The winds blew harder, vortices of air laden with snowflakes carrying through the cavernous hole in the hall's domed roof, shards of shining glass and glittering dust raining downward, mixing with the swirling snow. In the chaos, Violet had missed which just which coil of dark power or blast of unfocused energy had ripped apart the glass, but she was willing to bet that it had originated from the furious duel between Mab and Maeve. The air itself quivered in the rhythm of their fury, the cacophonous roars of their bitter magic ringing in her ears.
The scene was developing into carnage before Violet's eyes as the Lords and Ladies of Winter strove to come to grips with events, alliances developing and falling apart in seconds. Maeve's conspirators were trying to organize, but they were scattered across the hall, unprepared for conflict to begin so abruptly. A few people were trying to escape, but multiple interlacing fields of magic that had sprung up just seconds after the fighting began rendered teleportation impossible, and reaching the exits would be no small matter in this chaos.
A twisting white helix of light seared toward her from somewhere to her left, and she reflexively conjured a shield. The helix crashed against it, shattering apart into spirals of chaotic energy, which then detonated in smaller individual flashes. Head ringing, Violet slid her wand into her hand. She wasn't sure if the attack had been intentional or had been aimed at her by accident, but she hurled a Blasting Curse in its general direction anyway. It erupted into an orange blossom not far from the raised grove of trees at the center of the room, shattering stone tiles into shrapnel that sprayed in all directions.
Without waiting for another spell to come her way, Violet picked a direction at random and pressed forward. In this sort of uncoordinated melee, to stay still was to accept one's death. She roughly pushed aside a shell-shocked looking woman, sending her sprawling, and caught sight of two of the guards. Attempts to blend in abandoned, one of them brandished a conjured halberd, its head a glassy ice etched with Mab's stern visage in profile. The other had pulled a thin blade from a decorative cane and was attempting to clear a path toward Mab's confrontation with Maeve.
They hadn't noticed her yet, or maybe they had simply dismissed her as another frightened bystander. Well, she wouldn't pass up such an opportunity.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Death came with the sound of beating wings, somehow more discernible than even the deafening crashes and shrieks of conflict. The halberd wielding guard spun around, raising a dark blue shield at the last moment. The Killing Curse passed through unhindered. The man collapsed, face forever fixed in an expression of surprise, his weapon melting into a puddle of water. His partner, a woman, didn't hesitate for a moment at his death, slashing her sword in a wide arc.
The guard was several paces too far away to hit Violet, so she clearly had something up her sleeve. Protego! Violet thought. Shimmering protective magics enveloped her not a moment too soon, and she hissed as her shield was jarred by an invisible wave, a thin, brightly glowing crack forming. Somehow, in a singularly unique application of Winter magic, the guard had projected a cutting edge with far greater reach than the weapon's physical length should allow. A man to Violet's left screamed as the edge of the cutting arc struck him, blood spraying as his left forearm was severed.
Dispelling her shield, she twisted her wand in a sharp, curling motion. Acescere!
The guard gracefully swayed around the sickly green curse, but before she could retaliate, Violet stamped her foot, and the tiles around the guard shattered as jagged blades of ice erupted from the earth, impaling her feet and lower legs. She screamed, dropping her sword, as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from her ruined legs. She never even saw the curse that killed her.
After quickly closing the distance, Violet hefted the fallen woman's sword, testing its weight. It wasn't iron, and whatever trait had allowed the guard to extend its edge didn't seem to be intrinsic to the blade, but in a close-ranged frenzy like this, it could still prove invaluable.
She was about to get moving again when she was distracted by a flare of deep red light from the vicinity of the first table, so bright that her eyes were left with faint afterimages from the reflected light alone. She hadn't even been facing them. A moment later, thin red lines vaguely reminiscent of a tree's roots darted overhead, occasionally branching off upward and downward.
Violet dove away from a red thread, not a moment too soon, flicking her wand. The tiles around her lifted upward, interposing themselves between her and the red line. The ground rumbled and there was a sharp crack. Shockwaves ripped across the room, making Violet's teeth rattle. The levitated tiles split and shattered but protected her from the worst of the closest pulse. When she rolled over, she saw that the very light passing near where the lines had been was being warped, creating bizarre distortions as it was twisted and stretched. It was as if the space occupied by the lines itself had been annulled, and the surrounding space had collapsed inward to fill the void in reality.
The shrill keening of the injured and dying rang out. Those too slow to protect themselves from the shockwaves staggered clumsily, hands pressed to their bleeding ears. Far worse off were those struck directly by the threads. The spatial distortions had afflicted them cruelly, leaving them with too-long limbs, curved-back joints, and other grotesque disfigurements. The duel at the first table continued unabated, heedless of the dire collateral damage. If anything, it had intensified, now so obscured by flashing lights and plumes of smoke that Violet couldn't even make out the combatants.
I really hope you know what you're doing, Maeve.
Violet grunted as she pulled herself to her feet, sore after her hurried dive onto the stone floor. It seemed that those still standing were forming larger alliances, a mixture of the desperate seeking protection and prior associates capitalizing on the opportunity to establish their positions of power in the new order that was to come, whoever might be at its head.
"You!" roared a voice, but it was somehow distant, as if shouted across an open field. Violet put one finger to an ear and winced when it came away bloody. It seemed she hadn't escaped the shockwaves as completely as she had thought. A slight itching in her inner ears signified her Winter magic beginning to repair the damage, but she would have to watch her balance more carefully until it finished.
"Traitor, I proclaim! Traitor against the Court!" the voice continued. It was coming from a powerfully built gray-bearded man at the head of one of these impromptu coalitions, who Violet realized was the Lord of the bodyguard she had spoken to before the fighting began. Indeed, the woman stood at his side, along with perhaps a dozen allies and followers. Violet felt a brief pang of regret at the thought of fighting her, but raised her appropriated sword, wand held at her side, just out of sight.
"The court of Lord Rovis stands with the Queen! Strike down this—" his voice trailed off into a desperate gurgle and he staggered forward. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he slowly keeled over, revealing a dagger buried in his back.
The bodyguard knelt, retrieving her dagger from his body, staring at the bloody blade in something like disbelief. Then a wide smile spread across her face, and she turned to her erstwhile Lord's allies. "The court of Lady Lelitia stands with the new Queen Maeve!"
There was a moment of uncertainty as they exchanged calculating looks. Then, one stepped forward. "Hail the Lady!"
Another joined him, then a third. Soon, the entire group had proclaimed their allegiance… at least for now.
Lelitia met Violet's eyes and shrugged. "Seemed a good day for treachery, no?"
Violet grinned. "I'm glad you thought so."
She hummed thoughtfully and squinted at the continuing confrontation between Mab and Maeve, almost too bright to look at. "You were right earlier."
"How so?"
She laughed. "This is absolutely the strangest night of my life." She turned slightly. "I believe I see your Lady. Shall we join her?"
"That would good," said Violet, catching sight of Satria herself. Despite her confidence in her abilities, she felt a bit of relief at seeing her alive. She frowned. "What the hell is she doing?"
Lelitia squinted. "It appears that she's chasing a rather plump fellow in a green doublet—ah, a bit more red now, I suppose. I don't suppose you know him?"
Violet snorted, suddenly remembering Satria's dire threats toward Aggariel, a bumbling bureaucrat who had once spilled wine on her. It seemed that she was getting her wish.
"Let's go," she said, setting a brisk pace toward her, stepping gracefully over cracked and upraised tiles. Lelitia and her allies followed in her wake.
They made their way over to Satria unhindered. Most of those still fighting had drawn closer to the first table. Maeve's conspirators clashed with the guards, at least those who had not decided that discretion made the better part of valor, slipping out of the hall during the chaos. The two sides launched cautious probing attacks at each other, but neither seemed willing to get too close to the destructive chaos of the duel between them.
"Ah, Violet!" exclaimed Satria, Aggariel's severed head dangling from one hand. Ironically, she seemed much happier with their alliance to Maeve now that the plan had gone utterly awry and devolved into grisly bloodshed than before. She wiggled the head. "At least some good has come of all this."
"An enemy of yours?" asked Lelitia, eyeing the severed head.
"Oh yes," Violet said, snickering. "Satria's greatest foe. Never have any had a more worthy nemesis."
Satria sniffed haughtily, but as she began to respond, no sound escaped her lips. She frowned and rubbed her throat, then looked over in alarm at the duel of Mab and Maeve.
The obscuring light and smoke of earlier had faded, revealing the scene at last. Violet felt her heart sink at what she saw. Mab stood tall atop her throne's dais, one hand outstretched. Though her clothes were torn and bloodstained, there could be no doubt as to who had emerged victorious. Maeve floated a dozen centimeters from the ground, head lolling in unconsciousness. Her dark red hair fell over her face like a blanket, and Violet could see a dark liquid dripping from it. A swirling purple energy surrounded her, of such malevolent power that Violet could feel its influence from where she stood.
So strong were the emanating waves of power that all vibrations in the air were stilled, casting the room into silence, and Violet felt as though a great weight was pressing down on her from all directions. Mab's guards and Maeve's allies, closer to the source of the field, were trapped in place like flies in amber.
She met Satria's eyes and saw only horror there. Somehow, despite their rigorous analysis of Maeve's trustworthiness and the credibility of Esrid's threat, they had never seriously considered the possibility that the coup could fail. Maeve's power was legendary, and it was well known that the light of Mab's glory had begun to fade centuries ago. Now, faced with Mab's victory, Violet couldn't help but wonder if the rumors were false after all. Had it all been an elaborate ruse to feign weakness to draw out the disloyal?
There was no doubt in her mind as to their fates if they failed. Death was far too much to hope for—the fae had long perfected far worse fates, and there was quite possibly no one, in this world or any other, more adapt in the art of cruel damnation than the Winter Queen. Legends were born of the fates of those who betrayed her, each grimmer and more creative than the last.
Violet licked her lips unconsciously. To flee was hopeless. Even if they could escape this oppressive magic that made the air feel like honey and her limbs, lead, Mab would pursue them until the stars faded from the sky. To fight was even more futile. She had seen the awesome power of the royal fae, far eclipsing that of anyone present. Perhaps if she had another few years to hone her skill in mortal magic and for Winter to shape her body, she would have a chance, but now? No. A direct confrontation was hopeless, even if they had the advantage of numbers.
But Violet still had one last card to play.
As Mab slowly turned, surveying those who had dared to rise against her, her face as impassive as carved stone, Violet closed her eyes in deep concentration.
Then, two things happened very quickly.
Just as Violet was finishing her spell, she felt the oppressive presence of Mab's magic lift. Opening her eyes, she saw that Lelitia had forced back the magic, arms outstretched and trembling with the effort. Satria joined her, and soon they and the more magically adept members of Lelitia's force managed to stabilize the barrier, creating a bubble of unaffected atmosphere about twenty meters wide.
Before Mab could crush their attempt at resistance, Violet completed her spell and stumbled as she felt a great wave of magic rush through her, yew wood shuddering in delight. The hall rumbled, dully audible despite the stilling magic that permeated it from the vibrations passed through the ground and those standing on it. Cracks shot through the floor around the grove of trees in the center of the room, and suddenly, a massive cloud of earth was hurled into the air as a gargantuan figure arose, enormous volumes of soil pouring off its brawny shoulders. Violet let out a sigh of relief as she witnessed the fruit of her labor.
Three meters tall and extremely broad, the hulking behemoth moved with surprising grace. Gleaming dully in the moonlight, it was more than a mere weapon. It was sculpted of transfigured iron and animated by mortal magic, its mere presence in the heart of Winter a profane malediction. Ghostly red eyes burned in deeply set sockets, and if she didn't know better, Violet might have described it as angry.
With a thought, the construct burst into motion, heavy feet shattering marble tiles as it charged toward Mab. Cold iron passed through the suffocating Winter magic without slowing, rapidly eating up the distance before it. Mab took a step back, then raised her hands in front of her and unleashed an acrid stream of magic, streaks of black that darkened the ground under their passing condensed tiny particles of ice in their wake.
Her attack, destructive enough to tear down a castle's walls, washed soundlessly over the construct, Winter magic breaking against iron. It continued its charge, exterior scorched and pitted but undaunted.
For a moment, it seemed that Mab would be undone. But despite the shock that it must have been to be attacked by animated iron in one's own Court, she reacted quickly. She may have been unable to directly affect the construct, but that didn't mean she was defenseless. She waved an arm, and a torrential stream of water erupted outward, blasting into the charging mass of black iron. The constant stream slowed it, but it still doggedly advanced on heavy limbs.
No longer under immediate pressure, Mab casually turned, looking from one side of the hall to the other. Finally, her gaze fell on Violet. She quirked her head and smirked.
Shit, shit, shi—Inviolatus!
The same curse Mab had tried to use against Violet's construct now arced toward her as she hastily went through the motions of her strongest shield. Half a dozen twisting streaks of dark energy flashed with barely contained malice before striking Violet and her allies.
Violet's shield held, two streaks shattering against the nigh-impregnable magic, though it rang like a bell and shuddered as it absorbed the attack. Not all were so lucky though, and many of Lelitia's followers howled as their shields were torn asunder and the flesh was flensed from their bones. Just like that, a third of their number had been cut down. The iridescent field holding back the throbbing waves of magic still emanating from Maeve's arcane prison shuddered, shrinking several meters before the rest of the fae could compensate for the fallen. How Mab was able to control three separate, powerful works of magic simultaneously, Violet didn't know, but she was starting to understand with painful clarity how she had controlled the throne for as long as she had.
With Satria, Lelitia, and Lelitia's followers occupied holding back the hostile field of magic and the iron construct making progress too slowly to do anything useful before they were all slaughtered, it fell to Violet alone to retaliate. She slashed her wand in a jagged motion, hissing, "Avada Kedavra!"
The hall was once again illuminated by the macabre light of the Killing Curse, but Mab simply sidestepped. That had the side effect of disrupting her stream of water though, and the moment it took her to renew it gave Violet the opportunity to follow up her attack.
Confringo! Auguamenti! Dissoluti Lux!
Her first two spells were easily deflected by a transparent shield, but the corrosive light spell of her own design shone through, reddening Mab's pale complexion before she conjured an utterly black void that absorbed the light and began to creep back along the beam, forcing Violet to cease the spell lest the void reach her. Mab's expression flashed with a dark fury, and Violet steeled herself to withstand the coming storm. Her only hope was to hold out long enough for the construct to reach Mab, and even then, she wasn't sure if it would be enough.
Once more, she raised the Inviolable Shield, ignoring the stab of pain in the base of her neck, the cost of repeatedly using such a mentally taxing spell. A profoundly esoteric spell, it required an almost alien frame of mind best achieved with rigorous Occlumency. A caster must believe, without the slightest doubt, that the universe would sooner bend in two than the spell be breached. Such magic took a toll though, and Violet had heard of more than one wizard whose strength of will had been so great that they suffered fatal brain hemorrhages before allowing their concentration to fail.
Still, she had no choice. Mab clicked her fingers, and the temperature plummeted. Cerulean bolts tore through the air, aimed cunningly not at Violet but her companions. If too many of them fell, they would be once more ensnared in the stilling magic, rendering them easy prey.
With a desperate exclamation and one final herculean effort, Violet managed to force the shield to expand, enveloping the entire group. Pain exploded in her head and her vision darkened momentarily. She staggered, before being caught and steadied by someone behind her. Through it all, her shield did not waver, even as malevolent magic battered it, powerful enough to reduce the tiles outside of their protective bubble to powder.
"We can't keep this up!" shouted Satria with a concerned look at Violet, who had sagged into the arms of one of Lelitia's followers.
"I know," Violet gasped as further curses crashed into the shield. "But maybe we don't have to."
The lumbering construct was still slowly approaching Mab, struggling tirelessly against the endless water pitted against it. But it was too slow. By the time it reached her, Violet would have passed unconscious from the stress of maintaining her shield, and they would all be dead or worse.
But maybe it didn't have to reach Mab.
With the last vestige of concentration not dedicated to maintaining the shield, Violet changed the construct's orders. Rather than continuing to push back the tide, it abruptly darted to the side, once again moving with surprising speed. Mab turned, frowned, then refocused on Violet, intenifying her attacks without the distraction of having to hold back the construct. Violet let out an involuntary whine, feeling as though she was staring down an endless tunnel, but despite it all, a sharp smile graced her face.
With one last thundering step, the construct interposed itself between Mab and Maeve. The great mass of iron, anathema to Winter magic, immediately severed Mab's connection to the swirling wisps imprisoning Maeve, causing the purple magic vanish, dropping her to the floor. With it, the heaviness to the air likewise faded.
Sensing her control fail, Mab whirled around, but Maeve had already risen. Without taking even a moment to recover from her imprisonment, she splayed her fingers, and thunder roared as a bolt of white lighting arced toward Mab.
Violet sighed heavily and allowed the shield to fall, Mab seeming to be suitably distracted. She sagged into the arms of the fae supporting her, vision still swimming.
"Well?" barked Lelitia, eyes fixed on Mab. "What the fuck are you all waiting for?"
As if a spell was broken, the group of fae added their own power to the deluge of magic bearing down on Mab. Violet, too exhausted to participate directly, merely ordered the construct to resume its lumbering advance.
The combatants who had been near to the focal point of the stilling field had collapsed to the floor after it had lifted, adding to the unmoving bodies littering the hall. Perhaps their hearts had simply stopped from the pressure of the magic. In any case, it mean that Mab stood alone. Even now, her power and ancient knowledge was evident, and for every step she was forced backward, approaching her throne, another of their allies fell.
It seemed almost as though she might be able to turn the tide, but then the construct was upon her, and despite the flashes of light that exploded around it and the shards of ice that gouged it, it continued its dauntless charge. No more than five meters away now, Mab unleashed a final blow, a surge of crimson light that made the earth shudder. When the glare faded, the construct stood before her, one arm torn asunder that it had used to shield its chest. Still, it had been the most effective blow Mab had struck against it yet.
Red light began to gather around her fingers again, but before she could strike, a fusillade of white points of light streamed at her from Maeve. A shield sprung up around her, blocking most of the projectiles. But one punched through, piercing her shoulder before detonating in a white flash, spraying blood and chunks of flesh in all directions. Mab reeled, right arm completely missing, and was unable to react as the construct raised its remaining heavy arm and brought it down.
~#~
"It's done," Violet whispered.
Mab lay still, sprawled over the raised platform that held the throne she had once sat upon. Blood streaked down the marble from her missing arm and cracked skull, broken by iron. Over it, the dormant hulk of the construct loomed, the light gone from its eyes.
The once meticulously designed and constructed hall lay in ruin. Shards of cracked glass still fell occasionally from the roof, along with billowing winds and snow. The marble floor was pitted and smashed, tables had been upturned and burnt, and the whole place smelled of blood and death. Dozens, or maybe even hundreds, of dead were strewn across the hall. A few of the wounded but still living could be seen limping, crawling, or dragging themselves toward the exits. The greatest casualties seemed to have been collateral damage from Mab's field of weakening magic and from the otherworldly red threads, the spatial scars of which still scattered and bent light, creating hundreds of tiny rainbows in an almost comedic juxtaposition with the grim reality of the night's events.
"It is," Satria agreed. "But at no small cost." Slowly, she turned, surveying the countless corpses strewn across the room. Of them, Lelitia's expressionless gaze stood out, a wide hole surrounded by blackened flesh torn through her chest during Mab's last stand. Violet felt a dull pang of something she couldn't quite identify at the sight. Though they had met only that night, her decision to stand with Violet had turned the tide of battle. More than anything else, it was her glazed eyes that struck home that this had been no victory.
Then Satria faced Maeve, a dark glimmer in her eyes. "Correct me if I am mistaken, but was the very justification of this endeavor not to prepare Winter for war? Now half the courts are decapitated, and mark my words, this is only the beginning. Power vacuums across Winter, chaos to come—why, we need not fear your purported shadows in the dark for, in our weakness, Summer will see us brought to ruin long before that!" She brandished her sickle, the curved bone still red with blood. "Forgive me, my Queen, but faced with this illustrious demonstration of your leadership, I find myself questioning whether we should be done with the last of Mab's blood once and for all."
Maeve's lip curled. "Violet, control your hound," she said, not even meeting Satria's gaze.
"You dare—"
"Enough!"
Both Maeve and Satria turned to the interrupter, their anger finding new target. But he, a tall man with dark skin who Violet recognized as one of the former followers of Lord Rovis who had joined Lelitia, didn't falter. He sighed. "Enough, I say. I began this night in service to a good and noble Lord. Then, a Lady. Now… I don't know. But I know that Winter can ill suffer further losses."
"You meddle in matters beyond your station," Maeve said, sneering. "But he is correct in essence. It is blindingly obvious that things have gone awry—clearly so, if even Satria can see it—but assigning blame accomplishes nothing. We have succeeded and must now consolidate our power."
"Your power, you mean," Satria retorted.
"She has a point," Violet said with a sigh. "We'll have a hard enough time getting the remaining Lord and Ladies to unite under Maeve's banner, and that's with her being of Mab's lineage and having slowly garnered support for a decade or more." She shook her head. "And you really believe they would possibly support you? No. We have no choice but to continue along the path we set."
Satria continued to glare at Maeve in silence for a long moment. Finally, she said, "Very well. In the interests of Winter as a whole, I will accede to Maeve's rule. For now."
"Thank you, Violet," Maeve said, tilting her head in acknowledgment. "It's a relief to see that someone has sense."
"Don't twist my words," said Violet, tone frigid. "We kept our end of the bargain. See that you do the same." She cast a meaningful glance at the now solid form of the construct, contorted like an eerie statue, battered and worn. Even inert, the presence of so much iron was an unmistakable statement.
There are no immortals.
Maeve smiled widely, something indecipherable glittering in her eyes. "Of course," she said. "So it will be."
~#~
Violet and Satria departed the High Court before the next sunset. Lyle and their retinue remained behind, ostensibly to assist the fledgling regime in administrative matters, but in reality to keep an eye on Maeve. There had been little love to be lost between Satria and Maeve even before the events of the Solstice, but lost it was. It was likely that only the dire threats facing them had prevented them from progressing to open violence—Summer and internal conflicts in the short term, Esrid's arrival or Maeve's duplicity, as the case may be, in the long term.
Such was the need for haste that Satria flew ahead in her guise of a dove while Violet followed on horseback. If news of the Massacre of Lords, as it was now being called, reached Satria's court before she did, some members of the court with more ambition than sense might make a play for power, hoping that she had died during the coup. And that was to say nothing of the need to prepare for war. Summer would inevitably attempt to take advantage of Winter's turmoil, and with the court's position so close to the Origin, it was only a matter of time before their blazing armies gathered outside the gates.
Luckily, there were no disloyal for Satria to deal with, and by the time Violet arrived, the court was already beginning to mobilize. Over the coming days and weeks, it became clear that many courts had not been so lucky. With many of their Lords and Ladies slain, power struggles broke out, particularly in the outer courts, far from the High Court's stabilizing influence. Dozens, then hundreds, of fae fleeing from these fallen courts were streaming in to swear allegiance to Satria's court, drawn by its proximity to the Origin and by Satria's appointment as second in line for the throne. Maeve had kept that promise, at least, though it had doubtlessly galled her to do it.
Weeks stretched into months, and still Summer's expected assault did not materialize. Perhaps they had not realized Winter's true weakness, or perhaps they were assembling a massive force. Whatever the case, with the exception of the typical probing attacks, there had not yet been any true confrontation.
In the bubble of security provided by Satria's court, Violet could almost forget the tumultuous times. But she felt no sense of serenity. Aside from Summer's inevitable offensive and Maeve's frequent letters expounding on the imminence of Esrid's threat, Violet's own destiny was drawing nearer. With every day that passed, her debt to Satria shrank, and her dreams had begun to be filled with premonitions of wand battle and flashes of a ghostly skull devouring a snake. War was coming, that was sure, and it would seem that she, who straddled the gap between two worlds, would be faced with it on two fronts.
AN: Hope you enjoyed! As always, thanks for all the support.