Snowflakes tumbled all around, thick and heavy. It would have been beautiful if she didn’t have to wade uphill through the stuff. Dea’s goggles fogged up again, and as she wiped them with a gloved hand she knocked her hat askew for maybe the fifteenth time.
“Damn!” She paused to fix it, and to heave her pack higher.
“Would Milady like a rest and a hot mug of chocolate? Perhaps a foot rub?” Felix said over his shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Shut it,” she snapped. “And I don’t know what you’re smiling about, it’s not like you can see any better than I can. Face it, we’ve lost them.”
Behind her, the snicker-hiss of the sled’s runners fell silent as Blaze stopped, his broad chest a welcome windbreak in the gathering storm. “Felix, she’s right. You may be one hell of a tracker, but you can’t find them in this. Not without the Flair. We stop.”
Felix hesitated, clearly torn. “Fine. We camp. But no fire, Dea, not even a flicker of heat. That warlock they have with them, he gets even a breath of Flair on his heels, we’re up the creek and no mistaking.”
Dea sighed. It would have been nice to get warm, properly warm. But he was right. Their entire plan counted on speed and stealth. Besides superior numbers, the enemy soldiers they were tracking had the warlock. That meant some serious magic, far stronger than the small amount of Flair the three of them could muster, to judge by the trail of shriveled corpses they’d found along the way. Felix saw the sigh, and he rested his hand on her arm for a brief moment, his stern blue eyes softening. She shook him off, turning to help Blaze with the tent. But a small trickle of warmth that had nothing to do with the Flair ran the length of her body, and she couldn’t help glancing after Felix as he set off to scout their surroundings.
At first, it had been just the two of them: Dea and Felix. They’d met on a winter’s day like this, two scruffy street brats huddled in a storm drain to escape the aching cold. Dea — always the impulsive, reckless one — had leaned over to her new friend and whispered, “Do you want to see something?”
She’d reached for the Flair, flames dancing at her fingertips and warming the damp space. His eyes had lit up. “Is that magic?” He’d moved closer, mouth against her ear, breath tickling her skin and tickling her inside, too, for reasons she was still too young to understand back then. “I can also do magic.”
Blaze and Dea were already huddled inside the tent when Felix returned, the white stuff clinging to his clothes and to his scant beard, barely thick enough to count him a man and not a boy. He shook himself at the entrance like an overgrown pup and clambered in to squat on the snowy ground, his slim build swamped by bulky, shapeless coverings.
“Nothing,” he said. “And the storm’s getting stronger. We’ll have to wait for it to die down a little and hope they’ve stopped too.”
Blaze unpacked food from the sled: biscuit and jerky, enough to keep going but not nearly enough to satisfy anyone’s hunger. Dea looked sourly at her portion as she pulled off her damp hat and ran a hand through tangled black curls. “Idiotic place to be, halfway up a sodding mountain in the middle of a blizzard. We must have been crazy to take this on. Rescuing a stupid princess in the height of winter?” A princess who should have known better than to fall in love with the enemy, and who probably didn’t want to be saved, seeing as she was the one who’d run away in the first place.
“You want to back out?” Felix pulled off his gloves and blew on his fingers to warm them. “I’m sure your fancy room in the royal dungeons is probably still waiting for you.”
His voice was light, teasing, but he was staring at her with a peculiar intensity she couldn’t quite read. Her heartbeat quickened, and she forced herself to look away and meet Blaze’s gentle brown eyes instead.
“No one’s backing out,” Blaze said loudly. “All right, Felix? It’s the three of us, together, like it always has been. No one’s going back to the dungeons.”
Dea shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Thieves and mercenaries like them had to keep a low profile, especially when wielding outlawed magic. In their trade, you needed attention like an arrow through the heart. The Dale Ridge job had been a mistake. One that had brought them under the keen scrutiny of the Royal Guard, and earned the three of them a stint in the finest rooms under the palace. The ones so deep that sunlight was the barest memory, where the dampening wards smothered Dea’s Flair for heat and left her at the mercy of the cold that seeped through the crumbling walls. No, she’d rather brave the mountain than return to her cell.
Blaze finished his rations and looked longingly at Dea’s. She bit a chunk of jerky hastily, forcing herself to chew and swallow the vile stuff. Blaze tore his eyes away from her food and frowned. “I still say we cut our losses and run.”
“We’re criminals and magic-users,” Felix replied bluntly. “If we don’t return with the princess, or at least drive her to the king’s patrols, then it’s our heads next on the ‘wanted’ banners.”
“So we leave Irilia completely,” said Blaze. “I can glamour us for long enough to get over the border into Aramia.”
“Forget it,” said Felix. “Glamour won’t work. You know the gates are warded against Flair.”
“So we make for the coast, find berth on a ship,” insisted Blaze.
“With what money?” Dea asked. “You going to glamour up some of that, too? Anyway, the coast will be crawling with the king’s men. The gates in the pass, too. All exit points will be covered, on the lookout for the princess.”
“So—” Blaze started to say.
“Stop saying ‘so’,” snapped Dea. “There is no ‘so’. We’re already in this mess to our necks. We finish the job, return the idiot girl to her father, collect our pay and pardon. After that we can bugger off to Aramia.”
Blaze was quiet for a while. Then he murmured, so softly Dea had to strain to hear, “We could scale the Heights.”
She placed her hand over his, irritation melting at the forlorn look on his face. He was the youngest of the trio, the once-scrawny tagalong who’d somehow outgrown them all at some point in their teens. But he still looked like a kicked puppy when he was sad or scared.
“Blaze,” she said, “the job stinks. We all agree on that. But we’ll get it done, you’ll see. We’re not climbing the Heights, not in winter.”
Blaze bowed his head. “I know. I just.... There’s a warlock ahead of us. You saw those corpses. And behind us lies prison, perhaps execution. I’m not ready to die yet, Dee-Dee.”
She had no answer to that, so they simply sat in silence and listened to the wind howl and shake the flimsy bundle of oilcloth like some demented mountain beast.
~
They set out again under a cloudy night sky, which soon cleared up into a mass of stars. As the wind dropped, so did the temperature. Soon Dea’s breath hung mist-like, condensation clinging to her mouth wrap and freezing instantly. The hillside was quiet apart from the too-loud noise of their footsteps and the hiss of the sled.
They climbed steadily, guessing at the general direction since the storm had erased all trace of the prince’s passage. Finally, at the top of a ridge, they were rewarded with the sight of twinkling campfires in a small valley, and the unmistakable shimmer of heavy magic at work.
Felix muttered, “There you are, my pretties.” He turned to Dea and Blaze, speaking softly. Sound travelled a long way in the cold, still air. “Right, so according to the king, the raiding party is fifteen-strong. That includes the princess and her kidnapping lover-boy.”
“Bloody princes of sodding frozen wastelands. Just couldn’t keep it in his trousers, could he?” said Blaze. He struck a girlish pose and murmured, “Oh, Erik, take me away and give me your babies.”
Dea smirked. The kidnapper was Erik of Lorshein, from beyond the Great White Sea. The prince had arrived in Irilia three months before to negotiate a peace treaty. He’d left with a stolen bride and the promise of war.
“All right, enough,” said Felix. “And keep it down. We have a job to do.” But Dea caught the reluctant smile that ghosted across his face, unbidden. That was their way, had always been their way. The three of them might not have much, but they had always had each other, and humor was cheap and kept things warm on the coldest night.
They worked their way as close as they dared to the prince’s group. Then they unwrapped their bows and waited for the spellwork barrier to come down. The night grew colder as dawn approached, and Dea huddled against Felix for warmth.
“She looks like you, you know?” he said against her skin, his breath a caress and voice so soft only she could hear it. “The princess? I saw her once, close up. Maybe one day you’ll be a princess, too, even if just for a moment.”
She turned her face to his and found his lips a heartbeat away from hers, the expression in his eyes hidden by the dark. She stilled, waiting, wanting. But instead of drawing closer he turned away, back to his silent vigil of the valley.
The magical perimeter surrounding the camp shimmered out just before daybreak, while the sky was an indefinite gray and the sun a pink promise on the horizon. Two sleepy-eyed soldiers stumbled away from the camp in different directions, heading out to relieve themselves. Felix signaled Dea and headed off to intercept the one on the right. She nocked an arrow and sneaked forward.
Her mark fell, still fumbling with his trousers. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other one fall, too. She ran over to hers, kneeling to slit his throat. Then she dragged him out of sight behind an outcrop of rock, kicking snow over the trail of blood. By the time she returned to the sled, Blaze had intercepted a third. His knife dripped crimson on the snow.
Three down, eleven to go until they had the princess clear. Ten, signaled Felix, returning with a grin. Catch a man at daybreak, desperate for a piss, and you catch him unaware. Their timing, as usual, was perfect.
Things got trickier when Princess Emilia emerged from her tent, her southern princeling at her side, and a bevy of armed soldiers came forward to surround them. The dead men were soon missed, and Dea carefully wormed her way back into the thickest part of the woods, belly to the ground with the snow chilling her to the bone. Felix and Blaze followed, and from the relative protection of the underbrush they watched confusion mounting in the campsite.
Now Dea caught her first glimpse of the warlock the southerners had brought with them. He looked no different from the other soldiers, his blue cloak stitched through with sigils the only thing to set him apart. He raised his hands and the spellwork slid smoothly back into place, sealing them off.
“For a high-end magic-user, he doesn’t look anything special,” whispered Dea. “I thought he’d be more imposing.”
Blaze said, “What, like Felix?”
Dea snickered and Felix gave them both a withering glance. He needn’t have. Dea was already sorry for laughing. The slim, boyish leader of their young crew might look deceptively harmless, but she knew well how dangerous he could be. Apologetic, she tried to catch his eye, but Felix was staring at the camp.
“It’s not what he looks like,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “It’s what he can do. This is a full-blown warlock we have on our hands, not some paltry Flair peddler the likes of us.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Dea indignantly. “Paltry!”
The magical attack came moments later, catching them by surprise. The barrier over the camp winked out all at once, and Dea felt a sense of something large reaching for them. An invisible hand sweeping over their heads, passing by, then stopping.
“Shit!” she hissed, backing up the hillside in haste as the spellcasting returned, groping. It caught Blaze, furthest down the slope, and he choked, face turning red as he scrabbled at the snowy ground to get away. Dea darted in, grabbed him by the back of his coat and hauled, ignoring the sting of magic and pulling him after her as hard as she could. Boots slipping, sweating in the wintry cold, cursing under her breath, she looked desperately up at Felix. “What are you waiting for? Help!”
A curious look of calculation flitted across Felix’s face, gone in an instant. Then he was there beside her, grabbing Blaze’s arm and helping Dea pull. They felt the spell give as they reached the top of the incline, and Blaze gulped huge painful breaths, his face slowly returning to its normal color.
“Damn it,” Dea gasped, sweat trickling down from under her woolen hat in the heat of sudden exertion. “That was too close. Are we safe?”
“I think we’re out of the warlock’s reach,” said Felix. “But we should retreat. They know where we are now.”
They helped Blaze to the sled and dragged it uphill until he was well enough to stand. “I can walk,” he wheezed, voice cracked and strained. “I’m not dead yet.”
But his eyes were wide and scared, and his hand shook slightly when Dea took hold of it. He was nine again, and she a cocky, self-assured eleven tugging him along by his small and grubby arm as she told him, “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with us.” And then Felix had come along, eyeing up the stray waif Dea had found by the river. He’d cracked some joke, Dea couldn’t remember what, and Blaze had laughed. And just like that he was in, part of their small family.
Dea blinked herself back to the cold and the present, and squeezed Blaze’s hand, just once, to let him know she understood. They trekked silently until they were high enough to see the prince’s raiding party march out of sight into the frozen white. Felix counted, his face grim. “...Nine, ten, eleven. That’s the lot. We’re clear.”
Blaze grunted in relief and sat heavily on the edge of the sled, head bowed, arms resting on his legs. Dea placed a hand on his shoulder, asking wordless questions. He raised his big hand and set it over hers. “I’m fine, Dee-Dee,” he rasped. “I’m alive. I just need a moment.”
She let him be and walked over to where Felix stood watching at the crest of the hill, outlined against the now-blue sky. “What the hell was that?” she asked.
“Same spell he used to hit the dead they left in their wake, I should think,” answered Felix. Dea thought of all those broken husks they’d seen along the way, skin withered as though sucked dry from inside, and she shuddered.
Felix turned to her. He stood close, too close, and his breath in frozen puffs brushed her cheeks with each warm exhale. “I warned you,” he said, that same intense, unreadable look in his blue eyes. “I warned both of you. Paltry, I said. Our magic is kids’ play next to his. You felt it! Sure, I find things, you burn things, Blaze makes the pretty, pretty illusions. But we can’t do that.”
He was silent for a moment, watching her, eyes roving across her face as though committing its lines to memory. He reached up and brushed a gloved finger along her jawline. Dea’s breath hitched in her throat. She felt like she’d been waiting for this since the day they first met, even if she hadn’t known it then. But Felix dropped his hand and turned away to face Blaze.
“That warlock? We’re not that good. We’re not strong enough. Not by ourselves. But what we do have—”
“—Is numbers.” Blaze completed the sentence, nodding, his voice a sore croak. “And if we hit him right, we can do three-way spells.”
“Exactly.” Felix shook off his dark mood and gave one of his trademark grins, the one all teeth and sharp edges, the one that meant business. The grin that Dea would follow to the end of the world and back. He caught her eye and winked. “So this is what we’re going to do...”
~
They trudged after the prince’s party all day, following the crisp tracks on the new-fallen snow, staying far enough not to be seen, close enough not to miss any stragglers. At this distance from the coast, Dea was sure the prince was heading for the pass and the heavily guarded gates to Aramia, where the king’s men would be waiting. If the king’s soldiers took the princess first, Dea would still receive her pardon, they all would, but not the hefty bounty pay they were all counting on to make this thankless errand worthwhile. The thought of all that promised gold dampened the fear of death at the warlock’s hands and kept Dea and the others moving, mile after miserable mile.
But as the afternoon gold deepened to evening red, Felix stopped. “This is all wrong. The direction is off. I don’t think they’re aiming for the pass at all.”
“You know where they’re going, yeah?” asked Blaze, his voice still hoarse. “They’re going to the same place we’d have headed if we had any sense. The Heights.”
Felix stared off into the sunset. “Sod this, I’m using magic.” He took off his gloves and flexed his fingers, eyes closed.
“Is it safe?” asked Blaze. He touched a hand to his bruised throat, nervous. “I thought you said the warlock could detect magic.”
Felix opened his eyes. “You saw what the warlock’s range was. We should be all right here. They already know we’re following. I can’t see that finding out we’re magic-users will make things any worse. Now shut up and let me work.” He took a few steps, distancing himself, and closed his eyes again, searching.
Dea turned to Blaze. “If he says it’s safe, then it’s safe. I’m going to make some heat.” She took off her gloves too, and let a trickle of Flair flow to her fingertips. Soon the delicious spellcast warmth filled her up inside, moving from her gut down to her toes and to her hands, where flames danced merrily.
Blaze drew nearer. “Ah, that’s the stuff. First time I’ve been warm since we left the foothills.” He lit up his own Flair, playfully filling the snow around them with dancing flames that mimicked the real ones in Dea’s hands. It was the first real moment of relaxation they’d snatched since being released from the king’s dungeons, and to Dea it felt bittersweet, as though it might be the last. She pushed the thought aside as the sun set completely and the newborn night pressed in, kept at bay only by their magic.
Felix opened his eyes slowly, dropping his hands. He frowned when he saw what Dea and Blaze were up to. “I said I was using magic. I didn’t say light up the mountain like a bloody great beacon. Anyway, I’ve got it. They’re heading straight for the Heights. We’re leaving.”
Dea regretfully let the flames die out, and pulled on her gloves. She squeezed onto the sled with the others, arms tight around Felix, and sped down the slope and away into the blackness on the world’s most pointless fool’s quest ever.
~
They caught up with the prince at the foot of the Heights, where the rocks soared up to the sky itself, or so it seemed in the mid-winter night. The clear trail of trampled snow meant Felix hadn’t needed to use his tracking Flair at all after their brief stop, but the warlock was waiting for them regardless.
A half-ring of witch-fire enclosed a portion of the cliffs, giving the bow-wielding soldiers within a good view of any approach. The embers sparked green as they burned on bare snow, lighting the Heights eerily and shielding the prince and his bride as they climbed the sheer rock face.
The warlock stood within, behind the armed men, arms raised as he held the spell that fueled the flames. Beside her, Blaze stiffened, and Dea touched his hand reassuringly. “At the campsite, remember he dropped the shield to attack us? Strong as he is, I don’t think he can work two spells at the same time.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Blaze muttered, his face taut in the flickering green light.
“No, but there’s a good chance I’m right. And when has Felix ever led us wrong?”
“True.” Blaze still looked worried, but his shoulders relaxed a bit.
Felix drew within earshot. “I scouted the left flank. All the prince’s men are accounted for. Eight of them, including the warlock. The ninth is climbing the Heights behind the princess and the prince.” He narrowed his eyes. “We need to take out that warlock. Dea, can you control his fire?”
She reached for the Flair and felt out cautiously. “I think so. Partially. I can’t put it out, but I might be able to feed it higher.”
“What use is that?” asked Blaze.
“We can blind them,” said Felix. He grinned nastily. “The warlock can’t drop the spell, it’s protecting the prince. But I can pick off the prince’s men inside that circle. Do it, Dea.”
She fed the witch-fires as best as she could. Her magic joined the warlock’s, fueling it. Flames shot high into the night, the bright light making it almost impossible to see anything in the surrounding darkness. Felix’s bow twanged once only, his unerring seeker’s sense leading him true. There was no returning volley from the soldiers within.
“Damn!” Felix cursed.
Dea dropped the Flair, and the witch-fires dimmed back to their original size. “What happened?”
“The arrow stopped at the fire. It’s a barrier. That’s why they haven’t responded. We need to draw the soldiers out if we want to thin their ranks and get at that warlock.” Felix got up from his sheltered position behind a fallen tree, dusting snow from his knees. “Blaze, I need a distraction. Make them come to us. Dea, work the fires again. Blind every mother’s son of them so I can work.”
Blaze nodded sharply, but his face was full of doubt. “And if we feel the warlock do that thing again? That casting spell?”
Felix shrugged. “Run like hell. Reconvene at that small ravine.”
Blaze didn’t like it, Dea could tell by his expression. But he set his jaw and conjured up perfect copies of themselves. He sent them dancing out of the shadows to attack the half-circle. A moment later, after giving the grim-faced soldiers a brief glimpse of the Flair images, Dea fed the flames again, sending them higher, brighter, until the sky above swirled with green sparks and tendrils of fire. She felt the warlock’s magic shifting and she tensed, waiting for him to strike. But instead his fire barrier dimmed and moved, re-forming closer to the cliff and shutting out most of the prince’s men. Now there were only two on the inside with him.
She poured more Flair into the witch-fires. With no option but bravery, the five men on the outside of the half-circle dropped their bows and drew swords. They charged blindly, their night-vision temporarily ruined. But not everyone needed sight. Felix’s bow sang again and again, sending arrow after arrow hurtling into the group.
It was a slaughter. When Dea, exhausted from fighting the warlock for control of the flames, stumbled and let the fires dim, all five of the attackers lay dead. Felix reached out and caught her, his Flair-warm hand steady against her arm.
“Nice work,” he told them both, but his eyes were on Dea alone.
The witch-fires still held, now smaller and closer to the rocks, but still impenetrable. Above, Dea could see the prince leading the way, crawling up the Heights like an over-large spider. She squinted. “Look! Ropes. So that’s how the prince got a warlock into Irilia.”
A faint silvery network of rope led the way from ledge to perilous ledge. To her surprise, the princess climbed well, more at ease with the mountain than Dea would have thought possible for a soft palace-bred whelp.
Within his spellcast fire, the warlock waited. He must have used up an uncommon amount of magic, though, as Dea could see the barrier flickering unsteadily. Perhaps the interference from her own magic had weakened his. Felix put down his bow.
“Now!” he shouted.
Dea and Blaze gripped his hands to form a tight line. Felix led the chanting, as always, and Dea’s skin prickled as the three-way spell rose and dived like a falcon speeding in for the kill. The spell hit the witch-fires full-on and they faltered and faded out completely.
Blaze was ready. Before the warlock could re-form the barrier or attack, he threw his knife hard. It flew straight and true, burying itself to the hilt in the warlock’s throat. The man gave a cry and fell, twitching, to spread a dark stain in the snow. With their defenses down, the remaining soldiers ran for the Heights. Felix’s arrow caught one in the back. Dea’s own snared the other man’s leg as he began his ascent, and he crashed down heavily.
Felix walked up and kicked the warlock over. He was definitely dead, his throat a ragged ruin. Dea gave the body a troubled glance. “Too easy,” she muttered. “It shouldn’t have been this easy.”
“Who cares?” answered Felix, stooping to stab one of the soldiers. “He used up too much, too quickly. Left himself open to us. His bad luck. He’s out of our way, and we still have a cliff to climb.” But Dea couldn’t help looking at the dead man’s face as she passed. He didn’t look evil, or magical, or anything really. He was just a man like any other: a very, very dead man.
As they reached the rocks, the first of the ropes fell slickly to land in a heap on the frozen ground. Dea knelt and fingered the end. “Cut.” She eyed the steep cliff. “Figures. At least they didn’t wait for us to be halfway up, like I would have done.” She turned to Blaze. “Looks like you’ll get your wish after all. Ready to scale the Heights?”
“No,” Blaze grunted. “But I’m guessing we’re doing it anyway.”
“Hell, yes,” answered Felix. “That’s our bounty escaping over the top into Aramia. But not here. They chose the wrong path. Over there!”
His fingers danced as he felt out with the Flair, seeking the best route up. He led them some distance to one side and used the prince’s cut rope to tie them to each other, paring off the excess and leaving it behind. Then he cracked his knuckles and began to climb.
~
By the time they reached Prince Erik, the quarter moon had long since set and the night was at its coldest and bleakest. The prince led the way, followed by the princess and his sole remaining soldier. Dea’s hands were crusted with blood from a dozen scrapes, and cold without her gloves. Below her, Blaze had almost fallen several times, his size and weight a disadvantage when it came to sticking to a cliff side. If it hadn’t been for the rope linking all three, they would have lost him already.
Felix led them sideways, gaining fast on the straggling soldier who was trying both to watch his step and guard the rear. Felix stabbed him and the man lost his grip, giving a terrified scream as he dropped away into the black like a stone.
From above they heard the prince shout, “Parley! I request a parley.”
Dea reached for the Flair furiously. The prince could shove his stupid parley where the sun didn’t shine. She was tired beyond all reason, cold, hands cut to ribbons. She was going to burn this bastard off the Heights and take the princess back to her tyrant of a father. Then maybe she could finally have some peace.
But Felix murmured, “No. No, Dea, hold it. I want to see what he has to say.”
“A parley.” The prince’s sharp southern accent held a hint of desperation. “I want to speak with the royal warlocks.”
Princess Emilia’s voice drifted down, scathing. “They’re not warlocks. Just flairling outlaws. My father probably dredged them up out of a dungeon. They have no real power, not like Zarion. Who I assume is dead. Did you kill my warlock, flairlings?”
“Wait,” said Dea. “The warlock was yours? I thought he was the prince’s.”
Felix spoke up. “Look, I hate to interrupt this nice little chat, but if we’re going to parley, can we do it somewhere safer than clinging to a rock face? The Flair tells me there’s a large ledge further up, just a few minutes’ climb.”
“Very well,” answered the prince. “We meet at the ledge and talk. I declare a temporary truce. You may use our ropes.”
Felix chuckled. “Ah, yeah, thanks but no thanks. What’s to stop you cutting us loose? No, I’ll take my own route.”
Dea followed him, rope slack between them, matching her foot and handholds to the ones he used. The cruel wind that battered the cliff face threatened to rip her away and send her spinning to the ground, and she could barely feel her hands and exposed face. She let the tiniest trickle of Flair warm her freezing fingers and toes, and felt immediately better. Felix led the way as surely as though he were walking on solid earth, and soon they reached the meeting point.
The prince was just scrambling over the side. He hunkered down at one end of the ledge, sheltering the princess. Felix nodded. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”
Prince Erik gave them a measuring look. “Let me get this straight. You’re minor magic-users. You got thrown in prison, not just for illegal Flair, I’m guessing. You seem competent with weaponry. Petty criminals, then, or perhaps mercenaries? And then I come along and the king decides he would rather wage war on Lorshein than see his daughter happy. So he sends you three expendables out to recover her. Does this sound right so far?”
“I think that’s a pretty good summary,” replied Felix in his most agreeable voice, the one you should always watch out for.
Erik carried on. “I find myself in a certain predicament. I would like to make it over the top of the Heights in one piece with my wife.”
Dea blinked. Wait, did he just say wife? A secret wedding would explain the princess’ sudden urge to depart Irilian lands. Some diplomacy these southern princes liked to practice!
Erik’s voice turned softer, more persuasive. “If we battle on this gods-forsaken cliff there’s no way to end this prettily. Not if you wish to keep my bride safe. But why would you even want to serve a man who threw you in prison and then forced you out into the mountains to do his dirty work like dogs? Join me. In Lorshein you would be revered for your magic.”
“He has a point,” hissed Blaze. “We can’t trust the king. This is our chance. We’re almost over the Heights, we can get lost in Aramia.”
“Oh, and you think we can trust him?” said Dea. “Anyway, do the math. We hold the cards. It’s the prince against the three of us.”
Felix smiled. “Well then, perhaps we should even those odds. Emilia?”
Erik cried out and fell forward onto hands and knees. Dea stared uncomprehendingly as the princess bent and drew the knife from his back. She stabbed him again, leaning forward to drive the blade deep.
“Sorry, dear, but being shackled to you was never my intention.” She flipped him over with her booted foot and stabbed down again, leaving him wide-eyed and gasping, blood oozing blackly in the dark.
“You’ve served well,” she told Erik, “but I have no further need for you.” She fished a tight wad of papers from his coat and stuffed them into her bag along with his signet ring. His stricken gaze tracked her movements, though the rest of him lay quiet, chest barely heaving. The princess smiled. “I’ll emerge in Aramia with our marriage papers and a sad tale of my father’s cruelty. Your troops will grieve, but they’ll finish the job and take me to my new kingdom.” The prince made a gurgling sound, and she patted his cheek. “Oh, don’t worry. I have power enough to lead your people into war against Irilia.”
Dea realized she was gaping. Power? What power? She remembered the dead man below, and her suspicion that something was wrong. His failing, flickering magic, dimmed from exhaustion, she had thought. But it had all been too easy.
“You were the warlock all along,” she guessed. “The other one... the one with the cloak: a proxy?”
“That’s right,” Emilia answered. “An acolyte, quite devoted to me. All he had to do was go through the motions while I did the real spellwork.”
She stretched out a hand. Dea tensed, expecting magic, but instead Felix cut himself free from the rope that joined him to Dea and Blaze and calmly stepped over Erik to take it, leaning in to kiss her lips. He took his time before pulling away to look at the bleeding body beneath him. “Nice work, my love.”
“Nice work, yourself,” Emilia answered, smiling. “Neatly done, and all those pesky witnesses taken care of.” She glanced over at Dea and Blaze, eyes glittering in the starlight. “Well, almost.”
Felix stood beside Emilia, his face soft, eyes shining as he gazed at the princess. Gods. Dea felt as though all the breath had been sucked out of her. He’d never looked at her like that. She was hollow, bleeding out like the dying prince. All those lingering touches, the enigmatic staring. She’d allowed herself to hope too many times that maybe, just maybe, finally... But in the end...
“You’re with this woman, Felix?” she whispered, hardly daring to say it out loud. “How long have you been hers?” At her feet, Erik tried to say something but failed. His face was a twisted mask of agony, though Dea had no idea if the pain was physical or for Emilia’s treachery. Probably both.
“This ‘woman’, as you so politely put it, is the reason we’re alive,” he answered. “She convinced the king not to execute us, to throw us in the dungeons instead. Told him we might be useful someday.”
Dea glared at him. “So when she ran away, we were conveniently waiting in his stinking hole of a prison? I don’t buy it. We were arrested months before the prince arrived in Irilia. Unless—” she broke off, staring at Emilia. “You had this planned out a long time ago, didn’t you? Before you even met the prince?”
“Oh please, did you take me for an impulsive fool?” replied Emilia. “Of course I had it all planned out. Everyone knew the prince of Lorshein as a hotheaded idiot, ready to rush into love or battle. Making him fall for me was easy, especially after a little magical touch.” She gently brushed Felix’s lips with her fingers. “And I had months to prepare my secret weapon.”
Felix smirked at Dea. “Once the three of us were safely locked away, Emilia paid me a visit and made her proposal. We had plenty of time to set our plans. You’d be surprised how pleasant a prison stay can be with a sideline of lovemaking and intrigue to keep you busy.”
Blaze had been silent all this time. Now he shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why make a play for Lorshein? Why not wait for Irilia? There was so much that could go wrong. All you had to do was wait and inherit. You’re the king’s only child. There is no other heir.”
“The magic,” replied Emilia, nudging Erik’s blood-stained cheek with her foot. “My father has convinced the entire kingdom that magic is evil. He never suspected his daughter had powers. No one suspects. Do you really think the Irilians would willingly accept a warlock queen? No, this way I will take Lorshein first and mold it to my fist. When I’m ready, I’ll crush Irilia into acceptance. I just need to buy myself a little time.”
Dea looked down at Erik, now glassy-eyed, his life finally stilled. “Did he know?”
Emilia shook her head. “I had a role to play, the distressed lovebird. Magical powers didn’t quite fit in. Lorshein might revere a warlock, but the prince wouldn’t have willingly married one. Surely you as a woman know about playing a role? No? Well, I have one to teach you.”
She held out her hand, and at Dea’s side Blaze gasped and fell to his knees. It was the same spell Emilia had used earlier, back at the campsite. Dea tried to take hold of Blaze, but the spell caught her, too, toppling her to the rocky ground a hand-span away from the treacherous drop. She let go of Blaze and her breathing returned to normal.
“Felix! Make her stop!” she cried out.
But Felix simply watched, impassive. This was a Felix she didn’t know, one who could willingly stand by as his street brother suffered. The knife in Dea’s heart twisted further. Had she ever known Felix? At all? She’d always known he was a bastard. But she’d thought he was her bastard.
“Felix?”
His eyes met hers. She searched for a flicker of hope, for something, but he remained distant. “You know,” he said, “she’s really very good at this. Such fine control. She can hold him like that for a long time: not quite enough air to breathe, but not so little that he dies immediately. Like drowning very, very slowly.”
Dea turned to Emilia, instead. “Please! I beg you. Just stop.”
“Well, now. That depends,” said Emilia.
“On what?” asked Dea. She had tears in her eyes, and she didn’t know if they were of rage, or pity at Blaze’s suffering.
“On your cooperation, my dear girl.” Emilia closed her fist, and Blaze crumpled. “Oh, lighten up. He’s not dead, just unconscious. You want him to live, yes? So take your clothes off. All of it, go on. Even the undergarments. Do what I say, and I promise I won’t kill him.”
Felix rolled the dead prince off the side of the ledge and squatted next to Blaze. He pulled his knife out and set it at the big man’s throat. “Just do as she says, Dea. You’re halfway up a bloody cliff with a warlock. I don’t think you have any choice.”
Dea cut the rope that linked her to Blaze and began to undress. To her surprise, Emilia undressed, too. Then the princess held out her hand for Dea’s things. She kicked them over and took Emilia’s clothes in exchange, teeth chattering in the vicious cold. Once she was dressed, Emilia smiled. “You were right, Felix. She really does look quite like me. The coloring, the build... We just need to do something about the face.”
She made a slashing movement with her hand and Dea screamed as the pain hit her. When her vision cleared, her face felt raw and tender and her skin throbbed.
“Not so pretty anymore,” Emilia said. “But nicely unrecognizable. She’s almost ready. Here, girl, put this on.”
Dea took the heavy signet ring with the crest of Irilia, still warm from the princess’ skin, and slipped it on her middle finger. Anger warred with a thick, cloying fear. ‘I just need to buy myself time,’ the princess had said earlier. Dea looked down towards the indefinite haze of white that was the snow-covered ground. Somewhere below them, the shattered remains of Prince Erik awaited discovery by the King’s troops. She knew her part in this now, knew the role that Emilia wanted her to play. She had to buy herself time to figure out an escape.
“What about Blaze?” she asked. “Will you free him? You promised you wouldn’t kill him.”
Felix replied, “She promised not to kill him. I made no such promise. And I think you know the answer. You know we can’t free him. If the king catches him, well, torture will make any man sing. I’m sorry, Dea. I truly am.” But he didn’t look sorry as he heaved Blaze off the ledge and into the night.
As the rope still tied to Blaze’s waist slithered past, Dea stepped on it. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish. It was an instinctive move. She waited for a tug that never came. Felix eyed the rope and looked over the edge, puzzled.
“He’s stuck. Caught between a boulder and the cliff. Can’t you knock him loose?” he called out.
Emilia shrugged. “Leave him. He’s almost dead. He’ll die of exposure before the night is over. Anyway, I gave my word that I wouldn’t kill him.” She pointed at Dea. “This one’s turn. Shall I do it, or you?”
“I will,” answered Felix. “I might be many things, but I’m not a coward.” He moved closer to Dea and touched her cheek. A world of pain erupted from her ravaged face, making her stagger. “Yeah, sorry about that, too,” he said. “The drop would probably take care of it, but we had to be sure. Now the king’s men will find the prince and princess at the bottom of the Heights, and Irilia will mourn the failed romance while Lorshein prepares for war.”
He smiled that hard, sharp smile of his, and Dea wondered how she could have ever thought it handsome. “On the bright side, I did say you’d get to be a princess for a while.”
She knew the push was coming. She could almost feel the drop, the wind rushing by as she flailed uselessly. She looked him in the eyes one last time to fix the traitorous grin in memory, and she took a step back, over the edge.
As she fell, her fingers grabbed the end of Blaze’s rope, and she held tight. It happened so fast, she barely had time to wrap it once around her wrist. Then she was swinging back, crashing against the side of the rock. Her wrist wrenched, pain coursing down her arm, and she scrabbled desperately for a foothold, afraid she would lose her grip on the rope and plunge into the void.
Above her, she heard Blaze moan as the rope pulled tight against him. She found her footing and wound her uninjured arm around the rope instead. She climbed up awkwardly until she reached the boulder and her eyes met Blaze’s.
“You’re alive!” She clung to the boulder, sniffling as unwanted tears slid down her cheeks.
“Dea.” He gave her a faint smile, almost too far gone to notice his surroundings. “You came. It’s been days. I waited.”
“Damn it, Blaze. Don’t die on me.” But she knew it was no use. Whatever Emilia had done to him, he was beyond salvage. Above, she heard snatches of voices in the lull between one gust of wind and another. Felix would come for her, she knew that. He couldn’t risk her escaping. Or Emilia would finish her off. She had seconds, minutes at the most.
Blaze looked at her with one sudden moment of clarity. “I’m dying, Dee-Dee,” he whispered. “Here, take it.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but she clasped his hand with her sprained one, the pain matching the ache in her heart. A jolt went through her, a lance of pure energy. And then Blaze’s eyes went blank, all at once. But she could still feel him inside. No, not him, but something of his. She reached out with the Flair and found it, that tenuous thread of otherness. Blaze had given her his magic.
The unmistakable feel of warlock power gathering momentum came from above. Dea knew what she had to do. She kissed Blaze on the forehead and pulled him free from the boulder with one mighty heave that almost sent her down with him. As his dead body fell, she covered him in his own glamour. She huddled against the rocks and waited for discovery, for that awful, crushing warlock power to find her.
But it never came. She imagined Felix and Emilia looking over the ledge, watching Blaze drop but seeing Dea instead, all slight body, fluttering cloak, and waving arms, just as she was painting it with Blaze’s gifted Flair. It had worked.
After a while, the voices faded away. The two conspirators must be scaling the Heights once more, heading for Aramia and Prince Erik’s awaiting troops. Dea climbed back up to the ledge, shaking. She kept seeing Blaze’s still form tumbling away into nothingness. She drew a deep, shuddering breath and then forced herself to lock her feelings away. There would be time to grieve. Now, there were decisions to make.
She could never return to Irilia. Even if she made it on her own, the king would never believe her. She could wait until morning, continue over the Heights, and lose herself in Aramia. That was the best plan. But then she remembered Blaze’s look of terror when Emilia had attacked him, and touched a finger to her own raw cheek. Her sorrow ebbed, replaced by a scalding fury as hot as the Flair fire that burned inside her. No. Survival was not enough. She wanted so much more. She wanted revenge.
Dea bound her injured wrist in cloth torn from the cloak she wore. She began once again to climb. She soon found that if she heated the rock at her fingertips, she could carve out better handholds for herself. She began climbing faster, anger fueling her speed. The top of the Heights came into view, and she realized it was almost morning.
Silhouetted against the lightening sky, she saw Emilia reach safety. Felix was just beneath her, and as Dea doubled her efforts he swung his body over the final ridge, one leg up and the other still dangling. Dea hardened her heart. This wasn’t her Felix, not anymore, if he ever had been. This was Blaze’s killer, and her would-be killer, too. She stretched up and grabbed his ankle, pouring her Flair into his skin until it blistered and bubbled and he screamed wordlessly. He reared up, losing his grip, and fell. Emilia reached out with her magic and caught him in a giant invisible fist.
But as soon as Felix began to tumble, Dea left him and continued her climb. Now she pulled herself over the last of the rocks and onto the flat top of the immense cliff. She faced Emilia.
“Give up, warlock. You can’t save him and fight me.” Dea was almost too tired to talk, but rage kept her moving. She didn’t wait for a reply. She attacked, streaming fire at the princess.
Emilia dropped Felix to shield herself. There was a yelp from over the side of the Heights, and then Felix’s voice rang out, “I’m fine. Leave me.” Emilia smiled then, a cruel, cold smile, and Dea felt the death spell descending on her. But she kept the stream of fire steady, and Emilia had to drop the spell momentarily to once again shield herself. The princess smiled again, but a wary smile, less assured.
“You’re good. I’ll give you that. You’re still going to die.” Emilia threw the death spell at her again, but it was different this time. Instead of pulling the air from Dea’s lungs as before, the warlock enclosed her in a bubble of magic, thinning the air inside until there was barely enough to breathe, and none to light fires with, even magical ones.
Dea was lightheaded. She pulled upon Blaze’s Flair and did the only thing she could think of. She cast a perfect image of Felix, at the edge of the Heights. That triumphant grin, the cocky pose, the smile — oh gods, the smile. And then, just as she was blacking out, she toppled her illusion off the cliff.
Emilia shrieked and dropped the spell, lunging for the imaginary Felix. Dea summoned the last of her fury and hit her with all she had left. The princess went up in one glorious tower of flames and fell over the edge with sudden finality. Dea crawled over and watched her, a blazing speck that grew smaller and smaller until it winked out of sight.
Felix chose that moment to roll over the edge and onto the top of the Heights. His burnt leg smelled horrible, like charred meat left too long on the cook-spit. He tried to stand, failed, sat heavily. They stared at each other in silence. Felix was the first to break it.
“So you killed her.”
“I hope so.” There was no more venom left in the words. Dea was too tired for that. Her voice was flat, empty. “You killed Blaze.”
“I had to.” Felix’s voice was just as flat.
There was another moment of silence. It was oddly peaceful here, at the top of the world. Above her, the sky was swirled through with pinks and lilacs. Somewhere, a bird called out. She didn’t want to think about Felix. She didn’t want to have to face him. Every inch of her ached: body, heart, and soul. She longed to just lie down and close her eyes. She had to force herself to look at him when he once again shattered the quiet.
“Come away with me, Dea. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of all of it. We can make a life for ourselves in Aramia. Just you and I.”
Dea blinked tears away. She would have liked to hear him say that, once. Once, she had treasured each touch upon her skin, each unreadable glance. Had it really been less than a day since then? Since she’d had secret hopes for herself, for Felix? It felt like a lifetime ago.
But he hadn’t just betrayed her, he’d betrayed Blaze, too. That, she could not forgive. Blaze was gone: his easy smile, his gentle ways. The flickering embers of her anger returned, breaking through the apathy, the exhaustion. Dea forced herself to her feet. She took a step toward Felix. “Shame about the Dale Ridge job. That was a masterpiece. We’d have been legends.”
Felix tilted his head to one side, watching her.
“I figured it out, you know,” she said, taking another step. “When Emilia risked everything, let me go to save you. That’s when it finally clicked. She loved you, really loved you. And you loved her back. This wasn’t just some jailbird tryst, a convenient crossing of paths. You’ve been planning this a lot longer than she admitted. How long have you been lovers? The Dale Ridge job was a set-up, wasn’t it?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not tell me everything, down there, on the ledge? Was I your backup plan? In case things went wrong? I don’t want to be anyone’s backup, Felix.”
She moved again, one step closer. Felix stared at her wide-eyed, suddenly frightened. He reached for his knife. Dea reached for the Flair. She knew her fire was dimmed, her own magic overextended. Instead, she felt for Blaze’s magic. This was a softer skill, a gentler one. It didn’t need a towering fury to power it. But it could be just as deadly.
Dea poured out illusions of flame, creating a wash of fire that spread quickly from her feet to Felix’s. Startled, perhaps remembering the pain when she’d first burnt his leg, he dropped the knife. Dea darted in, kicked it away, took it for herself even as Felix realized he’d been tricked.
And then, before Felix could speak again, before the weariness claimed her completely, before she had time for second thoughts or regrets, she slit his throat in one fluid move.
She lay down beside him as his life flowed away, and felt for his hand. There was salt on her cheeks, the scent of her tears mingling with the tang of blood in the air. He twitched, once.
“You told me I could be a princess, but we could have been kings, all three of us,” she whispered. “You, me, and Blaze. We were kings. It was a street kingdom and a broken sort of life, but it was our life and we ruled it. You took that from us the minute you betrayed us at Dale Ridge. You took it all. And now I’m taking everything from you.”
Dea felt with her mind for Felix’s magic, for that trickle of power she’d sensed in Blaze, and then she pulled. Somehow, she found that thread and tugged on it, and Felix’s Flair came away and joined hers and Blaze’s within her.
She woke up hours later under the bright mountain sun, back aching from the hard rock and hair sticky with Felix’s blood. He stared up, sightless, already stiffening. She rolled him over and over to the edge of the cliff and pushed him off to join the others. “For Blaze,” she whispered, watching him until he disappeared from sight.
She wiped her eyes and looked around. There on the Heights, her whole life lay spread out before her. To one side her former home, along with a trail of dead bodies and the executioner’s axe. To the other, Aramia and the promise of freedom. In the neighboring kingdom, the Heights weren’t as steep, and goat tracks danced away over earth and rocks to join the pinewoods below. A falcon flew lazily over the treetops, and the snow sparkled like gemstones under a clear blue sky.
There was a third choice, however. Dea looked down at the clothes she wore, torn and stained but still finer than anything she’d ever owned. She stooped to pick up Emilia’s bag, discarded in their confrontation. Inside lay the marriage papers and Prince Erik’s signet ring. And Felix’s Flair told her the prince’s troops were waiting in the pinewoods to take their liege lord home with his new bride.
Dea slung the bag over her shoulder, papers crackling inside. She had a kingdom to claim. She turned her back on Irilia and began the long walk down.
Juliana Spink Mills Biography
Juliana Spink Mills was born in London, England, but moved to São Paulo, Brazil at the age of eight. Now living in Connecticut, USA, she writes fantasy and science fiction. Heart Blade is her debut novel. Grab it HERE!