November, 1990.
Violet was starting to think that this might be a little more difficult than she had expected.
Two days ago, she had ventured off into the forests surrounding Satria's court, alone amongst the towering trees. She had been instructed, in no unclear terms, not to return without the head of a suitably impressive beast. She'd been thrilled, at the time. A chance to prove her worth, both to herself and to the fae was a tantalizing prospect after over two years of training and having to stay behind while Satria and her Knights found glory in bloodshed. Well, now that would change.
At least, that had been the idea. Now, after wandering for the best part of two days, she was ready to admit that perhaps she still had a few things to learn. The first day had started off well, as she trekked deep into the snowy forest, but she had soon recognized the difficulty in finding a sizeable target that wouldn't be excessively dangerous to fight with her limited weapons. She had only the clothes on her back and a dagger in her belt, though it was at least iron. It was the first time she had carried an iron weapon, and it felt heavy on her hip. In the unlikely event that she encountered a summer fae, she would be able to permanently take their life. It was a heady feeling of power.
Of course, she hadn't seen any summer fae or even animals larger than a rabbit. She had spent the first night tucked into a snowbank before waking early on the second, heading still deeper into the woods. At midday, she had spotted some tracks that she tentatively identified as belonging to a bear and breathed a sigh of relief. A bear was impressive and dangerous prey, but not intelligent or magical. It would be perfect, if she could catch up to it.
She pushed away a heavy snow-laden bough, blinking away the white dust that coated her. She had been chasing the bear for hours, and finely honed instincts assured her that the end of the chase was near. The hunger in her stomach spurred her onward—she had slain a scrawny rabbit on the first day, but had not eaten since then. This sort of hunger was not something she was accustomed to. Her often grueling training had well accustomed her to discomfort and injury, but she had always had a sumptuous meal to look forward to afterward. This was a different sort of discomfort, one that sharpened her senses and made the ice in her blood call out for violence.
A twig snapped. Violet froze. It's waiting for me, she realized. On instinct alone, she leapt to the side, her hand reaching for her knife in the same motion. As she rolled to her feet, she caught her first glimpse of her quarry.
It was not a bear.
A dark figure nearly the size of a horse with dark brown fur flecked with dots of black, sinuous muscles, slanted yellow eyes glowing with a sinister intelligence and gleaming teeth, set in a cruel feline face—this was a Tíogair-Sídhe. Violet met the lesser Sidhe's eyes and grinned, raising her iron blade. The great cat froze for a moment at the sight, but it would not flee, for it hungered too. A charged moment passed, then they each moved as one.
The cat pounced, clearly well over twenty paces in a single bound. Violet dove forward, passing underneath it, slashing upwards with her dagger. The cat twisted in midair to avoid the touch of iron and landed on its feet behind Violet, hissing loudly.
This is more like it! Violet thought as her heart pounded in her chest and her blood sang with adrenaline. She whipped her free arm across her body, conjuring up a wave of freezing water. The cat was already charging her, and the wave broke over it, making it hiss in pain as the water froze solid in an instant, but the cat did not stop.
Violet's eyes widened as she tried to jump aside, but the cat was too fast, and she felt its teeth sink into her side. Screaming, she called on her power, and her blood froze in the cat's mouth, before exploding into shards of ice and lacerating the soft flesh of its inner mouth.
The cat pulled away, ripping her flesh as it retreated. Knowing that it would be only moments before her foe recovered, she twisted where she lay, slamming her dagger into the cat's underside and dragging it, opening a foot-long wound. Blood sprayed, steaming where it struck the snow.
The cat jumped backward, whimpering as the wound burned and widened from the curse of iron. They both knew it was already dead; it was not nearly powerful enough to recover from such a severe wound inflicted by iron. The cat glared, and Violet glared back. She had risen to her feet, one hand pressed against her own injury and the other tightly grasping the bloody dagger.
The cat charged once more, intent on avenging itself, but its gait had none of its former deadly grace. Violet braced herself to be struck again and, at the last moment, struck. She buried her blade in the Sidhe's eye, then cried out as its great bulk sent her sprawling once more.
She rolled over and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the great cat lay still. She sagged back into the snowbank, her strength flagging as the adrenaline left her body. She felt a strange, warm sensation spreading across her torso and looked down, curious.
Oh, shit.
She was laying in a puddle of her own blood, and her shirt was soaked with the hot liquid. As trembling fingers pulled aside the shredded cloth, she gasped. Several long, deep rents had been torn into her flesh. As she stared in shock, she suddenly became aware of the pain and gasped, biting her lip so as not to scream. She began to hyperventilate, which only made her bleed faster. This wasn't a minor bump or scratch like she often got in training. This could kill her, easily. Was this how she died? Alone but for the corpse of the beast that killed her, struck down before she could even begin to achieve her potential?
No, she realized. She could still feel her heart beating, could still feel the soothing presence of Winter. She would not die today.
She pulled off her shirt, wincing at the movement, and tied it tightly around herself. The fabric became immediately soaked with blood, as she had intended. She focused her power, and the bloody fabric froze solid, sticking tightly to her skin. She stretched experimentally, and her side hurt like hell but didn't bleed any further. She sighed in relief and rose unsteadily to her feet, all too aware of the disturbing size of the blood pool.
She staggered over to corpse of the cat and knelt before it. Even in death, it maintained the dignity of a predator, the blood and ice coating its fur making it all the more fearsome.
"Got you," she whispered. This was a prize beyond anything she had expected, beyond anything Satria or Armen would have expected. A lesser Sidhe—and a sapient one at that—was no trivial prey. Even one of the Knights would have been heartily congratulated for such a kill. And she had managed it alone on her first expedition away from the court.
She pulled the dagger from its eye and began to hack at the cat's neck, eventually separating its head. She hefted it. It was heavy, particularly considering her injury, but she as loathe to leave behind such a trophy. She would bring it back to the court, even if it took an extra day.
Speaking of which, she looked up at the sun, peering though the forest's dense leaf cover. It was approaching the evening and even if it weren't for her injury she would camp here for the night. Now that the danger had passed, she felt her hunger begin to return, and she set about dressing her kill.
Several minutes later, she had before her several chunks of bloody meat and a choice. Winter fae occasionally partook of raw meat and, to her own chagrin, she had developed something of a taste for the practice in the last few months. However, that preparation method was usually restricted to the most tender cuts of meat. The taught, lean muscles of the cat would likely be extremely tough raw. On the other hand, cooking the meat would mean starting a fire, which would further delay her meal. Worse, it might attract other opportunistic predators, and she was in no state to fight again.
She carved off a slice of the meat and popped it into her mouth, reveling in the sharp, irony flavor. The taste was excellent, and it was not nearly as tough as she had expected. As long as she cut small pieces, a fire would not be needed.
She sat with her back against a pine tree as she savored the meal, her hunger compensating for crude preparation. Her side throbbed with pain, and she could feel exhaustion setting in. Night was just beginning to fall when she burrowed deep into a mound of snow and allowed the bliss of sleep to overtake her.
~#~
Violet woke the next morning with the sun, bleary-eyed and sore. Aside from the wound in her side, she had accumulated a number of minor cuts and bruises, and her whole body seemed to scream at her to remain in comfortable hole she had dug for herself. But she forced off the weariness and dragged herself to her feet.
She checked her injury, and was pleased to see that the bloody frozen shirt was still tightly sealed to her skin, preventing any further loss of blood. It didn't do anything about the stabbing pain she felt whenever she stretched the wounded tissue, and she found herself moving gingerly and slowly. It would likely take her significantly more than two days to make it back to the court, but that was all right. Now that she had slain the Sidhe-cat, she was at home in these frozen forests, every bit as much as she was in Satria's court. Really, she wouldn't mind the delay at all if it weren't for the fact that it came at the cost of a great deal of pain.
She ate some more of the cat. The meat had frozen in the night, and she had to warm it in her mouth before chewing, but at least this way it wouldn't rot. She cut several sizeable strips of meat and pinned them to her belt. She didn't want to have to exert herself any more than she had to, and food she brought with her meant time she wouldn't have to spend hunting in the coming days.
Violet hefted the head of the cat, wincing slightly as she did, and hunt it too from her belt. It was a bit unwieldy, but she would be damned before she left it behind. She cast a glance up to the sun to orient herself, then set off in the direction of the court. Taking one last, lingering look at the scene, a small clearing covered in driven snow now stained by her blood and her prey's, she allowed herself a small smile. She would always remember this site of her first kill, just as she would remember her enemy, a foe more dangerous than she had expected that almost managed to kill her, instead. She gave the butchered corpse a half-sarcastic salute, then set off into the trees.
It was frustratingly slow going. She could not move quicker than a relaxed stroll for fear of worsening her injury and she had to stop intermittently to rest. She wasn't sure exactly how slowly she was moving, but when night fell once again she got the impression that she had traveled maybe half the distance she had on the way into the forest. She still had most of the meat and thought that it would likely be enough to make it back, even if she would be hungry when she arrived.
Though, I could really go for something other than raw Tíogair. I think I will avoid the more potently flavored meats for few days after I return, she thought.
That night passed uneventfully, and the following day as well. As night fell once again, Violet stifled a groan at the thought of more raw, frozen meat. It hadn't been so bad when it was hot and fresh from the kill, but she had grown thoroughly tired of gnawing on the frozen meat. She wished she could cook it, but that would require her to start a fire, which was not an option. Right?
She frowned. While it was true that the light and smoke of a fire risked attracting the attention of some of the more cunning lesser Sidhe, the closer she got to Satria's court, the lower the chance was. They avoided the higher fae, after all, and even her encounter with the Tíogair was quite surprising this close to a fae court. Maybe she could afford a fire. After all, even if the cold didn't affect her, it would be nice to have a chance to properly dry herself off.
Decision made, Violet set about gathering a supply of dry wood. She cleared a section of snow and carefully stacked some of the twigs. She frowned. This would be the hard part. A might Lord or Lady like Satria would likely be able to conjure flames with their magic despite its association with Summer, but Violet hadn't developed such skill with her Winter magic. She would have to use mortal magic for this, and that posed something of a problem.
Because none of the fae knew enough about mortal magic to teach her, she had been forced to develop it primarily through experimentation, leaving her control somewhat less reliable than she would like. Still, a few flames were a simple enough task.
She knelt before the pile of sticks, staring intently and concentrating. Her mortal magic had always responded better with an emotional component, something Satria had theorized would become unnecessary once she got herself a wand. For now, though, she had become very good at controlling and manipulating her emotions. It was a similar process to the one she used to enhance her mental magic. She closed her eyes, thinking of rage and flame.
"Burn," she hissed.
A twig smoldered slightly, and her eye twitched as she deliberated whether it would be faster to start the fire with sparks from her knife and a stone. Concentrating more deeply, she remembered her fight against the great cat, remembered her wrath at being injured and the exhilaration of victory. Flame always came easiest to combative emotions.
There was a soft whoomph, and she opened her eyes, knowing she had succeeded. The wood burned brightly, and she hastily throw more fuel upon the flames. She grinned. This had been a good idea.
~#~
After thoroughly warming herself and enjoying a cooked meal, night had fully fallen. Violet had curled herself around the dying fire, basking in its warmth. It was an unnecessary indulgence, of course, but a pleasant one. Even the bite in her side seemed to hurt a bit less, and Violet fell asleep with a smile.
She awoke suddenly, heart pounding and ears peeled. She wasn't sure what she had heard to alarm her so, but her instincts told her to remain still for now. She cracked one eye open and saw that the fire still smoldered. She hadn't slept for more than an hour or two, then.
Harsh, raspy words reached her from through gloom between the trees, the words unrecognizable. They—whoever 'they' were—weren't speaking English or the language of the fae. She swore silently. More lesser Sidhe, so close to a fae court? Had she somehow forgotten breaking every mirror in the manor house before setting off? Little else would explain such dire luck on top of her previous encounter.
Well, she thought as her fingers curled around cold iron, these bastards are going to get more than they bargained for. She grit her teeth as she prepared herself. This was not going to be fun.
She heard one of the creatures approaching from behind her, still chattering in its strange tongue. When she sensed it was just about to bend over to inspect her huddled form, she acted, uncoiling like a spring and lunging with her dagger.
The creature was hideous. It stood a little over a meter tall and had gray, sagging skin. Disproportionate features and grotesquely bulging muscles completed the picture of the ugly thing. Two other, slightly smaller, Sidhe stood behind the first, which must have been some sort of leader. One of the followers carried a massive barbed spear, while the other had a gaping socket in the place of an eye. Unfortunately, the leader's reactions were far from slow, and it managed to divert Violet's thrust with a crude mace. The dagger still slid across its face, drawing a thin line of blood and making it recoil, howling at the touch of iron.
Violet danced backward, interposing the coals of the campfire between her and the other two monsters. The dim light cast baleful shadows across their features as the spear wielder charged her, the other fumbling at its belt.
As the charging monster leapt over the campfire, Violet curled her fingers into a fist, and the coals erupted into a plume of flame. The creature screeched as it was engulfed in fire and crashed to the ground before her, its spear rolling aside. Flames licked at its filthy clothing, and Violet could see its skin melting like candle wax.
She was about to deliver a final blow when she noticed One-Eye was pointing something at her. She whirled to the side, ignoring the blossoming pain in her side, when there was a great bang and a huge cloud of smoke issued from One-Eye's weapon. She heard something whiz by her.
Is that black powder? Violet thought incredulously. Still, if these things had firearms, even archaic ones, they were far better armed than most lesser Sidhe. The burnt monster was still moaning in the snow, and their leader was eyeing her warily, one hand pressed to the cut on its face, so she charged One-Eye as it tried to reload its weapon, raising a translucent blue shield as she did.
One-Eye was quick, though, and managed to raise its weapon at the last moment, firing with yet another cacophonous roar. Violet's shield held—mostly. It collapsed around her, and she felt flecks of hot metal cut into her exposed skin. Blood trailed down her forehead, and she had to wipe her eyes clear.
What the hell are they shooting to pack that kind of a punch?
One-Eye took advantage of her distraction to retreat behind the leader, who was stalking toward her, gripping its mace while the other reloaded again.
Not bloody likely.
Violet flexed her fingers, blue sparks dancing between her fingers. The cold, dry air was ideal for this type of magic; she thrust her hands forward, and streaks of electricity leapt toward One-Eye, crackling and arcing over dull gray skin. It crumpled, convulsing and out of the fight, at least for now.
Two down, one to—fuck!
While she had been dealing with One-Eye, the leader had crept around her flank. It held its mace over its head. At this distance, she could see that the mace's head was enhanced with cruel, curving barbs and hooks.
She slashed at him, hoping to buy herself some space, but the bulky thing instead advanced, accepting a bloody slash across its ribs without so much as a grunt. Violet saw the great mace approaching her and, desperate, interposed her left arm between the mace and her vulnerable skull.
There was an audible snap as her arm shattered, as the mace crushed bone and dug hooks into skin. Her foe yanked the mace back, and Violet screamed as the movement jostled splintered bone and tore flesh. It laughed, guttural and triumphant, but Violet was already moving. The pain in her arm was enough to make her want to curl into a tiny weeping ball, but that wasn't an option right now. In absence of tears, she found anger instead and an overwhelming urge to break this lesser being that dared draw her blood.
She collided with the gray monster, driving her dagger into its stomach. Her forward momentum and the shock of impalement was enough to send the monster sprawling. She fell with it, the dagger wrenched out of her hands.
The monster kicked at her with clawed feet, ripping bloody tracks through her calf. Mindless but for a white-hot rage, she fumbled for the dagger, intent on gutting this hideous abomination. Unfortunately, despite the unnatural strength granted to her by Winter affinity, she was still a ten year old girl. The gray leader was only an inch or two taller than her, but it rippled with muscle and had a foul power of Winter of its own. She found herself losing the grapple, hindered further by her useless right arm.
With a rasping grunt, the monster managed to force her to the ground. It loomed over her, and bared its teeth in a snarl. As it moved to bite out her neck, she desperately wrenched her good arm free of its grip and grabbed onto its malformed face. There was a deep cracking sound, like a calving glacier, and the gray skin under her fingers blackened and froze. The creature snarled and wrenched backward, leaving large chunks of flesh attached to her fingers. Violet got unsteadily to her feet.
The leader stared at her, and Violet took great pleasure in its battered appearance. Her initial slice across its face had taken an eye, she realized. The left side of its face was mangled and frostbitten from where she had seized it. Black blood streamed from the cut across its ribs and the dagger still buried in its stomach. But the most severe wound was not visible; the curse of iron spread through its blood, attacking its very nature.
Violet wasn't doing much better of course, between her ruined arm and the reopened wound in her side, but she could feel Winter's power with her, and she stood with her back straight. Her enemy's remaining eye flicked side to side, as if contemplating flight. She grinned through streaks of blood and shook her head, sparks dancing once more between her fingers.
With a steamy huff, the leader pulled the knife from its own stomach, ignoring the way its fingers burned from the contact with the iron and charged.
Impressive as the creature's determination must have been to wield an iron knife, it didn't matter. Violet waited for the last moment, then lashed out with lightning, and in its weakened state, her foe was unable to evade. It collapsed, convulsing, but Violet only maintained the current, until her enemy's screams fell silent, and he lay still in a smoking heap.
Limping, Violet made her way over to the corpse and picked up her knife, then turned her attention back to One-Eye.
One-Eye was desperately trying to crawl to its weapon using only its arms. Her lightning appeared to have paralyzed it from the waist down. She laughed at the pathetic sight, then immediately regretted it as she jostled her crushed arm. Amusement replace with anger, she knelt by the hobbled creature and placed her hand on its bare neck.
One-Eye froze in terror, then said something in its language, perhaps begging for mercy or offering one last taunt. Either way, Violet called upon Winter, and One-Eye's skin began to freeze under her touch.
The cold touch spread agonizingly slowly, and One-Eye howled the entire time. She had a long and painful recovery to look forward to even after returning to Satria's court, but she had won, and this creature would understand that before she allowed it to die.
Finally, mercifully, the ice must have reached One-Eye's brain, for it jerked one last time and lay still. Violet could feel darkness creeping into the edges of her vision, but she forced the weariness back. This wasn't like the Sidhe-cat—these thing were organized, and that meant they might have friends who would come to investigate the screams. Quick as she could, she took One-Eye's shirt and used to to immobilize her crushed arm as best as she could and refroze the bandage around her side. Then she plucked out One-Eye's eye, along with those of the other monsters. She froze them solid, then pocketed them. She wasn't about to lug three more heads with her, but these were even more impressive prey than the Tíogair, and she wasn't going to leave without some sort of trophy.
She set off into the darkened woods, moving as fast as her injured leg would allow her. She was keen on returning to the court, hopefully without running into yet another fight. She certainly wouldn't make the mistake of starting another fire any time soon.
~#~
The golden skinned man gazed over the sloping, snow covered lands, but his attention was on the dark tree line visible in the distance. His position in one of the court's defensive towers offered him an excellent view, inferior only to a true bird's eye view. Alas, animal transformation was one ability that had always escaped him. Thus, the tower.
There was a guard stationed in the tower as well, and he cast the occasional nervous glance towards Armen. It was unheard of for the Knight-Commander to concern himself with lowly soldiers, and his seemingly inexplicable presence was clearly stressing the guard's nerves to the breaking point. Armen smiled thinly. He may hide it better, but the guard was not the only one to be nervous.
It wasn't that he regretted his actions, per se. Satria had put him in charge of the girl's training, and that meant that sooner or later she would have to prove herself on her own. Satria knew that, of course, but it didn't stop her from dropping not-so-subtle hints of what his fate would be if Violet did not return from a training expedition of his design, as the days crept by with no sign of her return. Normally, he would have dismissed such threats—the idea that Satria would consider a mortal child more valuable than his millennia of service should have been ludicrous. But there was clearly something unusual about the mortal, even ignoring the fact that she was somehow able to channel Winter magic. Satria even seemed to genuinely care for her, which only made the situation stranger.
It didn't help that she had started to grow on him, as well. In his rare encounters with mortals, he typically found them tedious and uninteresting. Their concept of 'morality' was particularly trying. Violet, admittedly, was not most mortals. She was every bit as vicious as a true Winter fae and was growing in power at a prodigious rate. Why, she might even survive her part in Satria's little scheme, for he was completely certain that she did, in fact, have such a plan, even if she stubbornly refused to share it with him.
Of course, all that hinged on her surviving her trip into the forest. Hence, his nervousness.
His eyes slid once more over the tree line. There—was that a figure? Yes, yes, it was, he was certain, but most likely it was simply a hunter or forager returning from the forest. He'd been tricked twice already in the past few days and had no wish to personally greet yet another lowly laborer.
"You—give me you spyglass," he told the nervous guard, who jumped and snapped to attention at his words.
"Yessir, Knight-Commander sir. Right away sir!" The guard stumbled in his haste to hand over his own feet.
Armen rolled his eyes. The man was clearly fresh from one of the inner courts and had likely never even seen a Summer fae with his own eyes. But with the attrition rate of their skirmishes with Summer as high as they were, they couldn't afford to be choosy.
He peered down through the glass. The guard had failed to properly clean it, and his vision was filled with smudges and fingerprints. Briefly, Armen weighed the relative merits of murdering the useless guard against the irritation of explaining why he had done so to Satria. He frowned. Best not to push his luck with the Lady, in case Violet really had gotten herself killed.
After cleaning the glass, he peered back down it and swore. It was the girl, and she did not look good. Pale and bloodstained, she walked with a noticeable limp and seemed to have used her shirt as a bandage. Oh dear. He would have to hurry to get to her before Satria noticed her condition.
Halfway to the stairs, he tossed the spyglass back to the guard, who promptly dropped it. He sighed. Not his problem.
~#~
"That's better," Violet muttered.
She had already soaked herself in the luxurious pool-sized bathtub for over an hour and had no intentions of stopping soon. The hot water felt incredible after spending the best part of a week accumulating dirt, grime, and blood with no good way to wash it off. She'd had to run the water three times before it stayed clear without picking up so much of a tinge of red. The doorknob turned, and she looked over.
"Hey, Satria," she said as the elegant fae slipped into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub. She was carrying some sort of object wrapped in satin cloth.
"Hello, Violet. I was most pleased when I heard you survived Armen's ill-advised assignment."
Violet snickered. "Did you know he personally greeted me? His face was hilarious. I may have played up the extent of my injuries slightly."
Satria raised an eyebrow. "That would explain why he's been lurking in the shadows for the past day trying to avoid me. Though, I shudder to imagine what you idea of 'exaggerated' injuries are." She eyed Violet's arm meaningfully, now in a proper sling. "Are you even supposed to get that wet?"
"No idea, but it doesn't matter. See?" She rose part way out of the water, and it slid off the cast, leaving it completely dry.
"Very good. Your control is improving." Satria smiled. "Now, despite my reservations with Armen's judgment, I believe you were successful in your expedition?"
Violet grinned. "Yeah, it was awesome. I almost died, but I made them die first."
Satria exhaled sharply through her teeth. "There's nothing quite like it, is there?" She leaned forward. "Now, tell me of your prize. Armen yet refuses to tell me, but I suspect it must be quite impressive."
"You might want to take a look at the vanity."
Satria sighed. "You brought it into the bath?"
"Well I had to clean it somehow, didn't I?"
With a laugh, Satria stood and walked to the vanity. She admired the severed head for a moment. "A Tiger-Sidhe," she murmured. "Rare, and fierce. Well done indeed." She turned back towards Violet. "They should not be found near fae courts. How far did you travel to find it?"
"Not sure. Maybe twenty or thirty kilometers? It wasn't all in a straight line."
"Hmm," Satria said inscrutably. "Well done all the same. It must have been a good fight."
"Yeah," agreed Violet. "Better than the second one."
Satria stilled. "Second?"
"I ran into some ugly bastards on the way back. Wasn't sure what they were, but they were definitely Sidhe. I got their eyes though, so that might help with identification."
"I would prefer not to study extracted eyeballs, if I can avoid it. Describe them, please."
"Gray, sagging skin. Ugly as death. They spoke a language that wasn't English or Wyld. Oh, and they used iron, despite being burned by it."
"What?"
"Yeah, it surprised me too. One of 'em had a hand cannon loaded with iron shards. Almost broke through my shield because of it. But they definitely weren't immune."
Satria began to pace. "That is… disturbing. I do know the beings of which you speak; they should not be found within five hundred kilometers of any civilized court. That you encountered them so close is shocking, and their use of iron is astounding."
"What are they?"
"They are," Satria began, "abominations. We call them the Reviled; they are the descendants of former fae who were slain and reborn countless times and eventually twisted into the hideous beasts you encountered." She sneered, disgusted. "We shall have to hunt down and raze their encampment. The last thing we need is Reviled so close to the court, particularly if they are feeling industrious. Iron weapons—as if they could fall no lower."
Her scowl disappeared as quickly as it had come and was replaced with a soft smile. "On the subject of iron, how did the dagger serve you?"
"Excellently," Violet said enthusiastically. "And it didn't affect my use of Winter magic like we feared."
"Interesting, but not surprising, I suppose. It is Sidhe who are harmed by iron, not Winter itself." She lifted the object in her hands. It was about a meter long, and thin. "I had intended to give this to you on your eleventh birthday, but after such a prodigious success, I daresay you deserve it now."
Violet took the object and began to unwrap it, gasping when it was revealed. It was a sword of steel; long and slender, the elegant blade had a lethal beauty. The oiled steel shimmered. "Where did you get this?" she asked reverently. Fae had no use for such weapons of iron, after all.
"I made a deal with a rather talented mortal. The scabbard is not yet finished, but I wanted to give you the sword immediately. How do you find it?"
Violet tested the balance. It was probably a big oversized for her, but Winter's strength helped compensate for that. "It's awesome," she finally said. Then she gasped and asked "Does this mean—"
"Indeed. I believe you are ready to accompany us in battle against the Enemy. Once you have recovered, that is."
A very wet Violet grinned and rose from the bathtub. Without giving her a chance to evade, she hugged Satria, soaking her fine dress. She sighed in exasperation but embraced Violet in turn, taking great care to avoid the iron blade still grasped in her hand.