Ice Country(52)

“What’re we, a bunch of game-lovin’ Midders tryin’ to figure out which boy thinks they’re smoky?” Skye says.

I laugh, starting to catch onto the fire country lingo.

I make a suggestion. “We’ll play Buff’s little game, but let’s stick to questions about fire or ice country.”

“’Specially blaze about Goff, the Cure, and the Glassies,” Skye suggests.

“I’m bored already,” Feve says.

“You shut it,” Siena says, which makes me smile. I’d love to get a glimpse into whatever history there is between those two.

“I’m in,” Circ says.

“It might help us figure things out,” Wilde adds.

“Right,” Buff says. “First rock’s for Wilde.” Surprise, surprise.

There’s scuffling and scraping as everyone moves to the front of their cells. I stick my head out and purposely look left first, so as to not be so obvious about how icin’ bad I want to look in Skye’s direction. Siena’s head pops out but she looks at Circ, who’s grinning at her. Feve’s on the opposite side, his bare chest sliced by shadows and markings. He’s staring at me like if he looks hard enough he might kill me with just his eyes. Further down the row, Wilde’s next to Feve, and she’s looking my way, but past me, I guess at Skye.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

Not yet. Too obvious.

Buff’s at the end of the hall, sort of looking at everyone, but definitely favoring Wilde’s direction.

Don’t look—

—how can I not look?—

—don’t. Really, don’t.

I look.

I mean for it to be a quick, nonchalant glance, just to see that she’s there, but she’s looking right at me, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips I’ve gotten to see the most of over the last day. I don’t blush this time, not one bit, just look back, meeting her eyes, feeling something akin to excitement rush through my chest.

She’s not icy, like we thought. Nay, her beauty goes far beyond a word like that, which suddenly seems so childish, so ordinary. And she is anything but ordinary. With deep, brown eyes that seem to collect every last flicker of torchlight, strong high cheekbones that fit her right-sized nose and full lips so perfectly, she’s a brown-skinned angel, delicate and strong, soft and hard—and grinning.

I’ve been staring a while.

“Mornin’, icy Dazz,” she says, soft enough so only I can hear.

“Morning, beautiful Skye,” I say, shocking myself at my own boldness.

Skye’s grin fades and I can tell I’ve surprised her too, which is some feat, considering she’s seemed one step ahead from the very beginning.

When Buff says, “Catch, Wilde!” she looks past me, and the moment is broken. I turn, too, and watch as Buff chucks the stone awkwardly through the bars. To his credit, it goes in the general direction of Wilde, skipping across the stone and resting in front of her cell, where she picks it up. She looks at Buff, her long black hair draped behind her.

“Ahem.” Buff clears his throat. “Wilde, my lady, what are the three most important qualities you look for in a guy?”

Chaos follows the question. I’m laughing, unable to help it. Feve’s protesting, yelling something about the childishness of Icers. Siena and Circ are holding hands and more or less just shaking their heads. And Skye’s screaming the most, saying things like “…burnin’ not what we agreed,” and “…searin’ wooloo Icies.”

Wilde, however, raises a hand, instantly silencing everyone, including me, as I suddenly find myself unable to laugh. “Truth, honor, wisdom,” she says, answering.

There’s silence for a moment, and then I say, “Sorry, Buff, oh for three.”

Laughter fills the dungeon, Buff’s being the loudest of all as he nods his head. I catch a glance from Feve and it’s not filled with animosity. He’s not laughing exactly, but he’s not glaring or frowning or shooting eye-daggers, so I guess it’s a win.

Skye’s laughing, too, which makes me smile even bigger. Score one for the funny man.

We all stop, however, when the door barges open and Big sticks his thick head in. “What the freeze is goin’ on in here! Shut yer gruel-eaters ’fore I shut ’em for you!” He slams the door and there’s a lot of hands over mouths, as people try not to laugh.

“Now, can we stick to the rules?” Wilde says.

Buff nods sheepishly.

Right away, Wilde turns down the row and says, “Dazz,” bouncing the rock along the floor. It skitters to my feet and stops against my toe. I look up expectantly. What will the wise Wilde leader ask me?