Ice Country(56)

I nod, smiling. Siena, also like her sister, is a total crack up. “You don’t like Feve much?” I ask.

Siena cringes. “We have a bit o’ history—and not the good kind,” she says.

“Like you and he were…”

She cringes double. “Blech. No, nothing like that. I always been with Circ. Always will.” That brings me back to my unasked question. My heart hammers, though I don’t know why. It’s just a question.

“Siena, can I ask you something?”

“Long as it’s not ’bout Feve, I ’spect so.”

“Nay, not Feve. Circ. What you two have got seems so…” I say, searching for the right word without sounding like some doe-eyed school girl. Beautiful? Buff would slap me for saying something like that. Magical? A harder slap.

“Perfect?” Siena says.

I nod. “Yah. You just seem to fit each other. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” There are plenny of couples in ice country. My parents, who were better together than most, at least before my father died, still seemed like a round crossbeam in a square fitting-hole. And the three girlfriends I’ve had, well, they were like ice to my fire. Or in the case of the witch, the opposite. One would melt the other, leaving a big old lake of slushy water. And then whoever was the slushy water would rise up and douse the fire, leaving it a big old mound of wet, muddy ash.

Siena laughs and it reminds me of Skye, which sends a bit of energy zinging down my arms. “Nobody’s perfect,” Siena says. “Everyone knows that, but I guess with me and Circ it was something like fate of the gods I s’pose. Everything tried to stop us from being together—once I even thought, really truly believed, he was dead—but then some power greater’n anything us humans have, pulled us right quick back t’gether. And we ain’t letting go. Never again.”

She pauses, and I don’t have any more questions, but I feel like she’s got more to say so I just wait, looking off at one of the torches burning from its fixture on the wall.

“I guess you know when you’ve found your true Call when everything else just melts away and it’s you and them and them and you, and you want nothing more’n to stay like that forever and ever. And then time stops even though it can’t, can’t possibly, ’cause no one can stop time, but it does, it really stops. You look at them and you see yourself, your past, your future, all at once. And it’s enough—no, more’n enough. And everyone acts like it was a choice—and you were so brave for making that choice—but it was never a choice, not really.”

I stare at her, shocked, not expecting to hear all that. It’s a lot to take in. I haven’t ever felt like that around anyone, although Skye’s definitely changed my perspective on women and relationships.

There’s something about being around Skye that’s so icin’ energizing. She could just as well punch me in the face as kiss me, and I suspect the effect would be shockingly similar. A jarring so deep it shakes my very soul. She’s got a toughness in her you can’t teach. You’re either born with it or not. She’s got something special in her, that’s for sure.

But with everything that’s happened, first with the notorious cheating witch, to losing all my silver, to seeing what I’ve seen, to losing Jolie, and now to meeting Skye, maybe my heart’s ready to heal. I need to get back on the figurative snow angel, so to speak.

For the first time in a while, everything seems okay, even when I know it’s not. But at least now I know it can be. I have hope.

Abruptly, the dungeon door is thrown open. We both look in its direction, expecting to find Big carrying our evening meals of unidentifiable slop. Big’s there alright, but not with dinner.

He pushes Wes through the door in front of him.

He’s got chains on his hands and feet.





Chapter Twenny-Two





From the beginning, it was my plan, and mine alone. An arrogant plan, one that’s doomed us all. My best friend. My brother. Jolie. And these fine people from fire country. Well, mostly fine. Feve’s been giving me the death stare from the time Big shoved Wes into the cell next to him, across from me.

“No funny business,” Big hollers to Wes, before leaving him to stare across at me.

“What happened?” I say, wondering whether it really matters.

“I got caught,” Wes says, managing a tight smile. A bad joke, especially under the circumstances.

Everyone’s awake from their naps now, poking their heads between their cell bars. “Who’s that?” Skye says. I dip my head, hating to have to tell her. Then she says, “Wait just one Cotee-nibblin’ moment. That’s yer brother, ain’t it? He’s the tugblazin’ spittin’ image of you, ’cept not so rough-lookin’.”