Serafine is still perched on Blayze’s shoulder, and he’s sitting straighter, master of himself again. The emberwing must have conjured her storm, after all.
But Serafine hasn’t summoned a storm, and the sound isn’t thunder. The rumbles are coming from the mountain above us.
‘Avalanche.’
Orthriel’s warning reverberates inside my splintering head, loud as the grumble of the mountain I’ve made fall.
‘Make for the tower,’ I rasp.
I point to the white spindle-keep, lined with arched windows. The cragstalker carrying us turns in the direction of my trembling finger and snarls.
It must be a signal to the other pack members, for they pitch forwards, the injured cat lagging behind the others as they snake through the trees in the direction of the abandoned watchtower. Arrows sleet down as we break cover, but most of the guards have dropped their bows in horror as the mountain quakes beneath their feet.
‘I can’t run,’ I whisper to Astrophel as he dismounts. My legs are shaking almost as hard as the mountain; there’s no way I can sprint for the tower. I’m weak, dulled by spritesong, drained after summoning starshine.
He lifts me down. Gathers me to his chest. ‘I’ll carry you. Of course I will.’
What have I done? The thought echoes with every laboured step Astrophel takes towards the tower.
Blayze rams his shoulder against the door. It caves under his weight, but mercifully remains on its hinges. We all pile inside. Briar and the cragstalkers huddle in the stairwell. I join them, collapsing to the dusty stone floor along with Delphine to catch my breath, while Astrophel pulls the door closed, barricades it with our saddlebags. Blayze races up the spiral staircase, barring any shutters left open as he goes, before regrouping with the rest of us.
I strain my ears as my eyes adjust to the gloom. The lustre of my skin has dulled again in the moonsrisings since I drank the tincture. The faint glows emanating from Serafine and the starstone around my neck are our only sources of light now the windows are barred. Outside, the wind wails. The tower vibrates. The rumble of the mountain grows louder. We cluster beside the cats, the staircase circling above us.
‘I’m too weak to weather-weave,’ Delphine whispers, staring up at Maris. She’s shivering wildly. ‘I-I can’t stop this.’
Maris clasps her hand. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for, do you hear me? If you hadn’t sung back there, we’d all be pincushions.’
The rumble swallows the rest of Maris’ words. We look at each other with wide, darting eyes. Tansy places a trembling hand on Briar’s neck, as if anchoring herself to the sylvanmare. Everyone stiffens, bracing ourselves for impact.
Astrophel reaches out to me. Some part of me wants to take his hand as I did in the cave, to feel the warmth and comfort of another body. But instead, I ball my fingers into tight fists.
I don’t deserve the consolation.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words sound small, pathetic. It’s all I can say, but it’s not enough. I’ve done this.
Delphine’s hands might be clean – if this avalanche kills us, she can pass into the Void knowing she did everything she could to save us – but what about mine? When I look at my clenched fists, I see the bloodied hands of a murderess. No wonder my mouth tastes of ash, no wonder Blayze is staring at me with that pained expression on his face. My father was right – I’m a starbinger of death.
‘This isn’t your fault. You never intended this.’Orthriel’s words are gentle, tender as they ease inside my mind.
My Guardian means well, but they’re wrong.
Because here’s the bitter truth. Some part of me liked it. Craved the thrill of that power flowing through me.
Some part of me would do it again.
I break away from the group, unable to bear the terror on their faces. Darting to the nearest window, I place an eye to the seam of the weathered shutters. At first, I see only swirling snow, but then a wave appears: a wall of white barrelling towards us.
I glance back at Blayze. Maris slips an arm around his waist, her other hand clasping Delphine’s so tightly her knuckles whiten. Blayze is expressionless, unnaturally still, but he lifts his gaze, meeting mine. The tower narrows to the unfathomable golden depths of his eyes, and I can’t turn away.
His face might be the last I ever see. Surely, there’s no harm in it. Not now.
I turn back to the window as the white wave strikes the tower with an ear-splitting roar.
*
WE’RESTILLBREATHING. Buried but alive.
The ancient walls took a battering but held fast, shielding us from the surge. Outside, the wind moans over the mountain, but the sound is muffled by the snow, rocks and ice now blanketing the watchtower.
