I suck in an excited breath, smack Alexus’s chest, and point into the wood. He jolts awake, his arms tightening around me.
“What? What is it?” He reaches for his sword.
I point again, and this time, he sees it. Feels it, just like me.
Nephele.
We’re on our feet faster than we’ve moved in days, dusting off the snow, leading both horses toward the clearing—toward the magick. I’m so stiff, but I move with swift steps, too swift, too excited, especially for a woman with a knife that can supposedly kill anyone shoved inside her boot.
I can’t help it—my heart races with knowing. I can feel my sister, almost like she might be standing in that clearing waiting for me when I get there.
Only she isn’t.
What is there still makes me smile.
Under the glimmering blue strands of inserted magick, there’s kindling. Dry kindling. It sits in a pile in the middle of a grassy circle, like a spring meadow has been cut out of a tapestry and placed inside this snow-covered magickal world built by witches from miles and miles away. There are two large logs for sitting and resting, and moonberry bushes grow all around. Their pale blue fruit is ripe for picking, and the roots hold sweetwater we can gorge on.
Better still, one of the prince’s crows—a massive thing—sits on a low-limbed tree, watching me steadily.
The sigh of relief that leaves Alexus is more like a groan of ecstasy, and I can’t help but look at him and grin. We’re going to rest, fill our bellies and warm our bones, and then I’m going to break my way out of this construct so I can find the Prince of the East and end this.
Strange how everything has changed. How my hatred of the Frost King has been the last thing on my mind for a while. How I’m now smiling at the man that I wanted to kidnap a handful of mornings ago and aching for the death of another man I’ve only just met. Now, when I try to decipher who my real enemies are in this game, I’m no longer so sure. The game is bigger than I ever dreamed, and I’m its newest player.
I walk toward Nephele’s skillful refuge and stop next to the crow. Boldly, I meet its gaze and wait until I feel its master rouse behind those beady eyes, curious as always.
When I grab the annoying little soulless scout, neither one of them expects it. Before I snap its neck—with my bare hands, just like I said I would—I push a message from my mind and send it straight to the shadow prince, wherever that bastard son of a demon may be.
Thanks for dinner, you maggot. I’m coming for you.
His voice reaches me on the edge of a laugh. Best of luck, Keeper. I’ll be waiting.
23
Raina
“Gods’ death, Raina. I could kiss you right now.” Alexus sits on the other side of the fire, half-hidden by soft swirls of gray smoke as he gnaws on a roasted crow’s wing. Even from here, I can see those full lips, shiny from the fat of dark meat. He drinks from a moonberry root and looks at me over the dancing embers. “For killing the bird,” he adds.
“Of course,” I sign. “For killing the bird.”
My cheeks warm—and not from the flames flickering between us. I know full well that he’s only relieved to have a bite to eat, a blazing fire, and a place to rest our weary bones.
I’m not sure why part of me wishes it was something more.
Curled up inside his cloak, I tip back a moonberry root and empty it before placing its husk in a pile with the others I’ve drained. I’m thankful for the nourishing liquid that quenches my thirst, but also for the roots, fleshy with thick skin. If we clean out the pulp, they’ll make excellent storage for the berries, providing protection against the cold. Maybe, along with the berries, they’ll keep us from starving, which I’m sure was Nephele’s intent.
I lean against the log at my back and let out the longest, deepest sigh. The God Knife lies buried under a tuft of moss beside me, and Mother’s bowl sits on a rock near the fire, handfuls of snow melting inside. They’re the two things that symbolize what’s been digging at me ever since we sat down to eat. I want to check on the Eastlanders and the Prince, and on Helena too, but now, I even feel brave enough to look for Finn. I need the closure of knowing what happened to him, especially after everything I went through with Hel.
As for the God Knife, I can’t let go of the niggle in my mind that perhaps I should tell Alexus that it exists. That level of honesty with him should feel so foreign to me, but it doesn’t anymore. Instead, I’m left wondering if maybe he knows something about such things. Maybe he can provide insight.
Or maybe telling him will complicate things further.
I’m so tired—too tired to get into that tonight. It’s a kind of tiredness my body has never experienced but that I have no right to complain about. Before we got the fire going, I healed the frostnip on our fingers, and after Alexus prepared the crow and set it to roasting, we washed our hands and faces. He minded the bird while I tended my feet and the horses’ minor cuts and ice-shod hooves. Even those small acts of healing drained me.
Though I feel rejuvenated now, it’s hard to feel at ease. Here I lie with food in my stomach, stretched out on warm grass that has no right to exist inside this frozen forest, while a band of Witch Walkers works tirelessly to keep this construct intact, lest the remaining Eastlanders invade their home like they did the village. Then there’s Helena, trapped like an animal and suffering the terrors of a demon alone in the cold. The heat in her body had to have come from the wraith, so she’s most likely safe from freezing, but I still worry.
I can’t help Hel or Winterhold’s witches unless I’m whole, so I try my hardest to shut out the guilt I feel for these hours of reprieve.
Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and focus on how wonderful the heat of the fire feels, the way it chased away all the numbness and replaced it with life. But a white wolf howls, and I open them immediately and sit up, the muscles along the back of my neck tight.
I can’t stop worrying about seeing the Prince of the East again or being flooded with memories of our burning, dying village or images of Helena fighting her demon or dead men under ice and snow. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
“Helena is out in the open,” I sign when Alexus looks up at me from cleaning his hands. “There are wolves.”
“She’s fine, I swear.” His eyes are ever the anchor, calming the flutter of worry inside my chest. “Her scent alone is enough to send a pack of wolves in the other direction. But also, my scent is all over her. It’s the only reason the wolves haven’t bothered us. They know to keep their distance. She’ll be safe. We’re safe.” He stands and gestures to the ground beside me. “May I?”
I nod, and he sits with his back against the log, long legs bent at the knee.