“Come.” Grabbing her hand, I haul her in the direction of the king’s rooms, Shaw bringing up the rear. A rolling force quakes the fortress, and I stumble against the wall as a new upsurge of screams heaves and crashes downward.
Once inside Boreas’ quarters, I slam and lock the door, tear away the tapestry that conceals the exit leading to the Gray. Elora rests a trembling hand on her round stomach. Shaw cups her shoulders as they gape at what the doorway reveals: the icy breath of the world.
“This leads back to Edgewood,” I rush to say. “See the creek in the distance?” I point to a glimmer of ice through the trees. “Keep traveling east until you reach the town. You’ll be safe there.”
My sister turns her head slightly, taking me in. “What about you, Wren?”
“My place is here, with my husband.” I meet Shaw’s gaze, see the understanding there. “Go. You don’t have much time.”
“Wait!” Elora latches onto my hand. For so long, she was my purpose in life. But I have a new purpose now: myself. “Tell me you’ll be safe.”
I cannot promise that. The Deadlands has never been safe, but I choose the North Wind. I choose the beasts and the snow and the lifeless rock. His life is now mine.
“Elora.” Shaw’s deep voice is nearly drowned out as another scream rents the air. “We’re wasting time.”
My throat bobs, and I pull Elora into the first real embrace we’ve shared in months. If, for whatever reason, I do not escape this night unscathed, I want her last memory of me to be one of love. “We’ll see each other soon.”
She clings to me as she did when we were children, sharing blankets to keep out the chill. Another moment longer, and I pry Elora loose.
Once they’ve crossed the threshold, I close the door and hurry to the study, the tapestry, yet another concealed door.
Down the passage I flee. Cool packed mud leads me deeper into the earth’s belly. The battle sounds grow muted and eventually fade. There is only my breath, sawing in and out of my burning lungs, the terror that looms black before my eyes.
By the time I reach the exit—an old door set in stone—a layer of sweat coats my body. The wintry air pricks my skin, the hair along my arms rising, seeking any bit of warmth. I nudge open the warped door and peer through the crack to the stableyard beyond.
It is a slaughter. I’m protected behind a pile of rocks where the tunnel empties out, but the battle is moving, spreading. Soon it will reach my tentative refuge.
For the darkwalkers have amassed. The horde of beasts rips into the armed guards, whose orders are not to buckle, not to yield, to allow time for the citizens of Neumovos to flee to safety.
But their orders have doomed them to unspeakable horrors. They watch their comrades break until they themselves find their bodies crushed between enormous jaws, reeking black fluid trailing from their open wounds.
Where is Boreas? I would have thought he’d be where the fighting is thickest, the need most dire. One of the tower windows shatters, raining broken glass as a maid leaps from the fourth story, a darkwalker lunging for her through the open window. Her body breaks on the ground below.
“Check the south wing. Leave no stone unturned.”
I go utterly still, seeking out the voice’s owner. Moonlight saturates the snow beyond the open gates. Nothing. Just soldiers frantically trying to staunch the darkwalkers climbing the outer wall.
One figure, however, does not move like the rest. Light catches the head of curls, and gleams against the curve of his bow as he scans the surrounding area from his station near the stable doors, studying the butchering with cold calculation.
Something gnaws at the pit in my stomach. I know how the darkwalkers were able to enter the citadel unseen. I know, because I told Zephyrus about the hole in the wall. When I was a different person who felt nothing for the Frost King. When my singular mission was to remove him from this earth so that humanity could live in peace, free of winter’s devastating fist. When I was lonely and in denial about my needs.
“Zephyrus.” The demand cracks out, hoarse with rage. “Zephyrus!”
Fear wraps noose-tight around my throat. I see nothing, nothing at all. But then a darkwalker steps into the light, carrying a thrashing figure by one clawed hand.
I gasp. Boreas’ hands and ankles are bound, and a sack covers his head. How did they manage to catch him so soon? And why isn’t he using his powers to fight back?
“Calm yourself, brother.” The West Wind watches Boreas struggle in boredom. “It will all be over soon.”
Zephyrus and the darkwalker round the stables. I follow, keeping low and quiet, moving amongst the shadows. If he harms one hair on my husband’s head…
“Take him north,” Zephyrus says. “I will meet you when I am done here.”
The creature gallops through the front gates into the dark forest, Boreas clutched in its grip. I watch him go, my heart carried off with him. I’ll never be able to catch up with them on foot.
I need a horse.
With the West Wind’s attention turned elsewhere, the way to the stables is clear. I throw open the door to enter the lamplit space, hurrying to the stall that holds Iliana.
