Chapter Text
Mordichai raised and lowered his wings for perhaps the thirteenth time. His associates were late, and while this wouldn’t normally be a thing he was concerned about, he had a specific place he had to be at a specific time. He had already paid the entry fee for the competition (which, honestly, was bullshit because the Goddess Ariadne did not need money) and had booked a room at the local Inn just so he could be at the Chartres labyrinth gate the moment the contest began.
He looked around the dreary area they had decided to meet at. It was a crossroads, around him stood massive pillars of stone with intricate knots carved into them. The altar at the center was stained from a millennia of blood sacrifices to access the powers of the stones.
Now it wasn’t so complicated, druids had unlocked the magic code decades ago and now a few simple words opened the portal.
But Mordichai would be bleeding his associates dry if they caused him to be late. He stretched his wings as he walked around, inspecting the stones and the carvings. It was some sort of fey language, which he couldn’t read. He tilted his head, frowning at the inscriptions, when he heard footsteps behind him. With a grunt he turned around.
The two demons approaching him were satrys; their faces were somewhere between a goat a man, both had ram horns and goat-like ears, and long legs with hooves and fur. Normally shirtless they were dressed in dark clothes today, and one carried a satchel and a scroll.
“Finally,” Mordicahi sighed.
Teak rolled his yellow eyes at the large alpha demon. Mordichai was big, even for a Shadow demon. His black, ram-like horns gleamed in the moonlight and his long, white hair shined. “Are you always so impatient?”
His brother, Ruthen, nodded. “He is. Temperamental demon.”
He showed his teeth before gesturing to the crossroads. “Explain to me why I’m here again?”
“To Trace is out,” Teak explained as he unrolled the scroll and started to look it over.
“You’re sure it’s not warded?” He asked skeptically.
“Not against Shadow demons,” Ruthen supplied.
Mordichai frowned. “Wait. Where are we going? You said it was a Fey realm?”
“We are going… adjacent to the fey realm,” Teak said. “To the Frozen Lands. Specifically the Castle Ironborn.”
Mordichai’s wings tensed. The Frozen Lands shared a border with the Shadow Realm, hence why he could trace them out, as he was from there originally. But he couldn’t trace into places he had never been, and he certainly had never been inside the fucking Castle Ironborn, home of King Aaliern and his many mistresses and children. The king was known for his brutality and secrecy, having sired dozens of heirs but never appointing one, and ruled over his people with an iron fist.
I should have asked for more details earlier, he realized. But the pay was too good to turn down. “What are we stealing? Is it worth our heads?”
“They won’t be able to track us,” Ruthen said with a laugh. “Fey are horrible hunters, even those as ruthless as the dark fey! And once we trace out, they won’t be able to follow. Shadow demons have a special trace that doesn’t allow anyone to track them.”
Yes, being a Shadow demon he knew this. “So you’re saying that you can’t do this without me?”
Teak frowned at him. “The price was agreed upon, demon. No negotiations.”
He grunted. “Let me ask again: what are we stealing?”
Ruthen’s grin was devilish. “Why, the Winter Crown, of course.”
Mordichai’s brain scrambled. It would be almost solstice in realms of the winter fey, and the Winter King would visit his kingdoms for gifts and to spread magic and share harvest. Each solstice a crown was made and presented to the Winter King, and this year it must be the Frozen Land’s honor.
“Why?” Was all he could ask, because he had never heard of anything so insane.
Teak shrugged. “We were hired. Does it really matter?”
He guessed not. “How are you planning on getting into the palace?”
Teak tapped the scroll. “I know a guy who knows a guy who got me the coordinates for the treasure room. The crossroads can get us in, but it’s warded against everything except… you.”
If he gave a shit about dark fey/Shadow demon relations he might be more concerned about being involved, but the two factions had been taking shots at each other for centuries. But he had never heard of anything so ridiculous happening before. The fey courts were something he did his best to stay away from, not that he could get close if he tried. What went on in the courts was fey business and fey business only. The Summer Court was made up of fey associated with warmth, summer, and new life, the fey of the Winter Court were the opposite. The two courts had been warring for years, but for the last hundred they had been in a stalemate. It was the closest to peace the two Courts had ever seen.
“Let’s get this over with,” he finally said. “I have to be at Chartres sooner rather than later.”
As Teak began the chant, Ruthen turned to the much larger demon. “You’re entering that challenge? Seriously?”
Mordichai frowned. “You know what the prize is, right?”
“It’s been nice working with you,” the satyr said with a laugh. “In your will can you leave me your share of today’s payment?”
Mordichai growled at the smaller male, but their attention was soon captured by a cold, shimmering light. Mordichai folded his wings and watched as the runes on the tall stones glowed brighter and brighter, until the air above the altar crackled and split open like a rip in space. Wind howled and the air grew colder and colder.
Ruthen grabbed his bag and motioned for Mordichai to follow him. Teak tucked through scroll into his robes and together the three stepped through the portal.
…
The treasure room was perhaps an understatement, it was more like an entire wing of the palace. The sound from the portal echoed and the trio stiffened, listening for the sound of guards.
Silence followed.
Ruthen exhaled. “Okay…” he looked around, dark eyes widening. Around them were piles of treasure, armor, trunks and chests; archways into dimly lit rooms filled with even more. The ceiling was high and arched, and like the walls, carved obsidian and black crystal. Chandeliers with enchanted candles burned above them, their light reflected in every mirror and coin.
“Just the crown,” Teak hissed under his breath, which echoed anyway.
“Explain why again?” Ruthen asked as he reached for a silver fleece that was draped over a full set of armor.
Teak slapped his hand. “Because that isn’t what we were hired to do! Just this one job. Now come on.”
He opened another scroll, and Mordichai saw it was a layout of the treasure room. He frowned. Whoever had hired them had in-depth knowledge of the fey world, particularly this castle and kingdom.
Teak lead them through maze, and indeed it was. Doorways lead in circles, mirrors were positioned to create the illusion that a room was larger than it was, and more than once Mordichai flared his wings at strategically placed armor displays that looked like guards.
Funny that there were no actual guards, and when he mentioned as much, Teak commented, “King Aaliern is so paranoid that only he knows the enchantment to open the doors.”
Whoever hired them knew this. They must have been from The Frozen Lands, maybe they were even a dark fey from Aaliern’s own kingdom. The fey king has many mistresses, maybe one had had enough and wanted to humiliate the king on the greatest night of the winter fey's year.
The last chamber they stepped into was empty, save for a display in the center with a single item on top.
The Winter Crown.
It was considered one of the greatest privileges to be chosen to create the crown for Winter King to wear during the solstice celebrations, which lasted an entire month. The crown had to be perfect, it had to capture the spirit of the dark fey, the cold of their lands, and the hope for a healthy harvests and lots of new babies.
Mordichai cocked his head. The crown was a circlet, molded from silver, with thorns tipped with teardrop shaped diamonds. Silver antlers rose from the sides, elegant and sharp, adored with gold leaves. It was all very beautiful, but cold.
“It’s not that spectacular,” Ruthen humphed.
Oh, how wrong he was. It was a work of art. The antlers on either side were rising up from diamond-tipped thorns, like spring rising from the unforgiving winter. The gold leaves signified new growth and life, without going too ham with blossoms, because that was absolutely not the dark fey way. There was no real spring here, not in the cold lands.
Ruthen fidgeted. “Do we just grab it? What if it’s booby-trapped?”
“Then you better get a closer look,” Teak snapped.
The satyr stomped his hoof nervously before he circled the pedestal. “It looks… safe.”
Mordichai frowned as he looked around. King Aaliern was paranoid and possessive, there was no way this wasn’t somehow booby-trapped. He shifted his wings and opened his mouth to speak when Ruthen grabbed the crown.
“Wait!” he and Teak yelled at the same time, but it was too late. Above them the ceiling shook, revealing hidden tiles that slid open and dropped massive, sharpened spears. Mordichai raised his wings to shield himself while he grabbed Teak’s wrist, and Teak lunged for Ruthen--
He traced the second one of the spears hit his wing and the ground dropped from beneath them. He heard screaming just before being swallowed in darkness. A second later they were back in the agreed upon location, the satyr’s cabin in an old forest under the shadow of Mount Olympus. Mordichai flapped his ripped wing, stumbling back as the screaming continued.
The Shadow demon turned around and saw, sprawled on the ground, Ruthen with a spear lodged in his chest. Blood was everywhere and the satyr was shaking in pain. Teak was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder but was otherwise uninjured. He stomped over to the other satyr while shouting, “Tell me you fucking have it, Ruthen!”
The wounded satyr spat blood at him. “Of course I do!” he yelled as he thrust the crown at him. “Now help me!”
Mordichai stepped over to assist. They set the crown aside and pulled the spear free from the satyr. He let Teak take care of the other while he looked at the crown closely. There was blood on it from the satyr’s grip, he had grabbed the thorns and they had cut into his hand, but nothing appeared to be damaged, and none of the diamonds or gold leaves were missing.
He turned as hooves clopped across stone and Teak was approaching him. “How is he?’
“Alive,” the satyr grunted.
Things could have gone a lot worse, and if Mordichai hadn’t been there, the two would absolutely be dead. He checked the time and growled. “I need to go. Give me my part of the pay, I did more than my part.”
The satyr nodded and tossed him a leather pouch. Mordichai checked the contents before he nodded in satisfaction. He took one look at the crown, and then traced away, his destination his room at the Inn near the labyrinth.
He really hoped it was worth the trouble, because there was no doubt there would be repercussions. But he did his part and was done with it. Come morning he would be at the gate of Chartrest, listening as the Goddess Ariadne explained the contest rules, and most likely showed off the Wand of Asciepius.
His room was dark and quiet, but outside all he could hear was loud music, cheering, and yelling. All these immortals fully believed they would find the center of the labyrinth and claim the prize, but fact was, most of them were all fodder and would be dead before midday tomorrow, and their souls would be absorbed by the goddess. Mordichai knew that going into the labyrinth was dangerous, Rax had asked him again and again over the last week if he knew what he was doing, but Mordichai did. That Wand was the rarest of the rare, it had the power to grant wishes, it was pure magic, almost as powerful as the horn of a unicorn. If he could get it, he would want for nothing ever again.
After taking the time to clean up the wound on his wing and shoulder, and applying a healing salve so it would be mended by the morning, he grabbed the pouch of gold and headed out the door and down to the bar. It was time to celebrate his last night in his realm before his life absolutely changed.
...
Cinder woke to a loud screeching sound. He jolted upright, blankets and pillows flying, as he blinked the sleep from his eyes rapidly. He looked around for the loud, high-pitched sound, when he saw the scrying mirror on the wall. The glass was shaking and the frame rattling against the wall. Cinder hissed and snarled, stumbling from the bed and stalking across the room to the mirror.
“What?!” he snarled, and the mirror stopped it’s horrible screeching and shimmered to reveal a handsome face.
“Hello, bastard.”
Cinder showed his teeth. “What’s with the emergency call, Bram?” he asked as he rubbed his head. “It’s daylight, I need to sleep.”
“Yes, leech, I know the time in Ironwood,” Bram said indifferently, “but you’re being summoned home.”
“Sure, sure I’ll be there tonight--”
“Father wants you home immediately,” Bram snapped.
Cinder frowned at his brother’s face. Bram looked just like King Aaliern, but without the silver beard. His skin was the color of slate, his hair dark and pulled into a high ponytail. His eyes were narrow and dark, his ears long and slightly purple at the edges. Behind him twitched a pair of black, glimmery wings, and upon his head was a silver circlet. Prince Bram, seventh son of King Aaliern and the former Queen Radiant. He was the pride and joy of the kingdom; handsome and strong, a warrior who never lost a battle, and a huge womanizer.
“Why? What happened?” Cinder asked as he walked away from the mirror and started to pull clothes from his dresser.
“You’ll see when you get here, leech. Hurry the fuck up.”
The mirror shimmered and went still, the call ended. Cinder yawned before he started to dress. The last place he wanted to go to today was The Frozen Lands and Castle Ironborn. He hated everything about that godforsaken realm, from the royal family to the commoners in the surrounding towns who had all made his life growing up a living hell. The only bright spot he ever had was when he met a young summer fey by accident when visiting another realm on a diplomatic tour, with Cinder disguised as a servant’s son. But because the fey was summer, he wasn’t allowed into The Frozen Lands, so whenever he and Jake wanted to see each other, they had to rendezvous in neutral realms.
Of course, Jake had no idea who Cinder actually was. He had never told his friend, or any friend, that he was part of the royal family. That he was one of King Aaliern’s many bastards, that he was an extremely rare mixture of vampire and dark fey.
Knowing where he was going, and what was expected of him, Cinder pulled out clothing he never wore. Long, black trousers that were pressed and without a wrinkle or rip; a long dark colored tunic that buckled across his chest and was pulled in at the waist by a studded leather belt. He rolled up the sleeves to the elbow and slipped on a pair of silver gauntlets, bejeweled and carved with the knots of his father’s kingdom. He braided his long hair, black with soft blonde roots, into a intricate pattern that fell over his shoulder; he had no crown to wear. He pulled a long dark cloak, shiny boots that he hated, and traced home.
Home. What a lie.
Castle Ironborn was a prison. He appeared in the foyer, and was shocked to find it lined with guards. At first he thought it was because of him, that his father was finally going to live up to his threat to burn him alive, but when he saw beyond the archway the chaos, he realized something catastrophic must have happened.
His first thought went to his younger sisters, Melancholia and Cierce. The twin girls were from the King’s second wife, a dark fey heiress who had died on the battlefield not long after birthing her twins. While technically no longer young girls, Cinder always saw them as his younger sisters.
His fears were alleviated when Melancholia greeted him. Unlike Bram, her skin was more purple than slate, and her eyes a fierce black. She wore golden armor and carried a sword at her side. Her expression was tense and angry, but when she saw Cinder she lit up.
“Cin!” She said happily.
Cinder nodded to her appearance. “Did I miss something, Mel? Are we at war?”
“War would be easier,” Mel sighed heavily. “Come with me, and I’ll explain.”
He fell in line with her, and nothing was said for several minutes as they made their way through the castle. Fey law prohibited any kind of “human technology” which meant the entire kingdom was without electricity and proper running water. He had left his cell phone at home because if he was caught with it, he would be flogged. Because of all this the castle was really like an obsidian mine: dark and cold and drafty. For a vampire halfbreed like Cinder, The Frozen Lands seemed just the place for him, always dark, but he actually hated the starless sky and the cold. He hated everything about it.
“So?” He pressed as they approached the wing of the castle that their father used to hoard his treasure.
“A group broke into the treasure vault and stole The Winter Crown.”
Cinder broke his stride. “What?” He yelped. Certainly he had not heard correctly. The treasure vault was impregnatable, no one had ever broken in, not even himself. Not only was it impossible to trace into, only the king knew the magic spell to open the doors. The chamber was enchanted by a series of spells that stopped anyone from going through any walls, floor, or ceiling. It was also carved into the mountainside, making it more secure than the rest of the castle!
“You heard me,” Mel said with a frown. “Father is furious.”
“Is that an understatement?” It was close to the solstice, and The Frozen Lands had been chosen to present a custom, one-of-a-kind crown to the Winter King to wear on his tour of the kingdoms. It was the greatest honor. “How did they get in?”
“They teleported in, probably using a crossroads,” she said as they now approached the open doors. The King’s mages were running around with candles, scrolls, and books as they attempted to capture any traces of magic to follow the spell trail back to where it came from. “So far they can’t find any magic residue.”
He followed her inside and through the maze. It wasn’t long before he heard his father’s voice. It was even and steady, but the threat that hung in the air was clear. His father was furious and heads would be rolling.
“But why summon me?” He asked quietly.
Mel paused, but it was Aaliern who answered him. “Because I need someone with a nose for blood, and you’re the best I have without asking outside the kingdom.” Because that would be absolutely ludicrous, and would reveal what had happened inside the castle. No one outside these walls could ever know what happened, not until the crown was found and the thieves dealt with.
Cinder shuddered, but didn’t misstep. He walked into the chamber and before his father. King Aaliern was tall and handsome, with deep slate skin and a silver beard and long silver hair. His eyes were a light, sea green, same as Cinder’s, and his wings were more majestic than any monarch.
Cinder looked around. The chamber was partially collapsed, and chunks of the floor were open to reveal spiked pit traps. Above them the ceiling had opened and dropped what he was assuming spears, because they were jutting up out of the floor everywhere.
He smelled the blood before he saw it. Whoever had been here had been struck badly. He frowned. “And what am I supposed to do here?”
His father’s hand struck him hard enough that he landed on one knee. The right side of his face was numb and his eye stung.
“I may be your father, but I’m still your king,” Aaliern said as he stood over the young halfbreed. “I expect you to address me as such.”
“I’m sorry—my king,” Cinder growled out between clenched fangs. “How may I be of service?”
Aaliern turned away from him. “Don’t push it, Cinder,” he warned. “Now come here.”
Mel helped Cinder stand, giving him a soft expression, before they walked around jutting spears and gaping pits. They walked to an empty pedestal, and around it was splattered blood.
“Find who did this,” Aaliern ordered as he looked back at Cinder.
Cinder flinched. “How am I supposed to do that, father?”
“The only good thing about you is your ability to track,” the King said. “So track! Prove to me that keeping you alive was worth it. Bring me the crown before His Majesty arrives and I will make a place at my side for you.”
It was quite the lie. Cinder knew that his father would never acknowledge him in court, and not in front of His Majesty. But it wasn’t the promise that had Cinder’s attention, it was the threat lying so obvious beneath it.
“When is the solstice?” He asked.
“Two weeks.”
If it was possible for Cinder to grow more pale, he would have. He looked around at the splatters of blood and a strip of torn clothing. There was absolutely no way he could do this in only two weeks. He had no where to start! He wasn't a bloodhound, and he was a fair tracker but that didn’t mean he could follow a scent across hells! He looked at Mel, who looked at him with such sadness that he might as well throw himself immediately into the sun.
“Father…”
“Cinder,” the King said, voice smooth and threatening, “you have two weeks. Or you’ll join your mother in the tower.”
Cold spread through him like many spidery fingers. The king walked past him, and Mel had no choice but to turn and follow.
Cinder has no doubt that his father had at least a dozen others working this case, from mages to his own personal guard, but this was his opportunity to finally rid himself of a mistake.
Cinder closed his eyes and ground his fangs. He was thinking of throwing himself into one of the pits when he walked by a small smear of blood and caught a familiar scent.
Oh, he knew that scent.
Leave it to that fucking Shadow demon to sign his death warrant personally. They had been at each other’s throats for nearly a dozen years, but had never crossed the line.
Well, maybe it was time to leap across it.
He traced away.