Page 43 of Beyond the Winter Kingdom (Faeted Seasons #2)

Vareck

Sadie stumbled back, crab walking as fast as she could, her hands digging into the grass in a frantic scramble to put distance between herself and the serpent.

“What is it with talking animals,” she muttered under her breath, panic sharpening her voice. “You. Snake. Go away. You’re not wanted here.”

The creature slithered forward, silent and sinuous, the golden sheen of its scales catching the sunlight. It stopped just short of my knees and rose, its long neck arching upward until its face hovered inches from mine. Its black eyes burned bright, soulless, and endless.

“I can’t believe,” it hissed, “after all you’ve been through, you can sssstill hope.”

The words landed like a whisper, but they cut like a blade. Behind me, Sadie’s breath hitched.

A shadow of doubt flickered through me, brief as a heartbeat, but enough. Enough for the serpent to feel it; to smell it like blood in the water.

“Shut up,” Sadie snapped, pushing to her knees. “Vareck, don’t listen. In every story ever , the snake is deceitful?—”

“Ssssilence.”

The word rippled with magic. A pulse of unnatural energy crackled through the air. Sadie gasped, then clutched her mouth with both hands. Her eyes blazed, but no words followed. Only muffled, furious sounds as she fought to speak through the spell.

“Be sssstill.”

She looked at me.

I didn’t look back.

The serpent had me. Its gaze was like chains, cold and binding.

It saw too much. More than I wanted anyone to see.

All the wreckage I carried inside; Meera’s absence, the way her laughter had once filled the hollows of my soul, and the aching silence that had replaced it.

The serpent looked at me like it knew . And worse, it understood .

“The Fold has tessssted you,” it said, almost gently now. “And you’ve been found wanting.”

Sadie snarled behind her gag, desperation bleeding through every twitch of her limbs. She would’ve lunged if she could.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The serpent's voice had wrapped around my mind like a coil, tightening, drawing me in.

“You got what you desssserved, Vareck. You desssstroyed the balance. You shattered the bond meant to endure time, war, death itsssself. You took away your people’ssss fate. Yet you were ssssurprised when the ley line took your own?”

My fists clenched. The bones in my hands cracked.

“What would Maeve think had she not perished?” it whispered. “You were gifted a true mate, and sssstill you chose to ssssever that bond. You walked willingly into the ley line, knowing the rissssk.”

“That’s not true,” I said, but the words felt thin. Flimsy. My voice cracked on the second syllable.

“Isssn’t it?” The serpent tilted its head, slowly, like a puppeteer studying his marionette. “You made the bargain. You knew what it had taken before. What wassss to sssstop it from assssking again?”

“I didn’t know it would be Meera.”

“But you did. In your heart of heartssss, you knew.” It slithered closer, unblinking. “You felt the tension in the bond. You felt her sssslipping through your fingerssss. And you let her go.”

Did I?

A single thought, but it stopped me cold.

Had I truly known the magic would take what I loved most, and I bargained anyway? How long had I suspected as we trekked our way toward the Fold?

“She fightsss for her life,” the serpent crooned. “To return to you, the cursssed king. But she doesss not know, doesss she?”

I tensed. “Know what?”

The serpent’s tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

“What you have done?”

The weight of those words crashed into me, harder than any blow.

I said nothing. Couldn’t. My throat closed.

“No ...” I whispered. “She doesn’t.”

The serpent nodded like it had expected as much. “And when she findssss out?” it asked softly. “When she learnssss that it wassssn’t your father nor ssssome cursssse that sssstole your bond, but you —will she sssstill choose you?”

“I was doing what I had to, to survive,” I snapped. My voice trembled. “For me and Sadie?—”

The serpent’s body coiled tighter, its presence suffocating even in the open air.

“Do you not feel the ache?” it hissed. “The emptinesssss? The pain of a bond ssssevered ... I hear it’ssss agony.”

“It is ,” I growled, louder than I meant. “Of course I do.”

The words ripped out of me like blades. My chest burned. The fury under my skin threatened to surface.

“You musssst not truly feel it,” the serpent said, almost pitying. “Or you would do anything to regain the bond.”

I swallowed, wincing against the dryness. My mouth tasted of sand and ash.

“I can’t bring it back,” I said, but even as I spoke, doubt began to grow. “The ley line took it. There’s no going back.”

“But there issss,” it whispered. “There issss a way to bring it back.”

It slithered closer, so close now that I could feel the magic bleeding off its skin like steam. “The amulet. You sssstill have it, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” I lied.

The serpent laughed. It wasn’t a sound. It was a sensation, dry and papery and empty. It reminded me of dead leaves cracking underfoot. Of things that would never grow again.

“Liessss,” it hissed, tightening its body again, its golden scales undulating like liquid.

It flicked its tongue to taste the air. “Lying doessss not become you, curssssed king. You know where it issss. Even if you don’t carry the piecessss, they are sssstill yourssss.

Hidden. Bound. Massssked by blood magic. Forever your burden to bear.”

I stared down at it, my breath catching. I could hear the thrum of my blood in my ears. Every part of me felt too loud. Too still. Too full of grief and guilt.

“How do you know this?” I whispered.

“I am of the Fold,” the serpent whispered. “Undo the glamour. Find the piecessss. Repair it ... and bring back what wassss losssst.”

I hesitated.

“You don’t understand why ...” I said, voice barely audible.

“But I do. The Fold knowssss everything; I am of the Fold. A bargain to end the endlesssss winter,” it finished, with a slow nod. “And did it work?”

The words struck like a blade driven through the center of my chest.

I faltered.

“No,” I said finally.

The serpent hissed, triumphant. “Becausssse the amulet wassss not the ssssource.”

“I didn’t know that then.”

“Then why keep it sssseparated?” it asked, wrapping its body tighter, rising as though it were ready to strike.

“What have you protected, Vareck, king of winter and death? Nothing changed. The cursssse sssstill sssstrangles the land. Fatessss are losssst. Your mate”—its voice curled into something cruel and sweet—“issss sssstill gone.”

My shoulders sagged under the weight of it. I shut my eyes.

And for a moment, I let myself want .

Want her back. Want the ache to end. Want to undo the one mistake I couldn’t fix with blade or magic or will.

Even if it came with a price I shouldn’t pay.

“Resssstore it,” it said. “And perhapssss the old wayssss will return. Perhapssss she returnssss. Whole. Yourssss. Again.”

A dangerous hope cracked open in my chest, and I hated how good it felt.

“She would be mine again?” I asked, my voice a whisper. “If I restored the necklace?”

“Wouldn’t it be worth the rissssk?” A fire flashed through the serpent’s eyes, hues of orange and reds dancing in the black depths.

A tremor ran down my spine. The amulet had been more than symbolic.

It was pure power given form. An artifact forged by the threads of life and fate.

That was why my father had used it. It’s what made its mass destruction possible.

Kaia, Drayden, and I were all there that day.

Forever bonded by our grief, we used the amulet and tried to right the wrongs.

When I failed, we glamoured the severed pieces, then scattered them; hid them across the realms, all to prevent people from finding it and attempting to use it again one day.

My mistake had cost everyone.

My fear of the amulet itself led to its dismantling. I could reverse it all.

If the amulet was also the key to restoring the bonds ... if I could feel her again ...

I didn’t notice Sadie moving until I heard the scrape of steel. Her hands were free. She had broken the gag. One of her twin axes was already in her palm.

“Vareck, step back!” she shouted.

“No!” I snapped. “Wait?—”

She lunged forward in a fluid blur, axe raised high. The serpent didn’t move, and Sadie didn’t swing. She froze, and then her eyes went wide. Her mouth fell open, as if stuck in silent horror.

“I can’t see,” she whispered. Her weapon clattered to the ground, and she touched her face, searching for an obstruction that wasn’t there. “I can’t see!”

She stumbled back, hands outstretched, blinking furiously at a world she could no longer sense.

“What did you do?” I roared at the snake.

It slowly turned toward her, unconcerned. “Nothing. Twassss the ley linessss.”

I darted toward Sadie, catching her as she swayed.

“Shh,” I murmured, pressing a hand to her cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m blind, Vareck,” she whispered harshly, breath shallow. “I can’t see shit .”

Several moments passed where Sadie hyperventilated. Then her eyelashes fluttered. She blinked rapidly. “I can see again.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she breathed, then narrowed her brown eyes on the serpent. “But you know, don’t you?”

The snake tilted its head as though it shrugged. “A priccce twassss asssked. The debt twassss paid.”

Sadie lunged forward, making to grab her axe. She missed the handle by millimeters and collapsed on the ground on her hands and knees.

“Fuck!” she screamed. “It’s happening again! I can’t see. I can’t—” She broke off. A deep, full body shudder ran through her. “No, no, no,” she muttered in strangled gasps. “This can’t be happening.”

“What? What is it?”

“The price is what you hold most dear,” Sadie murmured, her voice quivering. “Most dear ... no ...” She sank back on her haunches into a kneeling position. I could tell the minute her vision came back because she turned to me, tears filling her eyes.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she looked down at them.

“Can’t do what?”

Her response was little more than a breath. I wouldn’t have heard it if I hadn’t been straining to listen.

“Fight.”

Behind me, the serpent waited, silent and poised, tongue flicking out before retracting it yet again. It didn’t need to speak.

The seed was already planted.

And gods help me ... it was starting to grow.