He likes to think he rules me, but we both know I’m only still here because he needed me to be.
“Yes, my lord and mighty king. I was born to grant your every desire.” With as much of a smile as I can muster, I stand and give a spurious bow, hoping to lighten his mood before I go. When I rise, I half expect Colden to roll his eyes at my antics, but his face is still serious, perhaps more so. Any humor in my voice vanishes. “Fine. But tell me you’ll head back to Winterhold. Don’t wait for me. I want you as safe as you want me.”
“I know you do.” He gives me a look I know well. “And yes, I’ll go. I won’t like it, but I’ll go.”
We stare at one another for a long beat, then I put out the fire and set to strapping on my baldric, back scabbards, andswords.
“At least all you must do is get the girl.” Colden stands, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself that I’ll be all right. “Easy enough task.”
“That is the hope. I can’t imagine the woman I remember causing me any trouble.”
Colden gives me a dark half-smile. “If she’s anything like her sister, you might be very wrong about that.”
We head outside and mount our horses, facing one another under the sun’s dappled light filtering through the forest’s canopy. Colden wraps those deadly fists in his animal’s reins.
“Before I left,” he says, “I instructed Nephele and the others to focus their attention on the forest come sundown. If anyone enters the wood, my Witch Walkers will know. If they sense a threat, they’ll make sure the enemy regrets ever setting foot in our vale.” Tiny shards of ice branch over the leather straps within his grasp. “They won’t leave Frostwater Wood—at least not until they’ve endured me.”
His eyes are black as soot, his face stone. Any vulnerability he permitted to creep beneath his skin moments before has now been buried in his bones.
Colden Moeshka, frigid Frost King, has returned.
“I’ll see you soon,” I tell him, and after he pounds a fist to his chest, his way of saying,Until we meet again, we part ways.
I dig my heels into my horse’s sides and bear down for a stealthy ride. “Like the wind, Mannus!” I call. “Let’s find Raina Bloodgood.”
With the sharpened knife and stolen dagger belt tucked in my pocket, I return to the cottage and spend the rest of the morning helping Mother prepare for the harvest feast. After dumping the last of the apples into a pot, I place them over the fire.
“I’m sure the hunters are fine.” Mother stands from her chair and wipes her hands on the towel cinched at her waist. With a slight frown, she glances out the window. “Probably enjoyed a little too much ale and wine last night.”
A few hours ago, I would’ve agreed, but I find myself less sure with every passing minute.
Gods, I need to be alone with my scrying dish. The thought to look for Finn’s father has struck more than a few times, but Mother is constantly at my side. The hurt she’d feel if she caught me…The betrayal of knowing all I’ve kept from her…
I can’t risk it. She’ll find out soon enough, but right now is not the time.
Later, I occupy my nervous hands by making myself useful outside.I help Mr. Foley haul wood for the bonfires and assist elder Mena Shawcross in setting stones for our ceremony circle. Mena’s family has lived in the vale for centuries, but she can trace ancestors from every break. Having such a rich history has always fascinated me, even though I know so little about my own family. Mena moved here from Penrith after she lost her daughter many years ago on Collecting Day. She has no family now, but she and I have always shared a kinship.
As we press the rocks into the ground, she eyes me more keenly than I like. Her wrinkled, pale skin is covered in witch’s marks—greenish blue like veins, shimmery like fish scales. With age, her skill has developed, but the degree of magick supposedly required to serve at Winterhold is said to be too depleting for the old. I have to think that means the Frost King finds the elders useless because the only other option is that he and the Witch Collector actually care what happens to the Northland people.
Mena goes to the cart, and I hold out my dirty hands for another stone, but she hesitates, then winks. “Your palms are calling to me today.”
Mena reads palms, something I’ve let her do a handful of times. She knows I’m reluctant and doesn’t press, but she likes to tease. She’s a dear friend, so I tolerate her prying mind.
I snatch a rock from the cart and place it on the ground, giving her a light-hearted smile.“What do they say?”I sign.
“That there are two things you need to learn. Or perhaps, notlearnbut come to accept. One,” she comes closer, smiles, and taps me on the nose, “is that you are more capable than you believe, dear one. Your strength is in your heart. And two…” She kneels beside me and pushes my hair over my shoulder, letting her hand rest there. “Victory only comes through sacrifice, Raina. I don’t know what’s weighing on you, but I know you’re in turmoil. I can see the burden. Most battles are hard-fought. Something must always be lost if you’re ever to gain. Don’t fear this. You will never move forward if you never leave things behind.”
Crying is the last thing I want to do right now—I’ve cried enough for all of Silver Hollow—but tears rise unbidden anyway. I take a deep breath and blink them away.
“Thank you,”is all I can think to say. I don’t know what her wordsmean for me, but they’re likely the last words of wisdom I’ll ever take from Mena, so I tuck them away. Something of her to keep forever.
A short time later, after Mena and I finish the stones, Finn finally arrives with Tuck trotting at his heels. Together, we stake torches and Tiressian flags around the green, but Finn is quiet, wearing a perpetual frown. I know him so well. Behind that heavy brow, his mind is tearing apart what-ifs. I also know that—while much of his concern is for me and what he fears I might do today—most of his worries are for his father’s whereabouts. Whether he can admit it or not.
If I could just get a moment to myself for scrying, perhaps I could find a way to ease him. But the village green is full of people, and our cottage is overrun with my mother’s friends darting in and out. And Finn?
He’s become my shadow.
The sun is warm enough that most of the dew has burned away, so when all the tasks are done, we sit on the grass, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, staring at the noon-day sky to the west. After a while, Tuck curls against my side, and I slide my fingers through his fur, though the act doesn’t hold its usual calming antidote. My thoughts about the feast hunters dissipate, replaced with enough anticipation that my heart begins a steady thumping against my ribcage.
