Ice Country(82)

We charge the line.





Chapter Thirty-One





An axe arcs over my ducking head.

I raise a heavy boot and kick the guard in the midsection, launching him back into a mess of other guards who are attempting to hold off a pair of riders.

Something slices at me from the other side and I turn too late, only seeing the rider’s sword in time to watch it cut me into Dazz-steaks.

But then he slumps over before he can finish his swing, dropping his sword at my feet. His horse keeps running and I see the arrow sticking from the rider’s back as he passes. Siena stands back a ways, wearing my coat, bow strung with a new arrow, as if saving my life was just a small act, and she’s already pushed it from her mind. Her arrow flies and pierces the shoulder of a guard who’s fighting Circ. The guard staggers back and Circ slashes him down, flashing a smile in Siena’s direction.

I search frantically for an opening in the mess of bodies, but it’s all just violence and falling snow and armor and swords and—

There.

A rider cuts down three guards in quick succession, splitting the wall of men in half. He charges through, riding right into the palace. He’s going for the king!

Jolie! I scream in my head as I charge through the gap, ignoring the killing that continues on either side. I’m two steps from the door, two steps from getting inside, but then I see him.

A rider, hot exhalation steaming from both his and his horse’s mouths, galloping toward me, sword raised. It’s the same rider who cut down Buff’s father, who let my mother and Buff’s brothers and sisters live. The merciful murderer.

Heat flares up in my chest as I charge him.





~~~





When we’re so close that I can see the individual spots of blood on his sword, I dive to the side, narrowly avoiding getting trampled by his horse, which pulls up sharply, lifting its hoofs in the air, bucking at something that’s spooked it.

With a cry, the rider falls back, tumbling off and landing awkwardly. The horse returns to all fours and gallops away, leaving a clear view beyond. Skye stands stalwart, her blade raised, her brown skin steaming in the cold as her sweat vaporizes the moment it leaves her skin.

I stride toward the fallen rider, but Skye says, “Go. Save your sister.”

I glance at the rider, who’s struggling to his feet, looking dazed, then back at Skye. She walks toward him.

I run through the doorway.

Tapestries flash past me as I run, full of blood and dark men and violence—all of it having come to life just outside the doors. One of them, the one depicting the battle between the people living on the water and the riders, is shredded in half, each side hanging limply from its frame. Sliced by the rider who already came through.

Fear rises up, dwarfed only by the red hot anger that continues to pulse through my veins. As I pass the throne room I can’t hold back the images. Wes in chains, being led into the dungeons; Wes holding his bloody gut; Goff on the wall holding my sister. Goff. Icin’ freezin’ Goff.

The fear disappears and I’m all anger and it’s okay—it’s okay this time. Necessary. Right, even.

The steps to the dungeon go by on my left and I keep running. A ceramic vase lies broken in jagged shards on the floor. Knocked over by a horse that’s not used to running inside?

I turn a corner to find a staircase and a horse. The horse chews on something, ignoring me, as if I’m just another person and today’s just another day. The stairs wind up and up. A tower staircase. The central palace tower, the one that splits the clouds and allows the king to see the sun even in the worst storms, like the one today.

Rushing by the horse, I take the steps two at a time, tripping once, banging my knee, but scrambling with my hands to stay on my feet. Two steps, two steps, curving, climbing, around and around and around. Higher and higher, my lungs burning, my mouth dry, my hands fisted, higher and higher.

There are windows every twenny or so steps, but I can’t see anything except gray and white.

Higher and higher, around and around.

My legs are aching, not in one place, but in every place—but that’s nothing. Nothing.

I realize I’m speaking out loud between ragged, heaving breaths. “Jolie. I’m coming. I’m coming, Jolie. Don’t hurt her. Don’t. I’m coming.”

I don’t stop running or mumbling. Both things are all I have and they give me hope.

I reach a landing and there’s a door, a vacant room beyond. I keep going.

My legs aren’t working the way they should and I have to switch to one step at a time. With each stride they protest, but I tell them Only one more step, and then I take it. Repeating my empty promise, I take another. And another. And another.