Page 2 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
There was magic in the world, once.
When, long ago, the Fey had shut the borders to their world and disappeared from the mortal lands, the dwarves rounded up any artefacts they’d left behind and brought them under the mountains for safekeeping. It made sense, as dwarves were immune to almost all types of magic. It neither harmed nor healed them. Or so Onyx said.
She stepped into the chamber. There were a few valuables stacked inside, bags of jewels and gold, ornate armour, a couple of chalices. But the piece she wanted took centre stage. A glittering necklace with a white gem at the centre, shining iridescently in the faint light. A curse-revealer. The stone turned black if the wearer was under one.
Even in a land with little magic, many a paranoid noble would pay handsomely for such a treasure, and even those that didn’t know its true value would be seduced by the beauty of the jewel. The other loot paled in comparison.
Eirwen did a final check for any traps, stuffed her bags with a few handfuls of the other treasure, and went to lift it from its pedestal.
A thin shadow cut across her, sharp and silent. She wheeled around, drawing her blade. A tall figure in a dark cloak darted towards her. Human, by his size and stature, and alone. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
A blade met hers, pushing her back a pace. He was strong, stronger than her, but then most of her opponents were. She slipped out of his reach, his swipes meeting only air. Stronger, he was, but not faster.
She kicked over one of the bags of gold, forcing him to slide in another direction, narrowly missing his middle with the tip of her blade. He was well taught, better than most common bandits. His swordplay matched hers.
If she could snatch up the necklace and delay him with a swift kick, she could probably trap him. It would have to be a good kick to incapacitate him for long enough.
He swiped at her ankles, but she vaulted out of the way, sliding over a tabletop and snatching up the necklace. She slipped it around her wrist in two quick flicks.
“No!” the man yelled.
They had the same target. Definitely not a common bandit.
“Sorry,” said Eirwen, “but ladies first.”
She caught a hint of a smirk under his hood. “Usually, I’d agree,” he said, making another lunge, “but not with this.”
She let his sword slide all the way to the hilt of hers, grabbed the blade with the padded palm of her left hand, and twisted the hilt with her right. His grip loosened and she wrenched the weapon away from him, flinging it behind her. She pressed forward with her own, until her opponent was backed against the wall with her blade to his throat.
He gave a short gasp. “Snow?”
Eirwen stilled. There was only one person in the world who had ever called that, and he was one person that absolutely couldn’t know she was alive. She opened her mouth to lie, to say he must be mistaken, but her hesitation had revealed everything.
He took down his hood.
Taller now than the boy she’d known when she fled the castle almost five years ago. He was at least nineteen. Paler, too, the years in the cold climate finally sucking the golden, olive lustre from his skin. His hair was still dark, though not quite reaching the ink-black depth of hers. His features were sharper, more chiselled, handsome in a way she never truly recognised as a child. His eyes, though, his eyes were utterly unchanged, dark as peat, fathomless. The kind the ladies at court had said they could get lost in.
Not her, though. Never her.
“Cole,” she breathed.
A smile twitched in the corner of his lips. “Is it... is it really you?”
“Surprised to see me alive?”
“I would say so, yes.”
“Here to finish the job?”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play me for a fool. Your mother tried to have me killed.”
He snorted. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“About threats on my life? Usually am.”
“I... no. No, Mother would never do that. She... she had a huge funeral for you.”
