icy rage

Corb and his retinue seemed to enjoy giving everyone time to settle into an uncomfortable silence. Then he strode forward, his chain clanking, and pitched something into the air with a casual underhand toss.
There was a heavy clump as the thing, about the size of my fist, bounced and then rolled.
It came to a halt at the foot of the dais where the high seat stood.
It was a very small severed head. It had been a while since the head had been taken, the skin shrunken tight, patches here and there beginning to fall to decay.
I recognized the features.
It was Gwynn ap Nudd, King of the Tylwyth Teg, one of the larger subnations of Faerie. I’d done business against him once in the past, and he still sent me season tickets to Cubs games once in a while. He’d been responsible for the famous Billy Goat of the Unseelie Accords.
A gasp went through the room.
Mab stared down at the severed head for a solid three seconds. Silence stretched out into an endless crystalline moment.
The Queen of Air and Darkness lifted black, black eyes to King Corb. The temperature in the room plummeted. A film of frost crystals began to form over every metallic surface, and swirls of darkness appeared, spreading through Mab’s silver-white hair and continuing through into her gown.
She spoke in a whisper that was heard by every ear in the hall. “Explain yourself.”


Peace Talks Chapter 29, Page 277-278