Ice Country(53)

“What are you not telling us?” she asks.





Chapter Twenny





I bite my lip. I’ve told them most everything, but not one of the most important things. They might already know all about it—but then again, they might not. And who am I to be the one to tell them? On the other hand, who am I to keep it from them?

I decide on a more neutral approach, seeing if I can draw what they know out of them.

“My sister was taken,” I say.

Silence and stares.

“I’m sorry, I left it out because—well, I don’t know why. Just because it’s personal, I guess. Her name’s Jolie, she’s twelve years old, and someone took her away, abducted her in the middle of the night. I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t—” My voice breaks and I look at the ground, at the rock at my feet. Failure written all over me. Plain as day for Skye to see. I couldn’t even protect my own little sister.

“Who took her?” Wilde asks softly.

A second question. Do I have to answer? Should I answer? Can I answer?

“I don’t know for sure,” I say, “but I think…”

I grab the rock, skid it across Siena’s cell, all the way to Circ’s. “How can the Heaters send their children to King Goff?” I ask, with no attempt to keep the venom outta my voice. I feel heat rising everywhere. My fists clench and I feel my old friend, my temper, urging me to hit something, anything. So much for our fun, laughter-filled game. Maybe we should’ve stuck to Buff’s type of questions.

“What?” Circ says.

“What the scorch are you talkin’ ’bout, Icy?” Skye says. There’s no question it’s a capital I in Icy this time.

My eyes meet hers, but there’s no anger in them. Or truth. She has no clue what I’m talking about. I scan the faces of the other prisoners and find the same thing in all of them. Confusion. They’re as clueless as I was not that long ago. They don’t know an icin’ thing about any of it, which is a huge relief, because if they did…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be something I could forgive. Says the man who delivered the children to the king.

I sigh, close my eyes, feeling the heat leave me.

Eyes closed, I tell them everything I left out the last time.





~~~





When I finish, there’s complete silence. Dungeon master Big would be proud.

When I open my eyes, I expect everyone to be looking at me, just staring. Hating me. For being the messenger. For not doing anything to stop it. For delivering—actually being a part of taking—the children to Goff.

But they’re not. They’re looking off into nothing. At the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. None of them speaking or doing much. Just waiting, as if maybe I’ll say, “Ha! I got you, didn’t I?” But I can’t say that, as much as I wish I could.

Finally, Wilde speaks. “Goff took your sister. Jolie.” It’s not a question.

I nod, tired of speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“What’s he doing with the kids?” Feve asks. I shake my head, feeling more and more helpless. “You don’t know?”

“No one does,” Buff says, coming to the rescue. “Not even those close to the king. It’s a big mystery.”

I remember that it’s Skye and Siena’s father who’s as much to blame as anyone. I look at Skye first, but she must have something mighty interesting on her thin, leather shoe, because she’s studying it with both her eyes. So I look at Siena, who feels me looking, and turns her head. There’s a tear in her eyes, just hanging there, as if it’s not strong enough to make it over the edge of her eyelid.

“That’s what he was doing for the Cure?” she says. It’s a question, but I don’t think she’s expecting an answer, so I don’t say anything. She wipes away the weak tear with the back of her hand, then slams it into her other palm, as if smashing it. “I always wondered what’d be enough to trade for some of the Cure. Some tug meat ain’t nothing. Guarding the border? It made sense when we thought there was no Fire in ice country, when maybe fear of it spreading would make the king give a lot for a little. But now it makes sense, in a knocky kinda way. If Goff wanted little kids for some reason, then he’d pay anything for them, even the Cure. No wonder my father was so obsessed with reproducing.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Siena sighs. “He was so focused on girls growing up and having children,” she says. “He told us it was for the good of the tribe, to ensure our numbers didn’t dwindle. But really…” Her voice fades away in an echo.