I throw a reasonably horrified look in his direction, now tugging on my chains so hard, I’m surprised the chair doesn’t snap.No, I almost shout.Not to me. I’m not one of them. I’m not like him.
If Eleni went any stiffer, she’d shatter. Her expression full of hate, she pivots toward me, leans down, and slowly,slowlybows her head. But her gaze never leaves mine—a gaze that wishes me a slow and painful death.
Why is he doing this?
Around her, the hunters hold their torches patiently, awaiting further instruction.
“Wait,” I breathe.
Eleni shuts her eyes, as if to shield herself.
Jude speaks another word.
“Jude,” I interrupt.“Don’t—”
One by one, the hunters press the torches into their chests.
I can’t watch, heart thundering in my ears as the room fills with screams, the reek of smoke and burning hair, and one instrument in the chorus that doesn’t fit: the pattering of hurried footsteps on their way out.
When I dare to open my eyes, Eleni is making her escape through that narrow hall. I barely register Jude saying something that sounds like, “Hold still.”
My throat fills with smoke as something collides with the back of my chair.
The wood splinters, and the chains release me. I catapult forward out the door after Jude, desperate to escape, my ears unable to take the screams any longer as the stench of burning flesh reaches my nose.
What I decide is worse, though, as we flee the burning house, isn’t the screams themselves. But the way they start to quiet, one by one.
The silence follows us out, clinging to my clothes like smoke. Only when the cold hits my skin do I realize we’ve made it outside. Alive.
It’s dark. The snow has stopped falling and blankets the ground. There are violent disruptions in the white, though—places where the snow is flattened and disheveled.
Dawn is on her way, judging by where the moon has drifted to make room for the horizon. Aside from this, there’s nothing. Only a burning, desolate house in a quiet forest.
And blood, staining the fresh snow at our feet, a violent streak of color slashed across a white canvas. Wherever Jude dragged Dorian, I’m sure the darkened crimson trail toward the back of the house will lead me to whatever is left of him.
A thick branch, snapped from a nearby tree and discarded on the ground, drips red at one jagged end.
There’s a vial buried in the snow at my feet.
It’s empty.
There’s no sign of the large man who followed Dorian and, to my horror, no sign of the young boy who called Dorian outside, either.
“Did y-you— The boy at the door,” I stutter. “You didn’t—”
“Iwasthe boy.”
I breathe a small sigh of relief at that, while Jude walks from the flames with little more remorse than he’d depart his dressing room. But the air is heavy with horror as I follow. My shoes find their way around the blood, my stomach turning when I notice something small on the ground, illuminated by thin rays of fading moonlight.
There, in the snow, lies Dorian’s other ear.
Intermission: Scene VII
Exhaustion creaks in my bones by the time we near civilization, a village settled at the bottom of the icy hills that, in my opinion, could benefit from a nice set of stairs. The sun rises higher as we walk, morning breaking clear onto the horizon and easing the harsh winter winds. I shiver. I’ve never been this far north before and decide I won’t be making another visit anytime soon.
Some unspoken agreement to work together lingers between us. Until Jude finds a mirror, or until I find passage back to the District, at least. I can’t really follow through on my threats or carefully plotted plans to turn him over.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I could do it anymore anyway.
