Frost Fire (Frost Series #6) (11 page)

Shasta couldn’t help but laugh through her tears. “It wasn’t all Mother,” she said. “Plenty of proposals I turned down myself, without my mother’s help. But it’s true – she never wanted me to marry…” She sighed and rose, her back erect and regal as she looked the ghost in the eye. “My mother would have chided me for bowing down like this,” she said. “She would have said ‘Answer for your own actions, and do it proudly.’ She wouldn’t have wanted me to bow, even before her. She would have wanted me to fix whatever I’d done – not huddle and cry about it. My mother would have told me to stop carrying on and to get out that door and start fighting for Feyland this second.” She stared down the ghost. “That’s how I know. You aren’t my mother. Who are you?”

Rose threw some of Alistair’s white powder at the creature, and it laughed a terrible laugh.
I am your worst nightmare, girl. I am the darkness within you. When you entered the Kingdom of the Dead, tried to dominate the Dark Forces, then it was time for you to discover – you unleashed the darkness within you.

Shasta turned to Breena. “How do we fight this?”

If you kill us, you kill yourselves.

Rose’s mouth gaped open. She knew the spirit wasn’t lying – the powder had seen to that. “They’re just in our heads,” said Rose. “We have to fight them mentally, not physically. Chase them off with our brains, not just our swords.”

“Done,” Shasta glared at the imposter. “Why don’t you go back to whatever hell you came from, you monster? I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, I will bring back glory and honor to my family’s name! And I will not rest until I fight you to the death – and I restore Feyland to what it was in its days of glory. You cannot use my guilt against me, fiend! I use it every day. It gives me the courage and the conviction – and the strength to do this!” She raised her sword high.

“She isn’t alone, either,” Rose snarled, “she has others – we have others. Loyal champions of Feyland. Knights to the Queen. And none of us is scared of you.”

They raised their swords in unison; in unison, their swords pierced straight to the heart of the shadow. “You hold no power over us,” cried Shasta. “Begone.”

The last thing to vanish was the spirit’s eyes – a look of pure venomous hatred that sent chills down Rose’s spine. “You may have won this time…” The voice was fainted now. “But I will visit you again, Shasta. When you are at your lowest. When you cannot fight us off. When your friends forget you. Then, we will return.”

And with a chilling laugh, the spirit vanished completely.

Rose and Shasta turned back to look at Alistair and Rodney, who were still fighting off the shadow of the phantom Redleaf. But the tears in Rodney’s eyes had vanished. He looked strong, now, courageous, determined.

“You need to banish them with your mind!” Rose shouted back to her brother. “Not just with your sword. Tell her she’s banished.”

Rodney looked back at his sister gratefully, his eyes full of love. “I live my life ruled by love,” he shouted at the spirit, “and by all that is good. I followed the path of love, and not of hatred. I will not be ruled by your darkness. Be Gone!” He thrust his sword into Redleaf’s heart, and she too vanished.

Alistair rushed to Rose’s side. “Are you hurt?” he asked, taking her hand. She shook her head, but allowed her hand to linger in his.

“This should have been the Wilds,” Rodney said. “We’re not at the Kingdom of the Dead yet.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Rose. “Those were definitely the Dead.”

Rodney nodded. “That means the Dead are escaping their kingdom,” he said. “They’re spilling over into our world – starting to conquer it. Maybe...it’s the suns, I think. Without the suns, there’s no light to hold the darkness back. We’ll have to be careful with our thoughts. They’re being used against us. It looks like the Dark Forces are able to hear them – they fortify them, make them stronger. Then they can manifest our fears into creatures like the ones we’ve just fought…they’re dangerous.”

Rose’s eyes had widened, and her mouth dropped open.

“What is it, Rose?”

She shuddered as she looked up at her brother. “Logan,” she whispered.

“Logan? What about…” And then it hit Rodney, too, moments before it hit the rest of them. Logan was gone.

Chapter 11

“
G
randfather” Logan whispered, his shoulders shaking with sadness. He knew how disappointed his grandfather was in him – he could feel it in his sinews, in his bones. The animal instinct in him wanted only to howl in agony. He had let his family down – his grandfather who had died for peace, his relatives and cousins who relied on him to take care of the Wolves. He knew it, and he was ashamed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had let himself love Breena, love a woman who would never truly love him the same way in return, and he had shamed…

But no! Something in Logan, something proud and lupine, reared up within him. How could he be ashamed of loving Breena? How could he be ashamed of following her – when he was willing to stand up and roar to all the doubting world that she was the bravest, most courageous, most trustworthy warrior Feyland had seen in decades? He had done the right thing by entering the war – not only for Breena, but for all of Feyland.

“I cannot be ashamed of my actions,” said Logan, staring down his grandfather. “I did what I thought was right and noble and true. You can fault my judgment, grandfather, but you cannot fault my bravery. I followed my instincts to the bitter end.”

“You fool!” his grandfather snarled. “You think those were instincts? Those were only human weaknesses.”

“It was
love
that saved us!” Logan insisted, his eyes blazing. “It was love that cast out the Dark Hordes. Love that allowed all of Feyland to unite even when things seemed most dire. I will
never
apologize for that.”

“You won’t?” A feminine laugh tinkled just out of view.

“Breena?” Logan whispered, his heart pounding in his chest.

But it wasn’t Breena’s voice. It was higher-pitched, sweeter – like treacle. A regal voice, a familiar one, even a beautiful one. One that struck him to his core. He had heard this voice before – but where? In a dream? His mind flashed back to the many nights he had spent on the hard, cold floor of Delano’s dungeon in the kingdom of the Pixies. Then he had dreamed of Connell, the first Red Wolf, dreamed of the mysterious woman who had given Connell the power of the Wolf, and taken from the Wolf race the magic of his Fey kind. The Queen Panthea, bearer of the most ancient magic. A Queen who had been able to strip the immortality from the Wolf Fey like flesh from a bone. Stripped the fey magic out of the wolf fey so their blood no longer bled silver but red.

He had only dreamed of her before. But now she was before him, gleaming. Her face was ageless – at once beautiful and terrible. Her hair was long and shimmered in the golden glow of the room. She was leading him somewhere – to another room, another corridor. Logan instinctively followed.

“So, Connell has chosen
you
then, has he? To be his Champion? Ha!” She scoffed. “You don’t even have an ounce of magic in you. And he thinks you’re capable of leading your people to find immortality, to restoring them again to the Full Fey? Please – you must be joking!”

Logan was stung, but he stood his ground. “You trusted Connell to become the Red Wolf once, many centuries ago,” he said gravely. “Now you must trust his decision. Connell chose me to replace him. He chose me as the next Red Wolf. I will not show myself unworthy.”

“But you
are
unworthy, Wolf!”

“I helped the Midnight Knight and Breena bring about an end to the War between Winter and Summer. I was able to push the Dark Hordes back into the Gorge and save Feyland – all in the name of the Red Wolf. Your Majesty, I have served that name well, and served well its bearer before me. Connell has made his choice, and my deeds have testified to my worth. In my trials – Delano’s dungeons, the War – I have not been found wanting.” Logan’s voice shook, but it grew stronger as he went on. “I know that I am worthy to stand strong as the Champion of the people, ready to lead my people back to their status as Full Fey. I have their confidence. I have the confidence of the Emperor of the United Feyland, King of Winter, Kian, and of Breena, the Empress…”

“Breena!” The voice of Queen Panthea let loose a shrill, mocking laugh, dripping with poisonous venom. “You think you have
her
confidence, do you? How could you – when she has chosen another in her heart?”

“I…” But Logan faltered. His throat suddenly felt dry, and no words emerged from the tightness in his mouth. He hesitated only for a moment, but it was time enough to betray his fears.

“Ah, I see, Logan. So you too have your doubts about that.”

Queen Panthea let loose another laugh, the shadowy blur around her shaking with the force of her laughter.

“No!” Logan cried. He remembered what Breena had told him – what she had said. The darkness of the Dead would try to trap him, would try to get inside his head, collapse his insecurities into one heaving force of terror and pain – she had made him promise not to let that happen. She had made him promise to be strong.
She had made him promise.

He whispered to himself the words he struggled to remember – she couldn’t marry him, not because she didn’t love him, but because her bond with Kian, established in childhood, was too great – a bond of magic…something he couldn’t understand.

But he could understand it!
He had felt it with her – felt that bond – and she…she had felt it with another. No, she cared for Logan, but in the end she would not wake in the night screaming his name, not dream of him and reach out her slumbering arms into empty air, imagining his presence.

No, he did all that for her. He felt this way about her. But she never felt that for him.

Don’t let it in, Logan
, he told himself, closing his eyes against the memories that flooded in – Breena’s face, Breena’s voice, her happiness when Kian’s lips were on hers…

“Queen Panthea!” Logan stared her down, struggling to choke down his fear and worry. “I have heard tell that you are Feyland’s protector. A good fairy. One who helped our kind. What mean you by trying to harm us now?”

“Protector – ha!” Panthea laughed again. “That fool Connell never understood quite how cursed he was, did he? I never swore to protect Feyland or the Wolves! I had my own ends – and Connell was willing to make a bargain with me when I had what he needed. That was all. My magic is greater than Feyland’s magic – wider. It was an exchange. You Wolves got your powers of metamorphosis – but I got something greater in that trade. Your immortalities. Thousands and thousands of wolves’ immortality – all mine! You fools. You pawns! Never dreamed how much I longed to harness that power. You know what it’s like, Logan, don’t you? Deep within the core of Feyland, without the light of the sun to ward it off, lies Feyland’s true power. The power of darkness. “Let me tell you, I embody the darkness. I am the darkness – the power that stems from harnessing all that is cruel and wicked in the world. But do not think I am not one of you – for you, too, like all creatures of Feyland, have that darkness. Waiting to be harnessed. Waiting to be embraced. Waiting to hear my siren call…”

“You are no creature of Feyland!” Logan cried. “How can you say that – Feyland is a place where good has always triumphed over evil! I don’t believe you’re using Feyland’s magic at all. Our magic is good and pure!”