Ice Country (26 page)

He squeezes back. “Kill that bastard king,”
he says. “If it’s the last thing you do.”

“I will,” I say. “I’ll do it for Liza, for
Wes, for the kids. For my sister.”

He nods and lets go.

Hightower grunts and holds out a big hand,
which I take, squeezing it firmly.

“To Brock,” I say, raising a fist. They each
raise a fist of their own and I knock mine against them, each in
turn.

“To Brock,” Abe mumbles, “the no-good
scoundrel.”

~~~

I stop in front of Maddy on the way out.
She’s pretending to busy herself in the cabinet, rearranging the
supplies.

“Thank you,” I say.

She doesn’t turn around. “Abe paid me good
silver—”

“Thank you for trying,” I say.

She returns to fiddling with the supplies and
I walk on, but when I look back she’s watching me go, her face
streaked and glistening with tears.

Outside, I push Wes outta my mind so I don’t
breakdown or break someone’s face. I focus on Jolie.
I’m coming
for you, girl
, I think.

We take backstreets—nay, streets that are
behind the backstreets, streets that no respecting king or his
guardsmen would ever find themselves walking down. Beggars and
those in a drug coma rest against the walls, enjoying a bit of
summer sun that breaks through the dense cloud cover. There’s still
snow on the ground, but it’s not cold snow.

The Red District disappears and we enter the
forest. A snowbird speaks to us in whistles and light tones. If it
wasn’t for my icin’ memories, I could almost be happy on a day like
this.

A forced silence sets in on all of us, as if
we believe the songbirds and the trees are the king’s ears, and if
we speak they’ll fly or march to the palace to tell him what we
said. It gives me plenny of time to watch the people I’m with, the
people I wish were coming with us.

Feve’s well ahead of the group, steady and
calm. Everything about him seems so self-assured, so confident. I
can’t read him though, and every time I look at him I feel like
he’s struggling to read me too.

Siena’s walking along next to Circ, who’s
limping a little but seems to have recovered well. His leg is
heavily wrapped but it must be a flesh wound, not a bone or muscle
injury. We all got pretty lucky, considering. All of us except
for…

I shake my head around, tell my brain to
freezin’ leave me the freeze alone or I’ll freezin’ slam you
against the next freezin’ tree I see!
That shuts him up for a
few minutes and then he says,
Wes
. I bite my lip, hard
enough to draw blood, and go back to watching.

Siena’s shivering pretty badly, although her
skins are thick. Funny though, I never really noticed any of them
being cold until now. I take off my coat and give it to her. She
doesn’t say anything because her teeth are chattering so much, just
takes it and wraps it around herself like a blanket.

Buff’s walking next to Wilde, because that’s
what he does, and she’s already wearing his bearskins. What are the
chances? A guy like him with a woman like her.
Zero
, I
think, and hold in a laugh. I hope he gets the chance to prove me
wrong.

Skye’s been avoiding my gaze since we started
walking, and frankly I’m glad, because I’m not sure I can bear it
right now. I feel so raw, like my skin’s been scraped away, partly
by the fighting and the violence, but mostly by losing Wes, seeing
Jolie in the king’s grasp, leaving everything underneath poking
out, emotions and nerves and blood vessels sticking every which
way. It’s like the littlest thing might set one of them off, make
me go crazy, crying or laughing or burning hot with rage, or a
mixture of all three, laughing and crying while punching King Goff
in the face.

Skye strides ahead of us and I watch her
go.

She doesn’t look cold at all, as if she’s
radiating her own heat from within. Or she just bears it well, like
she seems to bear everything so well. I want to chase after her, to
talk to her, even if we only look ahead and avoid eye contact while
we’re doing it, but I don’t.

She catches up to Feve.

He tried to help save Wes.

I shake away the thought because it shouldn’t
matter one way or the other, not when Wes is…

I watch as Skye and Feve talk, wishing it was
me instead.

~~~

When Siena starts talking to Buff and Wilde,
Circ comes over to me. He’s limping and I can see a grimace every
couple of steps, which he’s unsuccessfully trying to hide.

“You alright?” I ask.

“I’ll live,” he says with a forced grin.
“I’ve had worse during Hunts.”

“For the tug?” I ask, wondering what a tug
even looks like. Like a bear maybe? By the time the meat gets to
ice country it’s already butchered and wrapped in skins.

He nods and I try to imagine how different
their world is to ours. “What’s it like?” I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“You know, living in fire country,” I
say.

He nods, almost to himself. There’s a
solidarity in his eyes and expression that makes me feel like he’s
someone you can depend on, someone who’ll cover your back no matter
what. It reminds me of the way Buff is, only with fewer jokes.

“It’s hot,” he says with a straight face.

I stare at him for a second and then laugh,
realizing he’s joking, but not. Maybe he’s even more like Buff than
I thought.

“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” he says.
“On a warm spring day when the wind is blowing, the prickler are
growing, turning green, the burrow mice are scavenging in the sand,
and the desert floor is rolling in every direction, it’s home.
Especially if you’ve got someone special beside you, leaning into
you.”

“Siena,” I say, picturing the two of them so
close even when separated by bars and stone, holding hands, playing
their thumb game. I try to take that memory and stick it in the
desert.

“We go back a ways,” he says, almost
wistfully.

“And Skye?” I ask, trying not to look at her
ahead of me, whispering to Feve.

“I’ve known her just as long,” he says.
“They’ve both changed over the years, but Skye more than
Siena.”

“How do you mean?”

He laughs, a hearty chuckle that’s full of
fond memories. “Well, Siena’s always been the way she is. You know,
the way she has with words, always making me laugh, always wishing
every day was full of more hours I could spend with her. She’s got
a real unique way of looking at the world. The only thing she’s
ever lacked is confidence in herself, which is the biggest change
in her. Ever since she joined the Wilde’s, she’s got that spark,
like she knows she’s more than just a stream of words, that she’s
actions too.”

I take it all in, nodding to myself as I
remember how quickly Siena made me laugh, and also how quickly she
strung her bow to protect the lot of us against the guards. Yah,
I’ve seen firsthand everything that Circ just told me. “And Skye?”
I say.

“She’s always had the confidence, always had
a lot of friends, was never afraid to speak her mind to anyone and
everyone that’d listen.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, laughing.

“So you’ve had a taste? Well, that’s pretty
normal. She’ll tell you what she’s thinking in a heartbeat, not
caring whether you like it or not. And if you cross her or her
family…”

“Watch out,” I say.

She sounds perfect, I think to myself.

“Dazz,” Circ says, and I hear the sadness
coming in his words, the compassion.

“Don’t,” I say, unable to hear another
I’m
sorry
from anyone.

~~~

We’re almost to the border.

We stop to rest in a blank spot in the woods.
People are finally talking again. Buff to Wilde. Siena to Circ.
Skye and Feve. I’m the odd one out for the moment. I stalk off into
the woods, find a clearing of my own, big enough to fit me and my
temper, which is rising for no reason at all.

I grab a stick off the ground, snap it over
my knee. Too thin—too easy. I pick up a thicker branch, do the same
with it, relishing the
snaaaap!
as it shatters into two
pieces. I imagine it’s the king’s leg or arm or
head
.

“Argh!” I yell, and I’m sure the others will
hear it, but I don’t give a shiver anymore. I’m done crying, I’m
done mourning. My anger will sustain me now.

I hear sticks cracking in the forest and I
look away from the sound. It’ll be Buff, my best and most loyal
friend in all of ice country, hearing my temper-induced cry, who’ll
come running to make sure I’m okay.

I can’t look at him, not by any fault of his.
I can’t look at anyone right now.

The twigs stop snapping and feet scrape into
the clearing.

“I’m fine,” I say to the forest. “Leave me
alone.”

“I tried to git ’em to go back to the
palace,” Skye says.

A tremor runs through me. Anger? Excitement?
Both? Neither? Something else entirely? My emotions, while
surface-deep, are like a labyrinth, a maze of false walls and
trapdoors.

I stare deep into the cracks of a tree trunk,
not seeing anything.

I don’t say anything.

“That was yer sister on the wall, wasn’t it?”
Skye says. “With the king.”

I stare straight ahead, like a statue. She
looked back too. Saw what I saw. I didn’t imagine it.

I don’t say anything.

“It’s a seven day journey,” she says. “Across
the desert. A day to prepare and gather provisions and warriors.”
She pauses and I can’t help but like the way
warriors
sounds
in the rasp of her voice. “Then seven days back. It sounds long but
it’s only half a full moon. We’ll come back stronger. We’ll crush
that baggard.” I like the way she says
crush
, too, but I
can’t enjoy it, because all I can see in the lines of the tree
trunk is Wes dying while I watch helplessly.

“Why are you leaving?” I ask.

“I trust Wilde,” she says. “The others do
too.”

I can see that, but still…I can’t wait two
weeks for them to return. I can’t. “More like you’re scared of
Goff,” I say, my words an obvious lie.

She frowns again, takes a step forward. “Yer
not thinkin’ straight. What happened to yer brother, it’s—”

“Don’t speak of my brother.” Fire’s burning
in my chest, hot and cold and fast.

“—cloudin’ yer judgment,” she continues as if
I hadn’t spoken.

“The only thing that’s clouding my judgment
is you,” I say, taking my own step forward. Three steps away. I
could almost touch her if we both reached out.

“We’re all tryin’ to help you ’ere.” Stop
there, I think. Just stop there.

My eyes are burning but I don’t blink either.
“Yah, I’ve heard that one before,” I growl. “But people don’t
always come through for you, do they?”

“Are you sayin’ I’m lyin’?” Skye says,
getting that look in her eyes, the one I saw just before she leapt
on Big’s back in the dungeons.

I ignore it, goad it even. “Just confused.
Wooloo,” I say in a mocking tone.

She pushes me away with both hands. “Go to
scorch,” she says.

I scowl at her, take a step forward.

She charges, grabbing at my arms, trying to
get ahold of them, to pin them, but I twist away and grab back,
clamping my fingers on her shoulder for a quick second before she
slips away. Arms outstretched, she manages a firm grip on my arms,
and I grab her back. We grapple, frantic-like, as it turns into a
wrestling match, and she’s strong, so strong, stronger than most
guys I’ve fought before.

I push and pull and try to get an edge, but
she’s pushing and pulling and doing the same and then dropping
suddenly, throwing off my center of balance and I’m falling,
falling, slamming into the dirt, scrabbling at her as she holds me
down, throwing her offa me, rolling, getting on top of her and then
I realize I’m not angry, I’m not angry, I’m fighting her but I’m
not angry—least not at her. My guard falls away and she takes
advantage and throws me to the side, gains the upper hand. But I’m
not seeing her, at least not the
her
that’s here, who’s
fighting me, I’m seeing the Skye who’s arms were reaching out
through the bars, grabbing mine, want in her eyes and on her lips,
and I don’t want to fight anymore, not one second longer, and
so—

—I’m holding her and I think she’s holding me
back and—

—my hands draw up her slender neck, run along
her jawline, cup her chin, and then—

—I’m kissing her and she’s kissing me and the
world blinks away as I close my eyes and—

—it’s just Skye, all around me, but she’s
brown skin and short, dark hair and not gray and cloud-covered like
the other sky and I think she’s the
real
Sky and—

—it’s like for this moment, for this one
moment, Wes isn’t dead anymore and everything’s okay and we might
be able to rescue Jolie and I’m happy and—

“Feve has a family, you searin’ Icy fool!”
she snaps abruptly, pulling back.

I look at her but her words aren’t angry and
she’s almost laughing. “What?” I say, breathing heavy, unable to
decipher the meaning of anything but her lips, which I desperately
want to kiss again.

“Feve,” she says. “He’s a married man. He
wants to help you, but if we go back to the castle like this he’ll
die, and his family will be left without him. If it was just us to
worry ’bout, we’d be with you in a heartbeat. All we wanna do is
get more warriors so we’ll have a chance.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling my face go warm.

“Is everything all right?” Buff’s voice says.
I turn my head and he’s pushed aside a leafy branch and is watching
us, amusement splashed all over his face.

“Fine,” I say. “Skye was just teaching me a
thing or two about fighting.”

Skye rolls her eyes, but I can tell she finds
it funny.