“Don’t leave me here alone. Stay… until it’s time.”
“You’re not alone.” Though I will be gone, the townsfolk will make sure she is cared for.
“Promise me,” she whispers.
“I promise.”
In moments, she’s asleep.
I catch Elora as she slumps forward, hefting her into my arms. From there, it’s a short distance to the bed we have shared all our lives. The shape of her limp form sits as a darker shadow against the collective dim. She is alive. She is safe. By the time she wakes, I will be long gone. My only regret is that I will be unable to say a proper goodbye.
“I love you,” I whisper into the half-dark, brushing a kiss across her cheek. “And I’m sorry.”
Working quickly, I strip my sister of her clothing. I pile the blankets atop her body and stoke the fire until it chases back the chill. I don the dress Elora wore, and my coat. I wrap a scarf across the lower half of my face so it conceals everything but my eyes, including my scar. As long as I keep my mouth shut, the Frost King will be none the wiser.
I’ve two daggers, one of which I slip into an arm sheath. My second dagger keeps the salt satchel company at my waist. There is my flask, tucked into my coat pocket. My bow I’ll leave behind. Too unwieldy, and Elora will need it more than I do, despite her lack of skill with a bow. Maybe she will find another use for it. Wood for the fire, perhaps. I never did fix our broken axe.
Rising from my crouch, I move toward the front door. After one last glance at my sister, I step out into the cold.
Clutching the front of my coat, I return to the meeting hall. Fresh snow crunches beneath my boots. The Frost King stands by his steed, which, upon further inspection, is not a horse at all. I halt in place.
The beast lacks skin or fur. It appears as a semi-translucent, equine-shaped shadow. A tapered snout. An arched neck. Holes for eyes and insides like shifting dark clouds.
“Darkwalker,” I whisper, and the sound catches fire, leaping through the gathered crowd. The beast tosses its head, pinning me with one pitted eye. It stamps one of its forelegs, and despite the transparent quality to its form, the knock of its hoof against the stone rings clearly.
“It is a waste of salt,” the king informs me, reins gripped in one hand.
I freeze, realizing I had been reaching for my salt satchel.
Though I do not speak my question aloud, he elaborates, “Phaethon is under my protection and cannot be harmed.”
Its nostrils flare. The massive beast tosses its head, sending those in the vicinity scrambling backward.
The Frost King takes in my hunched appearance with all the emotion of a hairpin. Here, in the dark and the cold, he is in his element.
“I’d like to say my goodbyes,” I say.
“Very well, but make haste.”
I gather Miss Millie in my arms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear, and she stiffens upon realizing I am not Elora. “I hope your daughter is well. Be safe. Take care of my sister for me.”
She nods and pulls away.
I will miss this town. My throat swells with the painful emotion of leaving a place I have lived for the last twenty-three years. Edgewood is full of hard, toiling memories, but they are mine.
The king tosses me into the saddle as if I weigh nothing. When he settles behind me, the motion drags me back against his chest, my backside cradled by his hips. I stiffen, leaning forward in an attempt to separate our bodies.
He nudges the beast into a walk. The townsfolk watch our departure in silence. After passing the wall, Edgewood and its thatched rooftops vanish from view. Gone, just like that.
We travel north. Mile after mile, we cut through a land steeped in silence. I don’t speak. Neither does my captor. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll retch all over my lap. If I’m to die, I’d like to do so with dignity.
After crossing yet another frozen stream, the Frost King tugs on the reins, and his beast slows as we break free of the forest.
The Shade.
Ahead, the Les curves into a glittering line: the outermost boundary of the Deadlands. Atop the frozen river hovers an opaque veil, well over a hundred feet tall, concealing what lies beyond.
A pulse ripples through the barrier as though a heart beats within. I can be brave, but only for so long. The last time I set eyes on the Shade, I was twelve, foolish and proud, unwilling to refuse a dare given by one of the village boys. This was as far as I got before terror sent me fleeing back to town. Even now, the substance shifts like drenched cloth in the breeze. The sight is so eerie it pricks my skin.
