“You got away, though.”I’m thankful for all those tussles Hel and Finn had when we were growing up, and even more so for her love of the blade.
She nods, her brows pinching together. “Though I think the Eastlander let me. I can’t be sure. He could’ve easily subdued me, yet he failed. I ran until I saw the light of the lake, only stopping l-long enough to cut away my bindings on a jagged rock. I ended up here again. I braved the lake, tried t-to g-go back home. But there was a guard stationed t-there, and the wood allowed n-no exit.”
A guard. So hewasthere on purpose.
“You saw him?”I ask.“And he let you live?”
Her eyes go distant, and she bites her lip. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t remember a lot of the past few days.”
She exhales a long sigh, and the stench that clings to her waftsfrom her body and breath. I noticed the odor the moment we embraced on the ice, but now, the longer I’m near her, the stronger it gets. It reminds me of the old hunk of brimstone father kept in his trunk, found near a hot spring south of Hampstead Loch. The amber rock—its surface rough with craggy amber stones—always smelled so acrid, even though the scent faded over the years. Shehasbeen out here for days, likely with no means of cleaning up as I have been afforded.
“Do you recall what happened after you saw the Eastlander?”I sign.
“I came back here and hid in the wood”—she scrubs at her face like its presence bothers her—“and tried not to freeze to death while I thought about what to do. I slept for a while. Then I woke to the s-sound of a horse snorting. I saw what looked like two people and horses crossing the l-lake. I was so s-sure you were an illusion. That the cold had finally gotten to me. But you came closer, and I recognized you andhim,” she tilts her head at Alexus, who’s heading toward the horses. “And, I don’t know, something in my mind…snapped.” Her eyes shimmer, and her chin trembles. “Again, I don’t r-really even remember it. You’re sure I attacked him?”
Alexus scoffs and tugs at the blanket draped over his shoulders—his only protection against the wind and snow. He keeps staring out at the ice where his dagger sits, frozen to the lake.
Ignoring him, I nod and caress Hel’s cheek, scooting closer for warmth, hoping to soothe. She’s so jittery, her words and speech so broken.
And that scent…
“You are in such a state. It is no wonder you cannot remember.”
“I think I j-just couldn’t lose anyone else. Not again. I-I’m sorry.” She tosses those last two words over her shoulder at Alexus, and he grunts an acknowledging response.
“I understand.”I squeeze Hel’s hand. “But I am here, and Alexus is fine. We areallokay.”
The twisted part of this situation is that—though I’m so glad she did the right thing—at least the right thing in my eyes, I’m equally as happy that she didn’t kill Alexus. When I watched them fighting on the ice, the fear that she might hurt him made me just as panicked as when Iwatched him tighten his arm around her neck. Hel was so fierce, wilder, and more violent than I’ve ever seen her.
And still, Alexus hesitated.
Hel leans close and briefly shifts her eyes in his direction. “You call him by his name now? Last week, you were stabbing a scarecrow in his honor.” Though she lowers her voice, her question comes out wrapped in her usual husky tone that carries.
Alexus turns a glance in my direction, one brow raised, no doubt wondering how I might reply to this girl who doesn’t know what to think about the fact that I haven’t killed him yet. Though I didn’t tell her of my plan, my anger toward the two most influential men in the Northlands has never been a secret. There was certainly no hiding my animosity when she told me to pretend that scarecrow was him.
“He was the only other person who survived,”I sign.“Or so I believed. I needed him to bring me to Winterhold. To find Nephele.”
It dawns on me that Hel probably doesn’t know anything about what’s happening between the Eastland Territories and the Frost King, and I’ll explain, but not right now. Right now, the weather is worsening. The wind picks up, whipping us with bitter lashes and sleet. My hands tingle like phantom limbs, and my lips are so numb it’s like they’re no longer on my face.
Clutching the blanket with one hand, Alexus guides the horses nearer with the other. The animals tug against the reins, uneasy. My calming spell is fading.
“We can’t stay here any longer,” Alexus says. His face is slightly windburned, his lips a paler shade than their usual red. “We’ll start losing fingers and toes if we don’t find shelter.”
Hel snaps her head around. She drags a hand along her thigh as though reaching for a sword that isn’t there.
“Thereisno shelter,” she says, her voice deepening. “I’ve been beyond here.”
I look at Hel, incredulous. She isn’t totally innocent, but for the most part, she’s obedient. The most defiant things she’s ever done have been her steady practice of sword-swinging in the thicket by the stream and sneaking off from occasional suppers to let Emmitt rattle her world in his father’s hayloft. To speak to the Witch Collector in such a manner—a man considered the right hand of the continent’s immortal king—isnotlike her.
It’s like me, but not her.
Tuck blows a burst of air through her nose, and a twitch ripples down her back. Mannus shakes his head and steps ahead of the mare like a guardian.
Something isn’t right. There’s an odd tension in the air. Even the horses sense it.
Alexus’s nostrils flare as he steadies the gelding and mare. “Would you rather sit here and freeze?” he asks Hel. “Or move and live?”
Her gaze slides in my direction, and I detect a war brewing behind her eyes when there isn’t an occasion for such conflict. Her dark irises lighten, reflecting the falling snow.
