They lay him on the ground, the red spill of his hair against the snow too closely resembling a pool of blood. The stench of burnt flesh swirls on the breeze, along with the dancing flakes of snow, and I’m transported back to my brother’s pyre. I shove the memories away, focus on the horrors unfolding before me.
Blayze’s cloak, shirt and breeches are singed and torn. Maris searches for signs of life, and I search along with her, watching for the rise of his chest, the smallest bob of his throat. But lying prone on the vast, barren mountainside, Blayze is small and still. A mere doll.
Maris reaches for Delphine’s hand, her eyes wild and staring. Tansy slips from Briar’s back, elbows Maris out of the way and kneels beside Blayze. She pinches his nose, tilts his head back and presses her lips against his – forcing air into his lungs. Once. Twice. Then she threads her fingers and pumps his chest. I wince at a faint cracking sound – the splinter of ribs.
Let him live.
I reach for the silk binding my hair. My fingers scrabble, but find no purchase. Gone. I scan the snow-dusted ground, the blood-stained ice beyond. My last physical tie to home and to my mother, to the reason I started out on this quest. Gone. I don’t want to believe it’s a bad omen, but with each new chest compression, hope slips further away. I sag against the mountain. Numb.
All that life, all that fire. Gone.
My star-damned visions, again too late. There were whispers of danger since dawnrise; I must have searched this desolate landscape a thousand times. I thought it was Arden. I haven’t known a moment’s peace since we left Talini. The mooncrystal’s secret festers inside me like some dark, rotting thing: every rustle is Arden’s cloak dragging on the snow, every crack is a twig she’s snapping underfoot, every whine of a distant frostfang becomes her keening scream. If I carried the weight of her eyes on my back before, now I’m lugging her whole body on my shoulders. But then the wolves attacked, and I thought the warnings were for them. For Astrophel. But all along, it was the storm I should have been afraid of. I only received a vision of the lightning bolt the instant before it struck. I thought it was meant for me.
But this was the real danger. Losing Blayze.
I should have used my starshine, driven back the frostfangs the moment they first appeared. My palms were itching, begging me to unleash my power. I could have saved him, spared Astrophel too. But I promised Orthriel, couldn’t risk splitting the ice, a repeat of that avalanche. Another Shadow Mark.
Tears well. I sink back against the unpitying rock face and let them fall.
A strangled cry – a primal, desperate sound. For a moment, I think it’s coming from me. Astrophel? His eyes are still closed, his breathing shallow. He’s pale – far too pale – but he’s not the source of that desolate wail. My eyes dart back to Blayze. Tansy has stopped forcing air down his throat, but his chest is still rising. The sound is coming fromhim, as he bucks against the snow, desperately sucking air into his lungs.
Alive.
I dash my sleeve across my face.
I have no right to cry for Blayze. I must save my tears for the man bleeding at my side.
As if on cue, Astrophel lurches forwards. I cradle his shoulders, try to prop him up again. A caul of sweat glistens on his brow. Tansy needs to close his wounds. I start to call for her, but Blayze howls again like a wounded animal. He’s thrashing his arms, the muscles in his neck straining against the twisted metal of his torc, and he’s muttering in Flametongue. Guttural sounds mixed with inhuman expressions of pain.
Then silence.
One beat. Two.
My heart stammers. No. Not like this. Panic hits like a dark wave, crushing my chest again, spinning the world upside down. Heavy silence stretches over the mountain.
‘He’s still breathing.’ Tansy is bent low over Blayze. She draws a pair of scissors from her basket. ‘He’s giving off too much heat. There must be burns…’
‘Astrophel needs help,’ I croak, heart stuttering back to life, as Tansy snips at the ruined shirt, peeling sodden, charred fabric from Blayze’s chest to expose a livid pattern shaped like fern leaves meandering across his torso.
Maris’ chin trembles as she surveys his injuries.
I can’t tear my eyes away either. His beautiful body, spider-cracked, broken.
Tansy packs a thin layer of snow on the burns. ‘He’ll carry the brand of a lightning-bearer for the rest of his life.’
Blayze –branded? The irony isn’t lost on me.
‘He’ll live?’ Maris asks the question for all of us.
Tansy doesn’t answer. She turns instead to Astrophel. Her lips purse as she assesses his pallor, the blood gumming the tourniquet.
‘Is there shelter nearby?’ she asks. ‘It’ll take time to close these wounds, longer to make up the right salves for Blayze, and they’re both weak – at greater risk of exposure.’ She glances over her shoulder. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to put distance and a door between us and the frostfangs, either.’
Or between us and Arden, I add silently.
My thoughts are tatters, worn ragged by dread, but I try to gather their frayed edges. Focus on getting us to safety.
‘The first ice-cabin,’ I say. ‘If we walk a little further—’
