did so. Freyja bit back a scowl at how cutesy it made her look. Why oh why did she want to look eighteen, the age of a mere teenage brat? Freyja herself preferred a more mature form that was not yet ravaged by time. The late twenties were her favorite age range, though sometimes she mixed things up with playing with the early thirties.

“Captain, let me worry about prisoners,” she said, and stood. “Good night, Captain. I shall see you in the morrow.”
“Good night, Majesty,” Renn said.

Sable walked to the door that Freyja and Eir had entered, opened it, and then stood lingering in the doorway for a second. Her gaze flitted to the corner where the two outlaws hid, and she frowned. Freyja’s heart started beating rapidly as Sable uttered a low phrase, a spell meant to reveal those concealing, and quickly countered with a defensive maneuver her father had taught her. This use of magic, however, alerted Sable to the fact that there was someone hiding nearby.

Still concealed by the spell, Freyja leaped out of her hiding place and dashed for the door. Eir followed, stopping to slit Renn’s surprised throat for good measure and hiss, “That was supposed to be my position, fool!”

This, naturally, might as well have been a sign to Sable that said, “I’M ESCAPING- COME AND GET ME!!!”

“What the heck was that for?” Freyja demanded as Sable screeched for guards and ran after them, kicking off her heels (because, let’s admit it, if she had kept those on, she probably would have broken her ankles).

“Impulse,” Eir said.

“Your impulse might get us killed!” Freyja snapped, and then turned to scream an attacking spell. A jagged spear of ice, thick and long, erupted out of the ground, poised to impale Freyja’s sister. Sable crossed her arms in front of her face and cried out, neither a word of power nor a simple howl of pain, and the mass of ice disintegrated as she made contact, but not before drawing blood.

Sable’s eyes darkened in countenance and she spat after them, the wound the glacial crystal gave her too much for her to follow. Feeling confident, Freyja dropped the spell of concealment and blew her sister a kiss. “See you later, Majesty!”

“FREYJA!” Sable shouted. Snow began listlessly falling downwards, spiraling in curlicues, and Freyja laughed.

“You’re tired, fool,” she replied. “Otherwise, you would’ve caught me!”

“Freyja!” Sable shouted again, the snow falling so heavily it was like a thick shroud of white. “Come back and face me, you coward! Freyja!”




They didn’t stop running until they reached a rise of land, where, tied to a tree, three steeds awaited, along with a Frost Breather that must have been Saxi. “What took you so long?” he asked, moving some of his hair out of his eyes. Like many outlaws, he’d grown his hair out, despite being male, and it reached his shoulders in cascades of curls.
“Complications,” Eir quipped. “How you got here so fast is a better question.”

Saxi shrugged, his bottom lip protruding slightly as he did so, as if he was pouting. “Eh, it wasn’t that big of a deal. After I got rid of most of the guards hanging around, I rose a false alarm on one side of the palace then looped back and escaped in the other. Miss High and Mighty Majesty was busy flirting in the guard tower farthest from the commotion, so I doubt she’ll be bothered with such a trivial happenstance.”

“She does not flirt with guards,” Freyja said. “I’m pretty sure she gave up on romantic pursuits ages ago.”

“Right, like you would know, being in the dungeon for nigh on forty years,” Eir said, lips curling into a smile.

“Has it really been that long?” Freyja said with feigned incredulity. “I had no idea!”

They laughed as Saxi untied the three mounts, gave one set of reins to Eir, another to Freyja, and kept the third firmly in his hand. “We have a secure camp in the Frozen Forest,” he said, mounting. “Sable doesn’t dare send her soldiers there.”

“For good reason,” Freyja sniffed. “It’s full of Fenris and fay that do not wish us well.”

“With hard riding, we can be there by dawn,” Eir said, ignoring that. “It is a safe haven, if you know the correct places to tread.”

“Wonderful,” Freyja said, mounting. Her steed was pure white, though Eir and Saxi’s were a darker chestnut color. This would prove an advantage, she was sure. “I can’t wait to get there.” She rolled her eyes and blinked snow away from her eyelashes. “It’s snowing pretty badly; there might be a blizzard coming on.”

“All the better to get there faster,” Eir said. “It wouldn’t do to get trapped by a storm so close to Sable’s palace. She’s no doubt already sending out soldiers and guards to look for us.”

“She wouldn’t have found us if it wasn’t for you,” Freyja said. “Your explanation was inadequate.”

“Renn is my cousin,” Eir replied, tight-lipped. “I could not stand him taking the post that was rightfully mine.”

“And yours it shall be,” Freyja promised, “as soon as I am queen. Hyah!” She kicked her steed into motion, and after a moment, Eir and Saxi caught up to her.

“We really are sorry it took us so long to rescue you,” Saxi said.

Freyja waved a hand dismissively. “The past is the past. Now, I want the fourth coup to actually work, so maybe we should invest in some foreign aid, hmm?”

“Such as?” Eir raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I don’t know. The Djinn have a bone to pick with Sable, and I’m sure the Alti are just worried she has her sights set on their stupid, sweaty desert,” Freyja shrugged. “And then there’s the matter of the Regnumians.”

“What about them?” Saxi asked.

“You do know that land was once ours?” Freyja retorted. “Unlike Sable, I do not appreciate such a loss. When I am queen, it shall be reclaimed, but until then, it’d be a rather good idea to convince them Sable wants them all dead. It shouldn’t be hard. After all, humans are so pathetically afraid of anything different. And then…”

“What?” Eir and Saxi said at once.

“Then there’s the matter of dear Eleanor Giata,” Freyja said. “My, how lucky it is that the urchin was born.”
“Um, why?” Eir ventured.

“My dears,” Freyja said, genuinely surprised. “Don’t you know? There’s a chance she might be immune to that Mirror’s machinations.”

Dragonlord Stephi : I like the escape. Reminds me of the good and old days. And boy did Niddo almost broke his neck to get to Elie... almost. Jut his head. I feel sorry for Hans. Poor guy. And it looks like Freyja is planning a revolution. I wonder if Sable's army will be enough to match her siser's cunnin and strategy. Can't wait to see.