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“We need not heed the commands of a mad woman!” comes Ruby’s voice instead. She steps forward among the mixed, her armour marking her as one of the army’s own.

“KILL THEM!” Alvira shouts again. “CHARGE. NOW!”

Again, the army barely stirs. The witnesses continue their chanting and cheering, and the mixed Glacians stand behind a human, unwilling to attack until she summons them to.

But Adrik waits no longer.

With a curse, he lifts his sword. “ENOUGH! If there is to be a fight, then let it begin.” And he charges forward, meeting Rivdan halfway and bringing his sword down upon the male’s own, the two coming together with a thunderous clash.

Now the other white-winged Glacians rush forward, their weapons drawn, and Dawsyn and Ryon are already swinging, already leading their battalion forward into this inevitable fray.

Dawsyn’s ax meets the sword of a Glacian, and she parries it, drawing a blade in her free hand. She ducks low as he swings again, sinking the knife into his side and pulling it free. She fells another before he can truly reach her, throwing her ax into his chest as he runs, sword raised. She retrieves it before he falls and moves onward.

It is Alvira she seeks. Alvira pushing her men into the battle, ordering them to join the fight. Some dive into the ravel, but most refuse, ignoring her commands.

Dawsyn approaches and Alvira stills, her face going slack with fear.

Dawsyn does not fear. She stands before the Queen of Terrsaw, the maelstrom of battle continuing behind her, and lets her ax fall to the ground.

“This will be your last chance to kill me,” Dawsyn says, hands out and empty. “Be sure you do it properly.”

Alvira turns and grabs the collar chest plate of the nearest soldier, thrusting him forward. “Execute her!” she demands, vessels popping in her eyes. “NOW! Execute her!” But the soldier refuses. He takes off his helm and throws it to the ground along with his sword.

Dawsyn tilts her head at Alvira. “The time for delegating murder is over. It will need to be you, Alvira.”

Roaring her ire to the sky, Alvira stumbles forward. She takes the discarded sword from the dirt and, without skill, raises it with two hands above her head. She hurtles to where Dawsyn stands, bellowing to the stars.

And Dawsyn smiles. That old, inherited wrath that was bred into her from her mother, her grandmother, awaits this moment, and it is enough to replenish whatever strength had been sapped.

She knocks the sword aside easily as Alvira brings it down. She lets the momentum of the woman’s clumsy footing guide her body toward Dawsyn’s waiting arms. She hears the clatter as the sword falls to the ground and pushes her forearm tightly against Alvira’s throat.

The Queen struggles, her back to Dawsyn’s front, each movement finding her windpipe constricted beneath the hold of Dawsyn’s arm.

There is nowhere for her to go, not against a Sabar. Not against a girl from the Ledge.

Dawsyn’s other hand rests against the back of Alvira’s head.

Her lips move beside Alvira’s ear.

“For Valmanere Austrina Sabar,” Dawsyn tells her, “And every soul lost to the cold, to the Ledge.”

Dawsyn pulls her hand to the right and listens for the sharp snap of the Queen’s neck.

The sound elicits not a single ounce of remorse.

CHAPTERFIFTY-SIX

The woman once named Farra stands alone in the middle of the Glacian palace, thirty years after she last escaped it. She feels every one of those years like weights chained to her feet. She has dragged them along behind her long enough.

When she closes her eyes, she sees her child in the only phases of life that she had known him and the gaps she cannot fill feel like a curse, a punishment.

Next, she thinks of Thaddius, but not for longer than the time it takes to reconcile that whatever love they had exchanged had created a warrior.

Last, she thinks of the Ledge.

She thinks of how it must look now, empty of its prisoners, as it should be. It brings a smile to her face.

Farra hugs her arms to her body and relishes the gooseflesh rising along her neck. The coldisalive. It is a faceless enemy easily thwarted and its grip cannot hold her.