Ice Country(70)

Wilde steps forward, a wicked gash running from her ear to her chin. “He’s right, Skye. We all need help.”

Skye’s fierce brown eyes are uncertain for a moment, but then she nods, says, “Move out!”

Before we charge through the White District, I look back, wondering if, at any moment, a horde of guards will pour from the gate, descending upon us like a swarm of demons.

Instead, I see only one man, high atop the wall. He holds a child in his arms.

With a slow, drawn out motion, he slides his thumb across his throat.

And it’s hard to see, because it’s dark and snowflakes are falling, but I know…

I know.

It’s King Goff and he’s—he’s got—

He’s got Jolie.

And I don’t know if his death decree is meant for me or for her.





~~~





We run, walk, limp, hobble, and carry each other to the Red District.

It took every last bit of my self-control not to run back to the palace, to demand that Goff hand over my sister, to fight him and the rest of his guards, all of whom will be awake and called into action.

But if he hasn’t hurt Jolie yet, it’s unlikely he’ll hurt her now. He told me himself that he needs her, that she’s some special trade item, whatever that means. And Wes is in trouble now, so he has to be my top priority. But even as Buff and I struggle along, carrying him, watching him fight in and out of consciousness, babbling like our drug-plugged mother, Jolie’s all over my thoughts. She’s calling to me, asking me why—WHY?—why did you leave me behind when you were so close to finding me? I thought you loved me?

It’s all I can do to whisper, “I’m sorry,” and push onwards.

Although it’s the middle of the night when we reach the Red District, there’re lights on everywhere, music playing, men laughing. A man crashes through a swinging door, landing face first in a pile of snow. “And stay out, you drunk!” a gruff voice calls after him.

A door to our left creaks open and there’s Lola, looking as provocative as ever, something thin and silky tied up top and around her waist. “By the Mountain Heart,” she murmurs when she’s sees us leaving bloody footprints in the snow. She slinks back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Skye glances at me and I shrug. Just another normal night in this place.

“Turn here,” I say as we approach a cross road.

Around the bend we stop at the second building on the right. There’s no sign, no placard, not even something spray-painted on the wall to describe what’s here. You either know it, or you don’t. Thankfully, after Wes demanded that I never come home again looking like I’d been through a war, I found this place. They’ve stitched and bandaged me (and Buff too) up more times than I can count even with both shoes off and my toes warming in front of the fire.

“Here,” I say.

“Here?” Skye says.

I nod. She shrugs and pushes the metal door open, holding it for me and Buff.

We carry Wes inside.

It smells like ’quiddy and burnt ice powder inside, but it’s not an underground drug and booze house. The alcohol’s for sterilizing wounds and the burnt ice powder is a natural anesthetic, although I wouldn’t recommend using it for that purpose very often. As my mother has shown time and time again, it’s more addictive than a woman’s smile.

Maddy, the rough-edged woman who runs the joint, is sitting at the desk when we barge in. “Good Heart!” she exclaims. “Dazz?”

“Mads,” I say with a nod. “Wes needs urgent medical care. So do some of the others.” I wave a hand back at the ragtag group behind me. Her eyes widen. “All of us need treatment for one injury or another.”

“We’re all full up,” she says, frowning, her eyes jumping between Skye and Feve, who are standing next to me.

“Mads,” I say, not even attempting to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Please.”

“I don’t even know where these—these strange people come from,” she says, her eyes narrowing on Feve’s markings, which curl out from beneath his skins and around his neck.

“Fire country,” I say. “They come from fire country, and they need your help. I need your help.”

Every line in her face crinkles. “You got silver?” she asks.

“Nay,” I say, and I see her frown deepen. “I mean, not on us. But you know I’m good for it.”

“Ain’t got no silver, ain’t get no service,” she says crossing her arms.

My arms are burning from carrying Wes and all I want to do is collapse right here on her floor, refuse to move, force her to help us, but then Abe hobbles up next to me and says, “I got plenny of silver and yer icin’ gonna help us or so help me Mountain Heart, I will make the rest of yer days a livin’ chill, Woman!”