We sit huddled together beneath a tree, sheltered from the snowfall by its widespread branches, every limb densely packed with soft green needles and snow. I wrapped Hel in the gambeson to warm her bones. She’s still wearing the golden dress she’d looked so beautiful in the night of the harvest supper. The garment hangs in tatters and shreds, the filthy fabric incapable of shielding her skin from frostbite, though she snagged a pair of boots somewhere along the way. She smells of some sort of stench, something likely picked up in the wood or maybe from the village.
And her cuts. There are so many. From thorns, I think. I’ll heal them when she’s sleeping, or maybe I should just tell her the truth and be done with it. As for her missing witch’s marks, neither of us has an explanation. For the first time, glistening color paints my once-unmarked skin, and hers is smooth and blank as a new piece of parchment.
While the horses stand close by, at the farthest reach of the tree’s protection from the heavy snowfall, Alexus stalks the lakeshore and surrounding wood. I glance at him, thankful that he’s giving Helena and me privacy to speak.
I turn back to her, though I sense Alexus’s nervous energy on the fringes of my attention, feel it with his every crunching footfall in the snow. I’m on edge, too, my skin humming with anticipation and shock—neither of which I can shake.
Gods’ stars, he nearly killed Helena. I know he didn’t realize who she was, and in truth, she attacked him like a rabid animal, but I can’t stop thinking about what nearly happened.
I almost lost her. Twice.
“I was with Finn and Saira one minute,” she says, “and then they were gone, swallowed by fire and smoke. It was chaos, Raina. I searched and searched for them, and for Mother and the twins, but a gray-haired Eastlander, the one they call General Vexx, started a fight with me and—” She touches a deep cut above her brow, dried with old blood, and draws an unsteady breath. “He hit me, and everything went dark. When I came to, I was draped over the back of another Eastlander’s horse. A big man. Young though, with hair like fire. My hands were tied. The army had just crossed into Frostwater Wood, and we rode here because there was no other way. This magick…” she scrutinizes the construct “…is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“It is Nephele,” I tell her. “And the witches at Winterhold. They have learned vast magick and are protecting the king. Alexus says their magick will know us, that we will remain safe.”
My words are meant to ease her, but my faith in such things still isn’t strong. If the magick knows us, why does snow build around us by the inch? Why is it so cold we can hardly move? Why no shelter? No clear way through this wood?
Hel glances over her shoulder with a wary gleam in her eyes. “I can see that now. The ice just…opened. One second, it was stable. The next, it started fracturing. The water below sucked most of the Eastlanders down, but not all. Many made it across the ice, including Vexx. The warrior I was with is a giant, and I’m not a small woman. I was so scared that we might break through the ice, incapable of doing anything but watching others fall in, the lake closing around them and refreezing.” She grits her teeth, her temple flexing with the movement. It’s as though she’s clamping off an incoming memory. “I hate them for what they did to the valley, but watching warriors pound against the ice, begging to get out—” She looks at me with those dark and haunted eyes. “I will never forget that.”
“No, but that was not your fault. You cannot bear the burden of the Eastlanders’ deaths.”
I take her shaking hands in mine and press my forehead against hers. I wish I could heed my own advice, but I bear the burden of our valley’s massacre—those innocent and guilty—too well.
A thought strikes me. “Was there a man with a wounded face?” I ask. “The prince?”
“No, not that I saw.”
Inexpressible relief sweeps through me. It isn’t a definite answer to the prince being dead or alive, but his absence is a good sign.
“There are mountains beyond here,” Helena continues. A hard shiver rolls through her. “And a mostly overgrown path that diverges into two routes. To the right, mountains. It’s an awful ride. There’s s-so much snow, and…white wolves. Luckily, I got bucked off the Eastlander’s horse and ran. He caught me, but I fought him like an-an unholy terror.”
“You got away, though.” I feel thankful for all those tussles Hel and Finn had when we were growing up, and even more so for her love of the blade.
She nods, her brows pinching together. “Though I think the Eastlander let me. I can’t be sure. He could’ve easily subdued me, yet he failed. I ran until I saw the light of the lake, only stopping l-long enough to cut away my bindings on a jagged rock. I ended up here again. I braved the lake, tried t-to g-go back home. But there was a guard stationed t-there, and the wood allowed n-no exit.”
“You saw him?” I ask. “And he let you live?”
Her eyes go distant, and she bites her lip. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember a lot of the past couple of days.”
She exhales a long sigh, and the stench that clings to her wafts from her body and breath. I noticed the odor the moment we embraced on the ice, but now, the longer I’m near her, the stronger it gets. It reminds me of the old hunk of brimstone father kept in his trunk, found near a hot spring south of Hampstead Loch. The amber rock—its surface rough with craggy amber stones—always smelled so acrid, even though the scent faded over the years.
“Do you recall what happened after you saw the Eastlander?” I sign.
“I came back here and hid in the wood—” she scrubs at her face like its presence bothers her “—and tried not to freeze to death while I thought about what to do. I slept for a while. Then I woke to the s-sound of a horse snorting. I saw what looked like two people and horses crossing the l-lake. I was so s-sure you were an illusion, that the cold had finally gotten to me. But you came closer, and I recognized you and him,” she tilts her head at Alexus, who’s heading toward the horses. “And, I don’t know, something in my mind…snapped.” Her eyes shimmer, and her chin trembles. “Again, I don’t r-really even remember it. You’re sure I attacked him?”
Alexus scoffs and tugs at the blanket draped over his shoulders—his only protection against the wind and snow. He keeps staring out at the ice where his dagger sits, freezing to the lake.
Ignoring him, I nod and caress Helena’s cheek, scooting closer for warmth, hoping to soothe. She’s so jittery, her words and speech so broken. And that scent…
“You are in such a state. It is no wonder you cannot remember.”
“I think I j-just couldn’t lose anyone else. Not again. I-I’m sorry.” She tosses those last two words over her shoulder at Alexus, and he grunts an acknowledging response.
“I understand.” I squeeze Helena’s hand. “But I am here, and Alexus is fine. We are all okay.”
The twisted part of this situation is that—though I’m so glad she did the right thing—at least the right thing in my eyes, I’m equally as happy that she didn’t kill Alexus. When I watched them fighting on the ice, the fear that she might hurt him made me just as panicked as when I watched him tighten his arm around her neck. Helena was so fierce, wilder and more violent than I’ve ever seen her.