“No.” He arches one black eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t kill you,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood.
His mouth thaws somewhat. “But you wanted to.” He plucks agrape from the plate and chews thoughtfully. I eat the huckleberry. “Why didn’t you? You had every chance.”
“I have no idea.” When the time came, I could not follow through. Something held me back. “But I don’t think you’re the villain people make you out to be.” As I learn more about the North Wind, I see he bears many hurts, wounds he’s encased in hardened armor. We are not so different, he and I.
He selects a piece of cheese from the plate. Instead of bringing it to his mouth, however, he offers it to me. I accept it with surprise. He then nudges the plate across the table so that we might share the meal.
“I think, given time, we could become friends,” I say.
“Friends.” The intensity of his stare takes me off guard. “That is what you want?”
I can’t have what I want, or rather, it no longer exists. My village, my sister, my parents alive again. And yes, a part of me craves friendship in whatever form, even with an immortal, even with my captor. There is so little interaction in my day-to-day life. It’s an entirely selfish desire.
“Yes, that is what I want.”
“I’ve never had a friend,” he admits.
I can’t help it, I laugh.
“What?” He looks affronted, with those dark eyebrows slashing across his forehead. The Frost King is painfully lacking in social skills.
“Nothing.” My laughter tapers off as he grabs another slice of cheese. “That does not surprise me, is all.”
The scowl has completely taken over his face. I snort and shove a handful of berries into my mouth. Together, we clear the plate.
The Frost King taps a finger against the table. Turns his head to stare out at the barren land below. “So, what do friends do?”
He sounds nervous. It’s rather endearing. “They talk. Listen to one another. Spend time together.”
“You’re saying you’d willingly listen to me?” The creases around his eyes have deepened, and I realize he is laughing at me, in his own way.
I cross my arms. “I can try.”
He looks uncomfortable by the idea, but—“Then I suppose I can try as well.”
And that is how I leave him.
Not friends. But perhaps no longer enemies.
28
TODAY MARKS THE NEW MOON: Judgment day.
The North Wind has already locked himself in the parlor where, from sunup to sundown, he looks into the past lives of those who gather, ready to face their eternity. He has stated, very clearly, that he is not to be disturbed.
Raising a fist, I pound it against the door. The crash echoes in the cobweb-draped corridor, and dies, leaving sputtering silence in its wake.
A low, chilling voice hisses, “Who dares interrupt me?”
The lock tumbles, and the door swings open. Sauntering inside, I circle around one of the columns and toss the Frost King a grin, hip cocked. “That would be your wife.”
He’s speechless as I stride across the vast, pillar-lined space, acknowledging the newly dead awaiting their sentence. A long, threadbare rug connects the entrance to the dark stone throne where the king sits. Those pale, cut-knife cheekbones sharpen as his mouth folds into a shape of utter distaste, and my grin widens. At least he’s predictable.
Many of the specters bow as I pass, much to my surprise. Only when I’ve planted myself in the vacant chair to his left does Boreas quietly demand, “What are you doing here?”
“You’re a smart man,” I murmur in response, surveying the room. Perhaps twenty specters await Judgment. A massive chandelier hangsfrom the vaulted ceiling by a heavy chain—the only light in the shadowy interior. “You figure it out.”
