Shatter Like Glass-Cinderella Retold

Part Forty-Three

He dropped to the ground and rolled, barely missing the blast of ice the Weaver sent towards him. The chill from the blast permeated his clothes. He shivered as he leapt back to his feet. He drew his sword as the gates were shoved open. Apparently, the Weaver had not truly locked it. The Kingslayers flooded the grounds. Several of the palace guards ran out to stop them. Peder focused on the man who had held him against the gates. He now saw that the man was indeed quite young, less than twenty years. His eyes were blue-gray and his skin incredibly pale. Beneath his green hood, Peder could make out that his hair was reddish brown. The red tint to his hair could only mean that this man was a sorcerer, and to his knowledge the Kingslayers only had one sorcerer.

Ashen's brother pulled a whip from his belt. He unfurled it, flicking it in Peder's direction. Peder leapt back. He barely avoided the tip striking against his arm. Drawing his sword, he took a step forward. Markael sent the whip towards Peder. Peder raised his sword to block the attack. The whip wrapped around the blade. Peder yanked the sword in an attempt to pull the whip from Markael's grip. The sorcerer's lips moved, in a spell no doubt. Then he pulled. The force not only brought the whip back towards its owner but nearly took Peder's sword with it. Peder had to grip the hilt with both hands. A strength spell . . . it must have been a strength spell. The whip came free of the sword. Peder swung the blade towards the sorcerer. Markael merely flicked the whip once more. This time, the boy had aimed for Peder's unprotected wrist. The edge slashed against his skin. The wound should have been nothing, but the metal burned against his skin. Peder cried out, dropping his sword in pain and shock. What spell was this?

"So, you are a Fairy," Ashen's brother hissed. "When Smiegal told me, I hadn't quite believed him. You, the child of the late king Caius, a Fae?"

"Iron," Peder gasped. "The whip is iron."

"Of course it is," Markael snapped. "I'm no fool. Even if I didn't believe Smiegal, I wouldn't risk doing battle against a being without bringing along its weakness."

Peder clutched his wrist. The skin looked burned, as though hot coals had been pressed against his wrist for hours. Gritting his teeth, he let go of his arm. He reached for the knife at his belt only for the whip to slash his upper arm. The sharp tip sliced through his clothes and struck his skin. He cried out again, grasping his upper arm.

"Now Captain," said Markael, "Attacking me will only bring you more pain. Surrender now, and I might allow you to live."

Peder's hand dropped from his arm. He reached to pull another knife from his belt. The moment his fingers wrapped around the handle, something cold hit his hand. Ice spread across his skin. In seconds his hand was fully encrusted and frozen onto the knife hilt. He tried to move his fingers and found no success.

The Weaver stepped around Markael, extending his hand towards Peder. Ice spread from the ground to Peder's feet and legs. Slowly it crept up him. Soon he would be entirely covered.

Markael walked towards him. He unsheathed a sword from his belt. It was likely the same one he had held to Peder's neck earlier. Good—at least it had not been iron.

His relief was short lived. Markael pressed the tip of the blade against Peder's chest, then drove it through him. Peder gasped at the piercing sensation. Still though, his skin did not burn. His abilities, though weaker than those of actual Fairies, would heal injuries not caused by iron. The blow would not result in his death.

Peder struggled to move against the ice encasing him. It was not moving overly fast, fortunately. If he could only reach a weapon. He should have one knife left. Markael would realize what he was doing before Peder could get to the blade. Grimacing, Peder envied Ashen's ability to call her swords back to her.