Ice Country(87)

That’s when I see it.

That’s when I see it.

Jolie? Nay, Jolie. Nay.

The blood down her back. The knife embedded in her skin, gleaming, always gleaming, laughing at me with the voice of the broken king beyond it.

“Jolie!” I scream, grabbing her, clutching her to me.

“Dazz, I’m cold,” she says into my chest, which should be a funny statement, because we’re in ice country so we’re always cold, but people don’t say stuff like that here, because it’s a given, like trees have leaves or winter has avalanches.

Jolie doesn’t speak like that.

“Dazz?” Her voice again, so innocent and sweet, sounding weaker than before, less vibrant, my sister’s voice but not, changed somehow.

I kiss her cheeks, wetting them with the tears that are streaming down my own face, over my lips, salty and fresh.

She’s not dying. She’s not. Not on my watch.

A surge of strength and determination and anger, red hot and fiery, courses through me, but I ignore the anger. Revenge will come later. Now I have to stop the bleeding.

I lay Jolie down gently, resting her head in my lap. There’s so much blood—so much I can’t think, can’t speak—but I know I have to stop it, have to stop the life from draining out of her.

I’ve got nothing to use but myself. I clamp my hands around the handle of the knife—the king’s knife—and put pressure around it, try to keep the red liquid from spilling out past the wound, being careful not to push the blade in farther. Jolie cries out but I have to ignore it, although I’m sobbing and shaking and wanting nothing more than to hold her and kiss her.

“Help!” I scream, but I know no one will answer. The pounding on the door has stopped, but the men outside are still yelling, still shouting meaningless words, full of rage and murder. But the murder’s already happened and Heart of the Mountain save them if they make it through that door.

“Help, please,” I sob, my tears falling on the backs of my hands, which are white with effort and strain. The blood’s not coming out as fast anymore, but Jolie’s stopped speaking, her back barely rising and falling with each exhalation. No matter how much pressure I put on her wound, without help she’s

(dead.)

“Help…” The word dies on my lips, but I won’t give up, won’t stop sealing the wound with my own flesh.

The king groans nearby.

Rolls over.

Starts to get up.

“You shouldn’t have done that, kid,” he says, rising up, bigger and taller this close, when I’m slumped to the floor like an animal. There’s a nasty gash on his forehead where I hit him, spilling blood down his cheek, some of it getting onto his lips, into his mouth, coating his teeth with a red sheen. His eye is puffy and turning purple. His other eye is full of crazy.

I don’t stop the pressure on Jolie’s back, try to ignore Goff, pretend he’s not there. If I take my hands away from her back, she dies.

Goff raises a boot in the air, hovers it over Jolie as if he might step on her, but then levels it out so it’s even with my head. I close my eyes and brace myself for a kick to the face, determined not to let go of Jolie.

No matter what.

The blow never comes.

I open my eyes.

Goff’s boot is lowered and he’s fumbling at his belt, searching for something, for…

Another knife.

He holds it up, lets its sharp edges catch the light, shows it to me.

“I’ll kill you,” I say.

“If you let go of her, you’ll kill her,” he says.

“And then I’ll kill you.”

He shrugs. “Maybe so, but I’m the one holding the knife.”

An impossible decision. If I let go of Jolie, she might die, but if I don’t, Goff will kill us both anyway. I have to fight.

It has to be a quick one, or I might be too late to save her.

“I love you,” I whisper to Jolie, but I don’t know if she hears me.

Then, weaponless, I stand.





~~~





King Goff slashes at my throat, leaping over Jolie’s small body.

I jump back, surprised at the suddenness and intensity of his attack.

But I’m not on my heels for long, not with the rage that’s been roiling beneath the surface of my skin since this day began, since Wes died. Finally—finally!—I can let it out, all of it, the fear for Jolie’s life, the anger over Wes’s death, the burning need to take revenge on the wicked man who threatens my whole world, who’s done unspeakable things.

He feints left, feints right, and then comes up the center, flicking his blade across my abdomen. I’m fast and full of energy, but he’s faster, a man possessed, and he slices my skin, sending a fierce burn into my gut.