Ice Country(67)

“Them fellas, they delivered the Heater children to the king?” she asks.

“Yah. And so did I,” I remind her.

“But you only did it once. And you told us why. They probably did it again and again and again, countless times. They mighta been the ones who gave him my sister.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but I don’t think they wanted to. There’s something I’ve been missing. And they’re helping us now—that’s more than anyone else has done. We can describe your sister to them, maybe they’ll remember her.” I’m pleading now, trying to get her outta that cell, so we can escape together, so maybe one day we’ll be able to finish what we started before Abe showed up.

She swallows hard, steps out, so close to me, closer than we’ve been since I chased her in the forest. Dangerously close. My heart drums harder. The feelings from before return. There’s no time for this but I have to touch her, have to do something, before it’s too late. She brushes past me and Brock hands her a short dagger.

“Aren’t you the icy one,” Brock says.

“Shut yer tughole,” Skye says.

Smiling, I say, “Don’t mess with her,” and slap him on the back, ignoring both the look he gives me and the axe he tries to.





~~~





There’s blood and bodies on both sides of the passage, littering the path beneath our feet. I look back at Brock with a question, and he says, “Don’t get Hightower worked up. It ain’t pretty.”

Walking behind Skye, I step around and over the bodies, staying close, feeling her closeness like a promise. A promise of what could be if we ever get outta the palace.

We climb the steps leading out to the main hall, but I have to stop halfway up when Skye stops in front of me. Everyone stops, and I see Hightower bending his neck to look around the corner. Then, without even the smallest grunt, he motions for us to follow.

With soft footfalls, we sneak into the hall, leaving the piles of bodies behind us in the dungeons. Skye and I walk stride for stride, while Brock jogs past us, cradling the axe I refused, moving toward the front of the column, as if he’s just itching for us to run into more guards.

“Follow my lead,” Skye says as we approach the high, white archways that lead to the palace courtyard. I plan on it, I think to myself.

The archways fly away overhead and fresh, cold air fills my lungs, sharpening my senses.

A cry goes up from one of the watchful tower guards. A dozen other wall guards turn and let out a chorus of shouts, alerting the groundsmen, who are lounging in the yard, probably not expecting any action from behind the safety of the high, stone wall.

Our group breaks into a run, scattering across the yard, making us each an individual target. An arrow zips past my head, so close its tail feathers leave behind a buzzing in my ear. The wall guards are shooting at us.

I dart left, following after Skye, who’s moving faster than the wind now that we’re outside, opening up her long strides, just a blur of brown and grace. A guard stands waiting, clutching a two-headed battle axe, his face harder than the metal of the weapon he’s carrying.

Skye closes in.

He swings—

—but she’s already ducking, ramming into him shoulders and head first, knocking him flat on his arse, the axe spinning away over his head. She raises her knife over her head, slams it down without hesitation.

I gawk at her as she climbs off the dead guard, making the act of killing look so easy that I wonder how many times she’s done it before. More times than my zero, that’s for sure.

While I’m acting my usual idiot-part and standing around watching Skye in action, I see a shadow closing in from my left. I turn sharply, catching the glint of metal before I see the face of the guard wielding the long sword.

I jump back, narrowly avoiding getting slashed to ribbons as the guard brings the sword chest-high across the empty space I was just standing in. Anger floods my face with warmth as I rock back on my heel and then spring forward, using my arm and hand like a club, bashing him over the head. I finally see his eyes, but only when they widen and roll back into his head. He slumps to the ground.

I pick up his sword.

I throw it back down, having never really used one before.

Another guard rushes me, wielding a battle axe. Maybe even a fool with a sword woulda been better than what I am now: a weaponless fool.

I dodge his first slash and, getting inside his weapon’s arc, crush my elbow into his jaw. But he recovers nicely, jabbing my nose with the butt end of the axe. It hurts like chill and I see stars for a second, feeling the discomfort and metallic taste of blood running from the inside of my nose down my throat.