Page 157 of A Dagger of Ice and Intrigue
But it had been the only way to sever my people from the Northern Clans without sparring a single life.
Without war destroying us all.
And I carried that shameful burden every waking moment.
For the first time, a genuine flash of surprise dared to cross Beren’s face, followed by ugly glee. “You don’t know.”
I sensed the danger in the air. “Know what?”
“My dear nephew.” Beren’s smirk grew and sharpened, like he was getting ready to sink his fangs into me.
He stepped forward, as if drawn by my surprise and apprehension and feeding off them.
“Your precious crater is bleeding dry.”
His glee turned monstrous, grin stretching his face.
“We’re not getting our share.”
His eyes turned into voids darker than the Warden’s.
“And I heardsomesay the problem started when that Huntress of yours arrived.”
Chapter
Thirty-Two
ALLIE
The forest was alive and loud.
The line of people delved deeper within in a slow wave, their otherworldly chant gliding between the tall pines as their candles lit up the night. For the briefest moment, I felt like I was back in the Aquila cathedral, but instead of the tall murals of mighty gods flanking me on all sides, I was surrounded by trees older than our measly buildings, the smell of sap burning through my senses.
The people in Malhaven had spent decades–centuries–building our temples to prove our devotion and might, cracking the earth for rocks and precious metals, carving its forests for our ships to set sail to other realms where we could do the same.
Against nature, humans, magical or not, were all just violent, loud flashes, extinguishing in a blink against true wonders.
The only other times when I’d felt as humbled as walking through this ancient forest was when I stared at the stars and sea from my balcony in Aquila. The ocean didn’t care about ourpetty mortal struggles and fights, when it could silence us with one wave, like a flick of the hand when a fly comes too close.
The stars cared even less, gazing down as cold, silent witnesses to all our fiery emotions before we faded. They didn’t intervene for ruined kings and desperate widows, what could they do for a girl with a cracked pride searching for her purpose?
Now, though, they couldn’t see me, not when the canopy was so thick, there was only a glimmer of the sky and moon washing down upon us.
The melting wax smelled almost metallic, leaving small drops of red along the snowy road. Like blood from a kill still running away from its inevitable death. But the song was so peaceful, warming the night and my chest.
It sounded sorrowful, like the ballads of old, sung by the sailor’s wives for their safe return, filled with longing, yes, but also hope.
The entire procession had the veil of ceremony, ancient and secret, at the border between sacred and profane.
I followed them, standing a few feet behind, feeling like the biggest intruder. Each time my boot crunched a frozen branch on the ground, I winced, as if I was disturbing this ritual.
But my curiosity was stronger than any trepidation.
Sylvester flitted from tree to tree, my silent, snobby companion, completely unbothered. Who knew how many of these processions he’d witnessed.
Dozens of people walked ahead of me, children spread out between them and held onto tightly. A hint of solemn danger lingered in the air, but nothing too bad could happen with younglings present…right?
I knew all of them were aware I was following from a respectful distance; they’d turned around and stared too much not to. But they didn’t shy away, didn’t pick up the pace, didn’t shoo me off for intruding.
