Elzira

Ten years later…

 

I should go to greet them.

Or send Cavon and the Eyes of the White to cut off all their heads.

Unfortunately, I do neither.

Let them come.

Let him come.

When Father and Plyrienne were killed on their travels by nomads, our kingdom was an immediate target. The moment word arrived of their deaths, I was crowned quickly and quietly. Overnight I went from frightened girl to ruling queen. I was no longer a sister to little Yanna, but instead, I became a mother. And just like the white Norta bears, I became fiercely protective over my sister. Claws I didn’t know existed grew and I used them. At fifteen, I sent our army after those nomads to kill them. I had my historians map out their lineage and had each family member of those nomads slaughtered. Generations and generations were wiped out in a matter of days.

When I killed those who harmed my family, I killed the girl inside me. There was no room for her and a queen.

I sit at the window, high in my tower, and watch the Volcs as they march effortlessly through the snow. Black lines cutting through white plains. It pleases my eyes. The longer I remain in this cold castle, the more I crave for visual delights. I’m worried I’m losing my mind to the madness like that of The Damned, because my heart thumps harder and faster in my chest knowing they’re coming. They’ve marched past my army and haven’t shed blood, which means they’re coming to speak to me, not start a war.

Tapping my fingers on the stone ledge, I revel in the sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. And tap.

My constant tapping keeps the blood flowing to my fingers. So often they’re numb and an awful blue in color. I crave to wear my gloves, but Yanna says it’ll only worsen my condition. If I don’t let my fingers move, they’ll freeze and fall off.

Will I become one of them?

No.

I am The Punisher of The Damned.

I am not one of them.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. And tap.

Focusing on the perfect V cutting through the snow, I wonder what it is King Bloodsun is coming to speak about. His kingdom, the Souta Volcanoes, is warm and vast. The power of the Souta matches only that of my own kingdom.

Why are you here, King Bloodsun?

His eight black steeds pull his chariot that flames with torches effortlessly through the snow. As he grows nearer, I catch a glimpse of the man himself. The king. He wears a black cape that flaps in the wind behind him and he cracks a whip, keeping his steed charging along at a breakneck speed.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. And tap.

Warmth chases the constant chill away as Yanna stands behind me. Her fingers run through my hair in an affectionate way as she peers out the window.

“King Bloodsun,” she says breathlessly. “Is he coming to harm us?”

I turn, taking her warm hand into my cold ones, and give her a reassuring squeeze. “You know I will never let anyone hurt you, sweet sister.”

She kisses my cheek before pulling away. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Returning to my position, I continue tapping away.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. And tap.

“Your non-answer tells me the answer is no. Why must you starve yourself?” she admonishes. “I swear, if it weren’t for me, you’d wither away and die.”

Guilt swells up inside me. “I lost track of time.” I’ve been watching for hours as the Volcs came into view as far as my eye could see. I have watched their every move toward us.

Yanna leaves the room and returns with a tray filled with treats and tea. The steam coming from the white teacup draws my attention and keeps it. Despite the Volcs marching furiously toward us, the farsop tea calls to me. Bitter but hot. Yanna sweetens it for me, though. She always sees to it that I take care of myself. I’m too much like my father. Obsessed on the demise of those who intend on hurting us. To the point it consumes my every thought.

My sister arranges the items on the tray in a way that pleases me. I have particular obsessions. One being that I like items placed a certain way. I like order and routine and neatness. She aligns the four pastries in a single row beside the farsop tea. A sprig of jazzyroot sits beside the teacup. Also straight.

“You need something in your stomach before you meet with this wretched man,” she complains as she sits the tray on the ledge in front of me.

“How do you know he’s wretched?” I ask with a lifted brow.

She pulls a silly face at me, making me smile. Her lips are full and red to my pale blue ones. Somehow her coloring remains a soft brown despite never seeing the sun. Mine is as white as the snow and tinged in blue. And her hair is dark, silky, and vibrant. My tresses are silvery white with streaks of blue that I often try to hide by rubbing gray ash along the streaks.

We are two opposites.

I am cold and she is warmth.

But we are sisters. Bound by blood and love and friendship.

“I assume he’s wretched because everyone besides us is.” She smiles at me. “I dare you to argue.”

A small laugh escapes me as I take the hot tea into my hands. It makes my fingertips sting as they begin to thaw. “I suppose you’re right. They’re all wretched. However, we’ll still entertain the king. See what it is he comes all this way for.”

Her nose scrunches in a cute way that reminds me of when she was just eight. Now, she’s eighteen and all grown up. “I am worried,” Yanna says, frowning. “We were doing fine without him showing up. What could he possibly want?”

“My head,” I tease.

Her mouth pops open in horror and I feel chastised. “Elzira!”

“I do not know what he wants,” I admit. “But no sense in fretting over it.” I sip my tea and wince. Always so bitter.

She smiles at me as she picks up the jazzyroot sprig. Gently, she stirs the tea, darkening it with the sprig. When I bring it to my lips, it tastes sweet. It goes down the hatch much easier this time.

A rap on the door has me straightening my spine and setting down my teacup. I rise on shaky legs, searching for my crown. Dizziness swarms around me, blackness eating at my vision, but I blink it away. Yanna worries when I show signs of worsening. I refuse to worry her when we have the King of the Souta Volcanoes charging to our doorstep.

One of my many crowns sits near the hearth of my fireplace. It’s long since been devoid of fire. Inside, no matter how many times I have someone from my staff crawl up the chimney to clean it out, sichee spores continue to grow. The spores, when touched by fire, hatch eggs and produce sichee crawlers. My sister is deathly allergic to the sichee crawlers. Fire is forbidden in the castle for this reason. Those who prepare the meals cook deep below the castle so my sister doesn’t come in contact with the sichee crawlers.

I pick up my crown and wonder if it’s severe looking enough. It is tall and sharp. I wish I could make it more impressive. To add more pieces. Before my illness started draining the life from me, I discovered my gift. Father was right. I had to trust in it. Sadly, it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Another urgent rap on the door has me frowning. I am not to be bothered. Everyone knows this. I place the crown on my head and make sure it’s seated nicely before calling out.

“Enter,” I order.

The door opens and a white-clothed figure walks in. His diamondblade glints dangerously in his hand. This man looks like every other soldier of the Eyes of the White. It’s his eyes behind his mask that give him away, though.

Bright green.

Cavon.

“My queen,” he rumbles in greeting. “Princess.” He nods at us both respectively.

“What is it?” I demand.

“The Volcs are upon us. Give us the word and we will slay them, your highness.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I shake my head. “If King Bloodsun wished harm, there would be blood on our land. He comes in peace. I will speak to him.”

Cavon’s eyes narrow behind his white mask. “Of course, my queen.”

Yanna rushes over to him and grips his arm. “How much longer?”

The fear in her voice nearly has me giving the order to slaughter them all. Barely, I refrain.

“Minutes now, Princess,” Cavon says, his voice gruff.

I give him a dismissive nod. “Prepare the dining room. Come get me when they are settled.”

Cavon remains for a long second before giving me a clipped nod and rushing from the room. Yanna frowns at me.

“I don’t like this,” she hisses. “Inviting them into our home.”

“Noted, sister. Now help me dress so I may greet the king properly.”