Ice Country(62)

Big takes another wild swing, but Skye dances around it, kicks him sharply in the knee, the one he appears to be favoring, keeping his weight off it. He cries out, but steps toward her with his good leg, grabs at her, just missing when she ducks to the side, punching him with a series of quick jabs to the ribs. He hollers again, but not with pain, with anger, as if he hardly even felt the blows and Skye’s nothing more than an annoying fly he wants to crush between the flats of his palms.

He turns quicker than I expect him to, swings twice more and Skye dodges, but she’s being forced into a corner. She’s down to two options: move back into her cell or retreat toward the dungeon door, which Big locked behind him on the way in. I know she won’t go back in her cell where Big’ll just slam the door shut on our escape plan. I haven’t known Skye that long, and yet I know she won’t surrender, won’t give up. Not ever.

She backs up a few steps, toward the closed door, waits for Big to make the next move. “Finish this, Skye,” I say. Her eyes meet mine briefly, but then they’re back on her opponent, who stomps toward her.

Getting a running start she moves to meet him.

Just when he swings one of his bear-claw-sized fists at her head, she slides, feet first, skittering off the stone floor, shooting right through the mammoth gap between his legs.

He grabs at her, but she scrapes past, crying out as the harsh stone tears at her exposed flesh, but when she’s through—and icin’ right, she’s all the way through—she pushes to her feet and leaps on Big’s back, throwing her arms around his thick neck.

He starts screaming like a murderer on the hanging block, reaching over his head, grabbing at her, trying to find an angle to use to pound her into oblivion.

But he can’t find one. Can’t get a good shot in. Just like he couldn’t reach the fungus that Skye had invented.

Frantic, he runs backward, smashing Skye into the wall.

But she hangs on.

He turns and runs backward into the bars of Skye’s cell.

Her body’s taking a beating, but still she hangs on.

Skye digs her heels into his skin and pulls harder, choking the life out of him.

He starts bucking, throwing his head back, trying to crack her face with his skull, but she keeps her head low and to the side, safely out of harm’s way.

Slowly—

Ever so slowly—

Big stops bucking—

Stands there all dazed-like—

Drops to one knee—

Then to the other—

And finally—finally!—flat on his face, with Skye on top.

She did it.

She actually did it.





Chapter Twenny-Four





“You done it, Skye,” Siena says. “I knew you would.”

Others are saying similar things, encouraging words, excited words, because, well, we’re getting out of this Heart-forsaken dungeon.

Skye climbs offa Big’s back, turns to look at us, all sweat-gleaming and muscle-tightened. She wipes the blood off her chin with the back of her hand. A woman looking like this, it should be kinda gross, more than a little off-putting, but nay, it’s the exact opposite. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Get the keys,” Feve says.

Skye nods and reaches down at Big’s belt, trying to find them.

The dungeon door swings open.

Goff stands there, filling the doorway, wearing the finest clothes that ice country taxes can buy. In the cracks and crevices between him and the door I can just make out the dozens of armed guards behind him.

“You really thought you could just walk out of here? Haven’t you learned that I control everything? Ice country is my game board, and you are the pieces.”

“Go to scorch,” Skye says, even as I’m wondering why the king himself would stoop so low as to visit the dungeons. Something about it doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t he have people to do this kind of work for him?

“Oh I will,” Goff sneers. “But not for a very long time, not with the Cure in my possession. But you, my dear fire country animal, are heading there sooner than you think.”

“Stay away from her,” I growl.

Goff glances at me, a look of surprise flashing across his royal face for a moment, but then morphing to amusement. He laughs. “Interesting,” he muses. “Making friends with the natives I see. What’s this girl to you?”

When I don’t answer, he takes a step forward. “Guards! Please escort her back into her cell.”

Skye stiffens and I think she might take on all of them, Goff included, but then she wisely steps into her cell, says, “I’m goin’,” and even closes the door herself.

A guard moves forward and locks it behind her.

“Is he dead?” Goff says, motioning to the pile of flesh at his feet.