We moved into the foyer. The central chandelier had crashed to the floor and shattered, now it was little more than twisted, golden sculpture. Muddy footprints tracked up and down the carpeted castle stairwell. And, naturally, the odor of smoke clung to everything. What a mess.
Still. Altair was alive. Penelope was my wife. And the shadow which had sought to guide the crown of ice—Vulott Eraeus—was forever vanquished now.
“I wish we’d had more time to talk about our families before being thrust into all this,” Nell said softly to me. “I was so sure that I had heard mention of Altair’s name somewhere before, but you never told me that he was your brother. I didn’t know who he was until Altair’s girlfriend told me that he was a fire prince.”
I gaped at this. Altair had never been much the type for commitment. At times it seemed even fortuitous for him that we were lacking in fire dragonesses. “You have a girlfriend?”
Altair’s cheeks flushed. His grin was part boyish, part sheepish. “Technically,” he said, “I have a fiancée.”
How was it possible that so much had changed, so quickly? From a peaceful countryside to a blizzard-choked, war-torn country, and then… this. Charred and trembling, but alive. Our father was gone… but I had Nell. And Altair had… A fiancée? As if the upheaval of our land had also been necessary for undergrowth to flourish.
But how had he met her? Where? And when? During all of this time, when had he had the opportunity to meet an eligible fire maiden? I frowned, confused. Where did such a creature even exist?
“Altair,” I said, “have you met… an older dragoness?”
Altair grinned and swept open the throne room door for me, bowing so that Nell and I could enter. Lethe followed behind us. “Not exactly,” Altair said.
There in the throne room—untouched by the fire—Mother sat before a host of fire dragons, the entirety of the camp we had brought from the ogres’ beach. At the side of the throne was a young woman wearing manacles. She had the porcelain skin characteristic of ice people, and long, thick auburn hair… and a resolute pout.
“Mother!” Altair cried, springing forward. I had expected his tone to be ragged with relief and gratitude, as mine had been the first time I’d seen Mother and affirmed that she was alive and well. But his was almost a reproof. Regardless, Mother seemed to not notice the tone, and stood from the throne, advancing down its aisle, and embraced him. The exchange was over almost the instant it had begun, as Altair pulled away. “You can’t—You have to let her out of those chains, Mother; by the gods, this is humiliating. Merulina—I’m so, so sorry.”
Mother glared at him, even as she advanced to impart her hug of welcome onto me, and Altair sprinted the remainder of the aisle to where the ice dragoness—Merulina—was stationed. According to his body language, they were quite intimate. He touched her face, and she panned her eyes readily to track him as he lowered and kissed her lips… Oh. That was why there had been no older fire dragoness. He had, ahem, befriended one of the insurgents. An ice woman.
My brow furrowed.
But it was nothing compared to Mother. Her jaw dropped. “Altair! That woman—She’s a prisoner! She refused to vacate the castle, even when all her people had abandoned it, and all that remained were the rightful heirs of this land. Even then, she would not relent. She must be punished for such insolence, if only to be made an example.”
Altair grimaced and gave her a grim look. “Merulina stayed because she is to be my bride.”
Mother’s cheeks fumed. “What?”
“This castle is just as much hers as it is Penelope’s. She will be a rightful heiress of this land, too, in time.”
Although Merulina’s expression had been chilly and somewhat bitter when it was turned toward the fire people—who had, admittedly, chained her up—it was soft and open, nearly shining with admiration, when Altair spoke.
“This is ridiculous,” Mother insisted. “We cannot begin anew by integrating the vipers who tore asunder our—our—and just what the hell is this?” She gestured to Lethe. “You’ve brought with you the imposter king of the ice people, too? Into this very throne room? Have you gone mad, the three of you?”
Nell squeezed my hand once and stepped forward. “If I may be so bold,” she began, “the reason that Lethe has returned to the palace with us is not that he considers this to be his home, per se, but—”
Her eyes shifted to Lethe himself, and he stepped forward to take the helm.
“To express my most sincere apologies at having been compliant in the move to appropriate this city for the uses of the ice dragons,” he said. “I don’t expect that you will forgive me with ease, or with speed, but I do wish for you to know that my father—as he encouraged my people to always be—was stern, and cold, and narrow-minded, and single-minded. He was tutored beneath my grandfather Bram, and absorbed all his teachings too well. And I… my father found to be lamentably soft by comparison.” Lethe grimaced. “He would take this land at any cost. It was his life’s ambition. But I would like you to know that I have, perhaps not greater ambitions, but better ambitions, for myself.”