“That’s right,” Einhen said. “We traveled in it ourselves. There are sometimes entire nights without—”
“How will the fire move in the cold without us?” Mother asked, sensing the direction in which I was taking our group. “Does our element no longer require us to control its destructive powers?”
“But it really doesn’t, you know,” I said. “It never did. Fire has a mind of its own. You saw what it just did to that lean-to. I didn’t command that.”
Mother’s face shifted into such a glower that she resembled a woman of wintry lineage. “You’re not suggesting that we abandon our flames in the city to do what they will?”
“Some ice dragons will stay, certainly, and fight,” I confessed, “but you know that ice dragons are by and large creatures of comfort, creatures of leisure. Many of them will abandon the fiery city for the Obran peninsula. And those who stay—well—for what do they stay? For the charred shell of a once great city?”
“And to what do we return?” Mother shrilled.
“To what do we return now?” I shouted back. “Is there any return for us at all without sacrifice? You said it yourself. What purpose is a perfection we cannot touch? Start small, you said. All we need is somewhere to start. A place to rebuild. And the island can be ours again!”
“You are talking about the destruction of the centuries. You are talking about the forfeit of our history, Theon. The sacrifice of our traditions.”
“You are talking about the past, which is gone,” I retorted, “and the future, which is made of air. I am the only one of us still talking about now. Today. Tonight.”
Theon
Per my agreement with Parnassia—whatever “agreement” a man can ever come to with a harpy, anyway—she and her companions traveled through the portal over Everwinter to join us on the ogres’ beach. Only three of them could come, as I had broken the wing of the other auburn bird some time ago. It didn’t seem that long ago… and at the same time, it seemed like another life. In those days, my biggest concern had been winning Penelope O’Hara’s heart. I hadn’t even understood the attacks of the winged women, much less the condition of my homeland. To think, whilst I had been wrapping my arms around Nell, tilting her face up to mine, my family had been shunted off to a shelter, sealed beneath inches of ice and snow.
And now…
Now Penelope O’Hara was my wife. The future queen. And a slave in my former palace, laboring directly beneath her own former best friend. My mother was the last of the family to remain. My younger brother had been missing and likely dead for at least a month. My father… beheaded on the very steps of the castle where he had raised us.
As the three shadows of harpies approached in the sky, and my mother cast a glance in my direction. She had acquiesced to my plot, particularly because I was technically the new king of The Hearthlands, and deep down, she knew that. Deep down, she also wanted to trust me, I was sure. I was her own son, after all.
“Business with harpies is never good business, son.”
“That’s fine. I do not employ their services for good,” I answered her.
“But they always want something in return,” she went on. I glanced at her with sympathy. This war had changed her; it had made the strong and brave woman who had raised Altair and I into a former queen who only was willing to cower. But I supposed war had changed us all. I had lost my gentle touch, perhaps forever. I regretted the easy trust I had bestowed on acquaintances, even on ice dragons themselves. “What will they take from us?” Mother breathed.
“They want nothing from us because we want the same thing; it’s a collaboration, not an exchange,” I reminded her. “We both want revenge.” The word felt heavy, twisted, and satisfying in my mouth. “We both want the ice dragons ousted from the territory.”
Mother’s eyes were cloudy; she clearly had more to say, but could not, as the harpies were too near. All three women were massive: Parnassia, the auburn and chestnut, mottled creature, muscular and trim as a field hand; the coal-black, sleek one, whose body was cut into narrow lines, with almost no breasts or hips of which to speak; and the snowy white one, whose figure was round, both soft and strong, like a farmer’s wife. All women had deceptively beautiful faces: arched cheekbones, full lips, and large, black eyes. There was something missing from them, though: that element of humanity even some ice dragons possessed. Some.
“Theon,” Parnassia greeted sharply. “And Lady Aena.” Her head slightly bowed. “These are my sisters of Thundercliff. Ispa, the black-hearted. She was born without remorse.” The raven-looking one bowed slightly. The women were not used to showing respect to anyone or anything. That much was obvious. “And Keke, eater of the wicked and thief of their children.” The dove-looking one bowed slightly, her pretty face hard and unshifting. “Though we all exist to punish the wicked.”