“You’re hot and cold every other breath. Which version of you am I talking to tonight?” she asks, throwing her hands up in the air, frustration evident in every line of her body.
I step closer, lips curling in a humorless smile. “What do you mortals call it? Antarctica?” I lean in, close enough to catch her scent, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “I’m an iceberg.”
Then I turn and walk away before she can see the crack forming behind my carefully crafted facade. Or I do something stupid, like claiming her delicious mouth for my own, like confessing that beneath the ice lies a fire that burns only for her.
“I’m not your enemy, Locke,” she calls out behind me, but I keep walking, knowing she won’t follow. She’s too much, too soft, too bright, too beautiful. I don’t deserve the joy she gives with just one look in my direction. No, if I let her in, even a little bit, I’ll lose the edge I need to keep her alive. Keeping her aliveis the only thing that matters now. Even if it means she hates me for it.
I’m halfway back to the outer wall of the fortress when I hear it again, a whisper of movement. This one doesn’t smell like the sweet scent of my Starlight, though, this one smells like deception. Like metal and malice and the particular cologne my father gives to his personal guards. Juniper berry essence from the local village of Briar Row.
I drop low, hiding behind a higher recess of the wall and wait silently as a figure darts between the trees. They’re hooded, dressed in black, moving too carefully and making too much noise to be experienced as they pass my hiding place. Amateur. A novice sent to track what should not be followed.
I strike from behind, tackle him into the dirt with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. He grunts, tries to twist away, but my blade is already pressed to his throat, the edge dimpling the skin.
“Tell me who sent you,” I hiss, my voice barely above a whisper. In these woods, sound carries.
The figure writhes beneath me, panic making him clumsy. “Your father. I was told to keep my distance?—”
I rip the hood back, exposing his face to the moonlight. It’s Kek, one of my father’s lapdogs. He’s young and untrained and clearly sent to his death without knowing. Fresh out of training, probably told this was an honor, a chance to prove himself. My father’s favorite kind of pawn, expendable and eager.
“Didn’t keep it far enough, did you?” I tsk, pressing the blade a fraction deeper.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her—” His eyes are wide, pleading, genuine in his fear.
“No,” I whisper, shushing him like I might a frightened child, “but you were going to watch. Maybe report back to my father.”My free hand grips his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me what he wants to know.”
He gulps, eyes wide with the sudden understanding that he might not leave these woods alive. “I swear?—”
“Following my father’s orders will get you killed.” My voice is soft, almost gentle. A kindness before the end.
“What do you?—?”
My blade slices clean across his throat, before he can finish. I watch the panic in his eyes as he chokes on his own blood, the awful gurgle as air mixes with the crimson tide. Seeing death is a way of life for me, it’s a shame, Kek had promise, but no one deserves my pity when they follow my father blindly. His death was sealed the moment he accepted this mission.
Keeping him alive was never an option. I close his eyes, giving him at least that courtesy as his blood seeps into the forest floor like an offering. The moss beneath him already darkens, greedily absorbing his life essence. Kasamere takes what it is given.
I don’t hesitate. I drag the body into the nearest hedgerow, where the forest reaches up, vines wrapping around his body and pulls him under with an almost audible sigh of satisfaction. Kasamere has a way of disposing of the unwanted body, of making flesh and bone disappear into its endless hunger. I don’t thank it, I paid in his blood. I just wipe my blade on my pants and disappear into the trees, moving silently now, checking for any companions Kek might have brought along.
A heartbeat later, something stirs. From the soil where his blood soaked deepest, a strange black stalk pushes upward, thin at first, then thickening with a wet, snapping sound. It blooms wide and fast, a sharp-petaled flower the color of oil and rust. It’s not beautiful. It’s not a symbol of grief or mourning for the blood spilt. No, this is a watchful gift. The forest doesn’t just devour. It remembers.
By the time I make it back to the fire, the others are still talking softly. Rue sees me first, eyes narrowing, mouth twitching like he wants to ask something but knows better. I’m sure he sees my recent kill written all over my face. He knows me that well, can read the subtle signs of death in the set of my shoulders, the coldness in my eyes.
Esme looks up. Her gaze lingers on me, searching, but I say nothing. She will find nothing in my face but cold steely resolve. I’ve locked away anything else, buried it beneath duty and discipline.
I sit beside Rue and let the fire paint flickers across my armor, the dancing light making the metal seem alive. The blood beneath my fingernails has dried to black.
I keep my eyes away from hers, I can’t afford softness. I can’t afford her light.
I have to remain cold from now on. If I let her thaw me, she dies. So, I’ll remain frozen and steadfast in my promise to keep her alive. Even if that means freezing my own heart in the process.
The night whispers secrets across the ruins of the once-great fortress, and I stalk its perimeter like the predator. Death still lingers on my hands, though I’ve washed Kek’s blood away in a nearby stream, scrubbing until my skin was raw. His face haunts me, not from guilt, but from the certainty that he won’t be the last of my father’s men I’ll need to put down. My father doesn’t surrender his prizes easily, and he’ll send more, better trained, better hidden, more dangerous.
“Your brooding is particularly magnificent tonight,” Rue calls from where he lounges against a fallen column, one legextended, the other bent at the knee. He looks utterly relaxed, but I know his daggers are within easy reach. “Did someone piss in your wine, or is this just your natural state these days?”
I grunt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a proper response. My eyes scan the tree line, searching for any sign that Kek wasn’t alone once more. You can never be too sure. The luminous fungi clinging to the ancient stones casts an eerie blue glow across the ruins, turning shadows into potential threats, making every movement of branch or leaf suspect.
“The silent treatment? How original.” Rue sighs dramatically, flinging an arm across his forehead like a swooning courtier. “I’ll just assume it’s about our lovely princess, then. The way you two orbit each other like twin moons is positively tragic. All that unresolved tension, it’s enough to make a romantic weep.”
“Shut up!” I finally snap, rounding on him, patience worn thin by his needling. “Not everything is about?—”
