Chapter Text
Part of being the paragon of perfection was perhaps his stunted rationality when it came to his bottomless well of anger. It often came up in conversations with Jude, how his thought process devolved in the face of pressure. Cardan argued that he still handled things better than Jude though he was beginning to think it was his ability to scarcely take things personally. It kept most stress factors at an arm’s length, far enough that he typically handled them better than Jude would. (If he were in a better mood, he’d snicker at the recollection of her jumping off a tree as told by the Roach.)
But there was no way he would keep the matter of Jude’s injury at an arm’s length, not when it directly interfered with the matters of heart.
This was likely why he thought it okay to leave the Palace without his usual small army of guards or even Gavin at his side. It was perhaps even stupider than Jude’s actions of going alone with only the Roach though Cardan consoled himself with assurances it was not quite the same. He was a direct descendent of Mab, High King of Elfhame, the reason why Orlagh had withdrawn the Undersea’s threats and why she did not retaliate when Cardan rose Insear and effectively reduced the sea kingdom’s territory. If anyone could threaten an already subdued northern troll, then it would be him.
Besides, he only needed to know what exactly was the incapacitating curse and run the troll further to the ground. His only regret was not first asking what it may look like, if he was large and ugly with mottled skin or if there were any obvious warts. Jude told him very little of it and he wasn’t quite in the mood to inquire the Roach. He didn’t think the goblin would be particularly forthcoming either with all the insults Cardan had thrown his way.
Still, he found no regrets in his heart, only a deeper determination as he urged his stallion to leap through the isles and northward towards the Unseelie lands.
Technically, they were within his jurisdiction, part of Elfhame since the courts that ruled over them swore fealty to Cardan years prior. And Jude made sure to win over the smaller gaps of civilization whether by force or sweet lies, promising gifts and prizes with words only she can break. He remembered her jokes about it, how they’d been soothed by her kindness and toasted to her and Elfhame’s generosity. All the while serving poisoned wine in Jude’s cup, their motivations fueled behind an ambition that was not truly their own. Those cases were Jude’s favorite for she enjoyed detangling each scheme. She traced back each point of the plan to find a supposed ally or a larger court backing them. Cardan and many others of the Elfhame gentry made it a point to attend every bloodbath Jude performed, dancing to the beat of iron slashing skin.
And when the havoc ceased and the faeries became sated by dramatics, drunk on spilled blood, Jude and Cardan would return to their chambers. “The violence was excessive tonight,” Cardan often said. Jude would shrug her shoulders and push her head against Cardan’s chest, the ends of her washed hair tickling his skin. Then he would wrap his arms tighter around her and they would slumber like that until Jude found reason to leave the bed. Often involving stately matters of family affairs.
Tonight, much the same will happen though this time it would be Jude to exclaim at the spectacle, pupils bloated in desire at the sight of him soaked in the troll’s blood. Tonight, he will sleep enveloped in his wife’s warm embrace, nestled between the valleys of her breasts, ears pressed to the rhythm of her strong heart.
***
“So you have found me.”
Cardan had planned out the entire interaction throughout his journey, devoting much of his attention to daydreams of slaying an ugly troll who’d wronged his wife. His visions were tainted with fury, one that slowly subsided the further north he went. He’d been half glad to have it away, to be rid of his blinding anger and think rationally for a true plan. For all he knew the troll would’ve returned to the site of the attack with reinforcements, severely outnumbering Cardan who’d come alone. He would need his wits for this battle, ensuring total victory in avenging Jude and finding out precisely what ailment infected her.
All this said, he did not account for the sudden blinding despise that coursed through his veins for what he saw. The troll was not ugly as he’d first assumed, this troll was one of great power, wielding unspeakable magic. The worst part was its undeniable beauty, a heart shaped face, rosy cheeks flushed with life. It looked at Cardan with clever brown eyes, nearly golden in the waning sunlight, its brown hair done up in little braids that mimicked a goat’s horns on each side of its head. The Roach did not warn Cardan of the creature’s clever tricks and now he felt blindsided, consumed by even more anger. Worse was the whiplash of Jude’s lively state, a strong contrast to the real Jude who now laid injured on their bed.
“You dare wield the visage of your High Queen?” Cardan demanded, voice threaded with authority. He felt the golden rings of his irises glow, echoing the power beneath his feet, the lands of Elfhame here to avenge its High Queen.
“How does it feel? Having the one you love slowly dying, helpless to do anything but watch?” The voice it wielded was not unlike Jude’s though it left her mouth with an undercurrent of sorrow Jude never had. As Cardan stepped closer, withdrawing his sword and pointing it towards the troll, he realised there were imperfections to the mirrored Jude too. Its symmetry was too perfect, lifeless despite the appearances of joy. Her cheeks were too pink, her lips too full. The troll resembled a hazy memory of Cardan’s wife, an impersonation by someone who’d only caught a short glimpse before being incapacitated.
Cardan’s gaze observed the troll further, noticing its gait was unlike Jude’s proud one. It was subtle but he noticed the way it seemed to hunch a little, as if standing tall pained him, as if it were stabbed in the back by someone from a tree.
“You will tell me what you did to her,” Cardan seethed, taking another step towards the fake Jude. He knew the troll meant to confuse him, to wield Jude’s face as if it could cause sympathy. It knew Cardan very little, underestimated how every inch and freckle and pore of Jude’s were inscribed in his mind like a sacred text he worshiped daily. The troll’s uncanny impression only stoked his anger further, inviting levels of fury that made the trees around them shiver, causing the ground, the very earth itself to tremble. “Tell me what you did to my wife.”
The first strike of Cardan’s blade was cleverly evaded. The troll had no weapons, wielding only Jude’s face and nothing more. Its entire plan was to dodge and win this battle through his power. Cardan would not let him, slashing it with blow after blow, strengthened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the borrowed energy from the land. As the fight went on, Cardan noticed the bushes and shrubs around them go limp, others now yellowed and dead.
So that was what the northern troll did. It poisoned Elfhame itself, affecting the root of he and Jude’s power, effectively weakening them as each second passed. But it would not matter, Cardan’s reach far surpassed Jude’s for she was just as sluggish to sharpen her powers as High Queen as Cardan was when it came to wielding a sword. Now all he had to do was hold off a little longer before stabbing it at the opportune moment, perhaps to the heart. The northern troll was already injured, it would not take long to cease this once and for all.
“What would they say, I wonder?”
“Who?”
“The one whose passing has hurt you so dearly.” Cardan switched his sword to his left hand, landing a punch with his right. His knuckles connected with a satisfying crunch, his heavy rings leaving deep nicks in the not-Jude’s flesh. The wedding ring did the most damage, blue blood oozing down where the jewelled prongs had stabbed it. The liquid seemed to burn the skin it touched, a delightful, satisfying sort of pain. “What would they say to your cause, destroying other loves in light of your ruined own.”
The troll stumbled back, its face reverting back to what it truly was. Haggled and old with dark blue eyes that spoke of the deepest sort of sadness. “Do not speak of Roselle, you know nothing of her.” It took a shaky step forwards, conviction in his tone when he said, “It is the High Queen herself who killed her, who’d put her blade at the nape of sweet Roselle’s neck and sliced cleanly through.” Another one of Cardan’s blows must’ve landed because he was bleeding from its side, more blue blood spilling to the ground. Where it landed, the grass yellowed, as if the troll itself was poison to the land. “Sweet darling Roselle whose only sin was pouring a chalice of poisoned wine to your High Queen.” He spat the word, devoid of any reverence Cardan expected most his subjects to carry when it came to his wife. “She was the first to be slain and from the shadows I watched as her head rolled, as the Gentry rejoiced at the vulgar display. Tell me, High King, do you know what it feels to watch your lover’s head be kicked about like a ball? To have them complain at the way her nose broke and made it hard to roll?”
Cardan had left early that night, uncaring for what his bloodthirsty subjects did. If they wanted to avoid such ruthless consequences then surely a little respect was warranted.
“So you mean to carry out her dying act and poison my wife?” Cardan arched an eyebrow. He leered over the troll, watching as it panted and retold the story of pitiful Roselle. Cardan couldn’t truly care any less. “Did you stab her? With a poisoned knife so while the wound closed, there would be no trace of poison?”
A nefarious deed, worthy of a nefarious punishment.
“Would you appreciate the poetry of it being the same poison?” The troll was coughing out its blue blood now. “Though truly, it is no ordinary poison but my own blood. One I share with my northern kin,” he laughed though it sounded choked. “There is no known cure beyond time which I doubt your mortal queen has much of.”
The ugly emphasis on ‘mortal’ stoked the wildfire of fury burning in Cardan’s heart. He wrapped his hand around the troll’s neck, gripping it tight enough to feel the windpipe held within it. “I wonder if the faerie kept Roselle. Our mages are talented with preserving certain things and accept jobs by enjoyment more than gold. I wonder, did you cradle your dear Roselle’s head and bury it in a proper grave or leave it with my courtiers and their willful whims. Perhaps it is being used right this moment in a game of football. Fashioned in a way that her desperate eyes are kept that way, searching the shadows for you to save her.”
As Cardan’s grip grew tighter, the troll flailed, spilling some of its blood and spit on Cardan’s clothes. Maybe he’d skin the troll’s carcass and fashion a new cloak just out of spite.
But to die so swiftly did not seem just, not at all proportionate to the horror he’d put Cardan to, is still putting him through. With the power surging through his veins, he called up the tangle of roots below them, letting them pierce the ground and hold tight to each one of the troll’s limbs. Then, he stepped back, releasing the panting troll as it began screaming. The roots have begun tugging, pulling him apart slowly but surely. There was enough force to pop the joints in his shoulders, then the one at his ankles as they became bent in such a jagged angle.
“It is a shame I must rush home, unable to take my time with you.”
Cardan sliced at the troll’s arm, slicing through muscle and bone and sinew, releasing the tension but bringing on a different pain. The answering scream brought him great pleasure for there was truly nothing better than seeking retribution on behalf of Jude. Strong, unyielding, unfailing Jude who despite her jarring mortality insisted that she could do things on her own. As if she were compensating for what she was not, ashamed that she herself was merely a human. An opportunity to seek justice in her honour came seldom and Cardan meant to make it count.
He cut off a leg on the other side, just to watch him scream some more. Blood had splattered all over Cardan’s face now and he was beginning to feel its burn. As if it were molten iron splashed on his face.
Still, he treaded through the pain, smirking cruelly as he slashed over the earlier gashes, spreading them some more. Vultures have begun to circle overhead, waiting for Cardan to go away so they may feast on a corpse that was not yet dead.
“Once I attend to my wife, I will come find what’s left of you and fashion you into a ball for my nephew to kick around. He’s recently got into what the mortals fondly call the ‘World Cup’ and would appreciate such a gift.” Then he turned his back on the troll, satisfied to have learned that it is a northern curse that will go away with time. He would return home and save his wife, if she were not already healed. After all, the troll did not mention precisely how long, just taunted Jude’s mortal nature at him.
Cardan scoffed at the thought, climbing onto his stallion and hurrying back home. All would be fine now but the pain from where the troll’s blood hit him was beginning to make him dizzy. He’d never experienced anything so disconcerting, nothing since the time Taryn had poisoned him during Madoc’s scheme for the throne. This felt worse, his grip on the reins slackening as he felt himself slump against the horse. It seems the northern curse has gotten to him too…
***
“Wake up.”
He startled at the two words, even more so as he recognised the voice that spoke them. Jude’s looming form hovered over him, dignified in a velvet gown embroidered with gold. Her hair had been done up as if she just returned from court but it was her eyes that caught his attention. Syrupy brown sparkling with joy, wet with tears. Shadows coloured contours of her face, betraying how tired she must be.
“Jude?” His voice was hoarse, coloured with disbelief. Did he do it? Had Jude awakened from the ailment that kept her chained in slumber.
“You’re such a wimp, you know,” Jude teased though her voice was hitched like it was when she was beginning to cry. “It took me only three hours to wake but you needed three weeks. I tried waking you every day, thinking that perhaps there was something different about your curse.” She choked back a sob. “The Roach briefed me on your idiocy and rode straight out with an army he had prepared. We found you in a ditch, your horse grazing on the grass as it watched over your body.”
Ah.
“You hypocrite,” she said but left no room for his reply as she kissed him. Finally, Cardan was home.