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[Rough Draft] Chapter 71: The Arrival of Winter
Larissa couldn’t process what she was seeing fast enough. All she saw was the blur of Azriel’s wrist as his dagger scrapped across the Duchess’s neck, then a flicker of light appeared between the bog witch and Krisi that exploded and shattered with a blast of ice and scrap metal. Azriel raised his arms defensively as he turned away from the blinding light. He quickly found himself forced further away as a giant sphere of cold light enveloped Kirsi’s body. Long icy quills formed against the surface of the protective barrier and then grew into spears that sent the bog witch rolling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Azriel scampered away with his arms still raised as the swirling light inside the barrier sucked in wind and water from every corner of the room. Before sphere’s surface clouded over in frost, Larissa caught a glimpse of the Duchess, who still hadn’t moved or roused from her sleep.
Larissa released the hilt of her sword and grabbed the slimy eel’s neck. She quickly drained the monster’s body of all fluids until only its shriveled, leathery corpse remained. The eel’s body dropped limply away from her body, and the Witch Captain flung it aside. She quickly picked up her sword and rose steadily to her feet, still unable to use her numb left arm properly, though she could at least wiggle the fingers slightly.
“I think it’s time you left, Azriel,” Larissa called out in warning.
The scowling bog witch merely straightened as he pulled a long black blowpipe free from his waist. “Her defensive skills are impressive,” Azriel commented ruefully. “But we both know Kirsi will only become more dangerous once she wakes up.”
‘Idiot. Then why are you trying to force her awake!?’
The Witch Captain clenched her teeth as Azriel lifted the pipe to his lips. The spears around the sphere vibrated intensely as the air between the two witches filled with shimmering sparkles of cold ice. Larissa hurriedly pulled the scarf at her neck up over her mouth and nose as the poisoned fog disappeared beneath the carpet of frost, which sped across the floor towards the bog witch.
The moment Azriel blew against his pipe and a poisoned dart burst free, the glowing sphere of frozen ice flashed and ejected its long, deadly quills. The translucent spears hurled themselves towards the bog witch with incredible speed, piercing the stone effortlessly, along with the bog witch’s shoulder and thigh while the poisoned dart bounced harmlessly against the swirling barrier.
Larissa’s frozen breath rose into a cloud above her eyes as she watched the frost claim the wall and spread like a net over the trapped bog witch. Azriel managed to grab the ice spear protruding from his right shoulder and tried to force it apart, only to gasp as the frost crept over his skin and armor, turning his already pale complexion a sickly bluish-gray, while his lips and poisoned nails turned a violet-blue and then darkened into a muted purple hue.
Still struggling to grasp everything that had happened in the span of a few blinks, Larissa flinched as Azriel’s body shattered. The icy chunks of her old childhood playmate rained down onto the floor with heavy, dull thuds as the temperature in the room dropped lower still. Unable to ignore the cold stinging against her eyes and ears and burning down her throat Larissa backed up slowly towards the bedroom door only to find the handle frozen and unmoving.
“Kirsi! Krisi, please—wake up!” Larissa forced out through her chattering teeth. The sword fell from her numb fingers and clanged against the frost-covered surface below. The sound muffled beneath the ringing which filled her ears as the Witch Captain tried to draw in small breaths of air through her scarf. She could feel the blood freezing inside her veins while her heart hammered painfully against her struggling lungs. “Kirsi—if you can hear me—you have to wake up. Hana needs you! N-nesta is in trouble!”
The cold grip of winter wrapped itself around Larissa’s neck as ghostly images of birds, beats, and bizarre, nightmarish figures clattered around the room in a storm of frost and snow. The Witch Captain could feel the very walls and floor tremble beneath the chaotic magic as the glass in the windows shattered outwards. Only the bright light within Kirsi’s chest was still visible beneath the storm of howling wind, rain, and snow until suddenly, the Duchess stood before her. Larissa blinked beneath Kirsi’s icy-blue eyes, now a paler shade of blue that glowed with the same immortal power that filled her entire body like a star.
“Where is Nesta?” The quiet voice boomed through the sudden silence as the chaotic storm threatening to rip the room apart died out in a whisper.
Larissa let out a small whimper of relief as the frigid cold left her throat and feeling returned to her trembling numb limbs. Her legs gave out in protest, both knees slamming against the floor where the Witch Captain bowed her head and took in a few steadying breaths before responding to the Isbrand Queen’s question.
“Crown Prince Nicholas summoned your Grace—and Nesta to the Palace. As you could not go, Nesta insisted on making the journey alone. The Pope sent his Witch Hunters to intercept and abduct her before she even reached the Capital. Lady Nesta and Colonel Isaac were taken hostage—several of your knights were killed. Forgive me, my Queen. I-I failed to keep her safe.”
“The Pope would not dare harm Ramiel’s chosen,” Kirsi replied in a tone that offered neither reproach nor anger. “He will hold Nesta prisoner until he can force her to awaken as a Saint.”
The sound of metal scraping lightly against the stone floor pulled Larissa’s gaze up to where the Duchess now stood, fully clothed in a dark glistening armor that was both ice and metal and glimmered with runes etched in frost upon the armor’s glossy surface. A long-curved glaive materialized in Kirsi’s right hand, reaching a good two feet above the ice witch’s head, where the Duchess’s once ash-brown locks had now transformed into the blinding white color of snow.
“It would appear that Ramiel and Arachne have already begun to move against me,” Kirsi observed calmly as she swept her left hand through her hair, weaving it into a braid bound together by threads of frost. “Now that Viktor has made his choice, the other gods must decide whether to acknowledge or join against me. You may dispose of the remains of that assassin as you deem fit. Then continue with your mission to hunt down the plague seeds.”
“What—will you do, your Majesty?”
The Duchess arched a brow at Larissa’s hesitant tone. “I was invited to the palace, was I not? I shall take my grievance to the Crown Prince personally.” Kirsi lifted the butt of the glaive from the frost-covered floor with effortless grace and then proceeded past the kneeling Witch Captain towards the already opening frost-covered door.
***
Captain Silas looked up from the Fortress Blueprint before him with a frown as the heavy rain suddenly died outside the barrack’s windows. The damp wooden ledges that had soaked in enough rain to leak the excess fluids onto the stone floor, hardened in an instant beneath a sheet of ice as vines of frost climbed over the glass panes.
“What the devil?” Lieutenant Quinn rumbled as he set aside the wood horse marker and moved over to the window. He struggled for a moment to undo the latch and then leaned against the window with his shoulder before successfully forcing it open. The lieutenant stepped back quickly, and half turned towards the table of knights as he pointed to the specks of white already fluttering through the opening. “It’s—bloody snowing!”
Silas dropped his quill and grabbed the hilt of his sword as he moved swiftly around the map table towards the door. Murmurs filled the hallway as he sped past the line of knights hurriedly prepping their gear for battle. Silas spotted Lieutenant Collin inside the repository, where the Duchy’s rifles, muskets, bullets, and black powder were stored under lock and key. The Captain slid into the doorway and banged his fist against the frame to grab the Lieutenant’s attention. “Get the men ready and assembled outside as quick as you can.”
Collins looked up from his inventory roster with a look of confusion. “Has the Duchess finally woken up?”
“No, you bloody fool, it just happened to start snowing on the first day of autumn.” The Captain quickly stomped out of the room, ignoring the flicker of irritation in his chest where his own doubts jostled against the hope and relief the sight of falling snow had given him.
Silas paid little heed to the knights who hurriedly rose to their feet as he passed through the dining room, where the bodies of his comrades lay wrapped in fresh linen for burial. He focused on the door which led outside. The bright light that flooded through the cracks around the wooden barrier beckoned him closer like a beacon amidst a sea of darkness.
A cry of surprise rang out behind him as Silas flung the doors open. A gentle gust of wind and snow embraced him, sticking to his cheeks and beard and melting against his lips and tongue as he opened his mouth to inhale the brisk cold air.
‘Winter is finally here.’
From the fortress’s high walls to the rafters, archways, rooftops, and pathways below, every inch of Bastiallano’s was covered in at least three inches of snow. The rain clouds, which continued to loom above them, were already yielding to rays of sunlight, which pierced through the falling rain that transformed into snow above the suddenly quiet castle.
In the center of the courtyard stood the small Duchess, who walked towards Captain Silas across the glistening snow without leaving a single print behind her. Kirsi was dressed for battle. Her eye-catching white hair braided back away from her face, which bore an expression of grim determination. The towering Glaive she held within her small right hand seemed much too large for her size, and yet Kirsi carried it along beside her effortlessly as she continued towards the barracks.
Finally shaking free from the mesmerizing scene before him, Silas quickly moved down the steps to kneel in the snow before her. “Your Grace, I am overjoyed to see you have returned safely.”
“I was summoned to the palace while asleep,” Kirsi observed quietly. Her voice fell upon his ears like snow, with a relentless cold chill. “I wish to state our grievance before the Crown Prince in person to demand justice and adequate restitution. Will you join me, Captain?”
Silas blinked. Uncertainty and caution tempered his words. “Your Grace, we were attacked once. I am reluctant to escort you to the Capital—without the numbers to ensure such insolence does not happen again.”
“You know the law of the land forbids me from leading an army upon the Capital, Captain,” Kirsi replied patiently. “I understand your desire to restore the Bastiallano’s honor and avenge the death of your men.” She stopped in the snow, now a mere foot away, and leaned forward to place a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “We must honor the dead with a proper burial. I shall trust you to prepare an appropriate ceremony for tonight before the sunsets. At dawn, I shall leave for the Royal Palace.”
“If I cannot bring an army, then how many men will you allow me, your Grace?”
“Do you not blame me, Captain?”
Silas looked up quickly, caught off guard by her words. “Your Grace?”
“I am equally responsible for the death of your men,” Kirsi murmured solemnly. “As I will be for the lives of any who follow me from this point forward.”
Silas bowed his head once more and then glanced back towards the barrack’s doorway and steps, now filled with knights who stared at the Duchess in silent awe. “We are Knights of Bastiallano. We live to protect and serve our Duchess. Allow us the honor of assisting you, your Grace. We are not afraid to fight the Pope and his Dogs—in fact, we would relish the opportunity.”
“You are brave, Captain.” The Duchess removed her hand and straightened as she twisted the glaive into the snow. “Your honor and loyalty are abundantly clear, but you do not know what the Pope and his Hunters are capable of.”
“Bastiallano is not only known for its Calvary, your Grace. We are skilled with rifles and muskets as well. Even Witch Hunters can not block a flurry of bullets.”
“And if your bullets should strike down the innocent citizens of Lafeara in what would be construed as an attempt at rebellion, what then, Captain?”
Silas sucked in an angry breath as his right fist clenched around a fist full of snow. “Forgive me, your Grace.”
“Your thoughts are clouded by anger and grief, Captain. You have nothing to apologize for nor feel ashamed of.” Kirsi sighed as she rested the Glaive against her small shoulder. “Indeed, it is I who bear all responsibility for what has transpired this day. I have been paying to their tune, only reacting when provked, constantly questioning my ability to stand alone and doubting the power that had been given to me so readily.”
A strange quiet followed her words as a soft glow blossomed beneath Krisi’s chest plate while a star of blinding cold magic enveloped her outstretched hand. Silas turned away from the eye-watering sight. The hairs on the Captain’s neck stood on end at the power that filled the air around them with tangible energy.
“You should know that your Commander, Colonel Isaac is dead,” Kirsi whispered solemnly as she closed her fist and snuffed out the magical glow. “His body now waits at the border of Bastiallano.”
Silas locked his teeth together to bite back an explosion of rage. ‘Why? What reason would they have to kill someone they had already taken hostage?’ He could hear similar sentiment ripple through the knights at his back as shock and disbelief faded quickly into anger.
Kirsi observed them all quietly for a moment, her expression neutral and somehow distant, before she took a breath and continued. “They slaughtered the Colonel while he was defenseless and unarmed, and then they mutilated his corpse. This is the fate that awaits each knight here if you continue to follow beneath my banner. I am a witch. The Church is my enemy.” She paused for a moment to let the words sink in. “Before an unavoidable war breaks out, you must decide for yourselves whether you will honor your pledge to Bastiallano or depart from my lands forever.”
The Duchess’s words rang clearly through the quiet courtyard, reaching even the knights on the fortress walls above them. Silas kept his head bowed and remained silent. His decision had long been made the day Krisi revealed her magic at the Royal Hunt. Now it was time for his men to make their choice. They could either kneel beside him in service of their Winter Queen—or give up the honor of a Bastiallano knight, which many of their families had carried for generations.
‘Bastiallano has never served King or Pope, we have always served our Duchess, but after today, there may be a few unwilling to oppose the Divine Heir and his army of half-witches openly.’
The Duchess continued to study them with pointed silence before her gaze returned to Silas. “Your men have until after the funeral to make their decision. Those who choose to leave must bid farewell to their comrades and depart before sunrise. All those ready to pledge their fealty to me will assemble outside the castle walls and prepare to ride to the Capital.”
‘All of them? Does Kirsi expect so many to leave, or is she truly prepared to invade Lafeara to get Lady Hana back?’
“Your Grace!” Captain Arlo pushed his way through the knights and rushed down the barracks steps to kneel beside Silas. “Do you mean to seize Lafeara for yourself?”
Silas glared at the captain beside him as a heavy silence fell over the courtyard. ‘Is he mad? How could he ask the Duchess if she means to commit treasons so openly?’
“I do not care who sits on the throne, Captain Arlo. All that matters is who stands in my way,” Kirsi replied. The hint of displeasure in her words seemed to swirl through the icy wind around them. “I will show no mercy to those who oppose me, whether they be Kings, Popes, or Emperors. I trust those words are clear enough for you to understand.”
“Then—please inform us how we are meant to address you?” Arlo replied swiftly. His words seemed determined but were unable to hide his fear. “I mean no disrespect—but if you are the Isbrand Queen, then surely it is Nicholas who is the usurper, and Lafeara’s throne rightfully belongs to you.”
A few murmurs of surprise and still more in support of Arlo’s claim surfaced through the knights behind them.
But Kirsi merely smiled and shook her head. “How can any man or woman claim a kingdom without a crown or throne? My palace is here. My home is here. The people of Bastiallano, its mortal and witch citizens and refugees, are my people. You may address me as you have before. I am your Duchess. As to the future—that will depend on whose will is stronger—mine or the gods who stand against me.”