“Foolish man,” she says in a manner that isn’t her at all.
Alexus stops, broad shoulders stiffening, and turns back, lifting the lamp again. “I’m wiser than you think, girl. You would do well to remember that.”
Sometime later, the horses are standing beneath the tallest part of astone shelter, shielded from the snow and most of the wind. I begin clearing a place for a fire a few strides away, under the lower end of the ledge, while Alexus gathers wood and brush. Hel sits huddled on the ground, silent.
When I’m done clearing snow, I take a seat a few feet from her. I’m a little unsettled by the way the lamp light casts our silhouettes on the stone wall at our backs and sends wavering, fingerlike shadows reaching through the trees. I want to believe that this shelter is my sister’s gift, but I don’t feel her presence.
Alexus dumps the kindling on the cleared ground and, shielding the oil lamp, works at taking flame from the wick using the wool from the tinder box. It will make a grand start to a fire if the damp wood catches, but a harsh wind sucks away Alexus’s stolen light. He tries again, and again the wind blows the flame to nothing.
“Gods’ death,” he curses, closing the glass door on the lamp. “I can’t risk losing the only light we have.” He sits at my side, staring across the pile of twigs and broken limbs at my friend. “Fulmanesh,” he says after a while, directing his voice at Hel. “That’s the word for summoning fire.Iyuma,if it needs urging.”
She knows this.Ieven know this, not that I’ve ever handled a fire thread in my life. Witch Walkers are born with specific skills that manifest at different times and in different ways for all of us. But many forms of magick can be learned. Like Finn’s family learning basic fire magick. I’ve never been keen on learning to manipulate any more threads than I already contend with, but Hel loves fire magick, even if she hasn’t excelled. And yet, at Alexus’s words, she just sits there, biting her lip, staring into nothingness while we freeze.
“I told you, Witch Collector,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m no good at fire.” Her dark gaze lifts from beneath heavy black lashes, and there’s an odd tilt to her head.
Without another word, she stands, still wrapped in the gambeson, so tall that—like Alexus—she has to stoop beneath the ledge’s low ceiling. She heads to the far edge of the stony haven and sits against the rocks, scooting down on the ground and turning her back to us, like she’s going to sleep.
I haven’t thought about her missing witch’s marks much until now.They were there the last time I saw her, lighting her pretty brown skin like she held fire within. Now there’s nothing on her visible skin, and she’s acting more than strange.
Worried, I start toward her. Alexus grabs my wrist, his hand falling away when I face him.
“Let her rest,”he signs.“Perhaps she needs to sleep it off.”
“We need fire,”I reply.
My fingers are so stiff they hurt, my joints throbbing. I know my friend is struggling. I am, too. But she didn’t even offer to help. Didn’t even try. That isn’t like her.
“We’ll get fire, Raina.” His voice is as soft as the falling snow. “Even if we have to conjure it ourselves.”
After a tug of the blanket tighter over his shoulders, he tries building a fire with the contents of the tinder box again. The cold is so intense without Hel and Tuck’s heat that the pain in my fingers spreads through the rest of me. Even though Hel has the gambeson, I can’t imagine how she’s lying there so very still. Even Alexus’s fingers tremble as he fumbles with the flint and wool to no avail.
He closes up the tinder box and scrubs his arms beneath the blanket. “I can show you how to summon a fire thread. You might not like it, but if you’re willing to try, I can show you. One time. That’s all it takes. After that, with some practice, you should be able to seek out fire threads for yourself.”
I’m so frigid, yet heat rises inside me, warming my face.
“I know what must be done to see them,”I manage to tell him.
So much in our world of magick is about connection. Connection to the universe, our inner selves, our inner peace, the world around us.
And connection to each other.
Alexus’s eyebrows dart up. “Yet you don’t know how to summon fire? Who taught you how to see the threads but didn’t take the time to help you master them? Or is this another skill I had no idea you possess?”
He considers me and then glances at Hel, and I can read his mind. But it wasn’t her. I would never admit this—to Alexus of all people—but I helped Finn numerous times, back before I realized he could harvest fire threads well enough without my aid. He onlywanted an excuse to be close to me, and it worked. He never offered to teach me anything.
“Not a skill, and I cannot see them,”I clarify.“I only know what is necessary to do so.”
“Or you think you do,” he replies, one brow still raised. “I fear you might’ve had an inadequate experience.” He opens his arms, holding the blanket like wings, and spreads his bent legs. “Come here. Let me show you.”
Gods. This is as bad as sleeping next to him, and the very last thing on all of Tiressian soil that I want to do—except die. So with reluctance in my every move, I get up and go to him.
Alexus slides until his back is against the stone behind us, and I fit myself between his legs. As if it’s the most natural thing to do, he folds me in his arms, covering me with the blanket, which isn’t much guard against the cold. It’s coated in frost like everything else.
At first, I think there’s no way this will work, but soon, a fragment of warmth builds between us. Even that sliver of heat is utter bliss.
“You can relax.” His voice is low, quiet so Hel can sleep. “This is far easier if you’re not stiff as a tree. As long as you don’t try stabbing me like you did that scarecrow.”
I glare at him, then jerk a hand from beneath his blanket and sign.“I am frozen.”
