Another unearthly howl crawls into the cave, followed by another and another, like the animals are communicating a warning across the ravine.
“I told you before. The wolves won’t hurt us. I have the God of the White Wolf inside me, for fuck’s sake.” He grabs the gambeson, throwing it on. “I’m going to have a look around and gather more brush. You should heal that wound and consult the waters so we can decide what to do from here. You know who to look for.”
He moves toward the passageway that leads to the mouth of the cave, but he hesitates. After a moment, he turns and backtracks, coming straight for me, chin down, eyes leveled into the sexiest glare I’ve ever seen.
When he reaches me, he presses me against the cave wall, his body hard against mine, and kisses me with more passion than ever before, regardless of his words about futures and regrets.
I should push him away. This will never end well. But I can’t. Onetouch of his tongue against mine, and nothing else matters but us and this soul-rattling kiss.
He pulls back and runs his thumb over my wet, swollen lips. “Raina Bloodgood, your mouth will be my ruin.” Tenderly, he kisses my forehead, then turns to leave. Before he steps into the pool of bloody darkness spilling from the cavern’s entrance, he turns a look over his shoulder and holds up a finger. “I’ll be back shortly. Stay. Here.” He tilts that dark head. “And by all the gods, listen to me this time.”
The second he vanishes, I press my fingers to my mouth, wishing I could trap the tingling sensation left behind by every single one of his kisses. I’m inso much trouble.
For a while, I sit by the fire, so much new information simmering and stewing in my mind. Outside the complications with Alexus, the Prince of the East means to conquer the City of Ruin and raise Thamaos. I didn’t live when the gods ruled, and I’ve always been thankful for that. I don’t want to live in a world where Thamaos reigns, which means I have to stop that from happening.
I take up my mother’s dish. Alexus and I haven’t been apart in so long that in his absence, I’m thankful for the distraction of scrying. But before I can begin, my eye catches on Alexus’s sword leaning against the cave wall.
I should take it to him.
No. Iwillstay here. He’ll be back soon; I know he will. He’s unfailing and unceasing and a host of other words I’ve painted him with. And, he has the God Knife.
I grab the curved Eastlander blade and slice a small line across the end of my fingertip. A shiny bead of blood forms and waits to fall as my mind races over my options. I could check on Hel or look for Finn like I’d wanted to before things went sideways, but Alexus is right. I know who I have to look for.
With a turn of my hand, my blood splashes into the water.
“Nahmthalahsh. Show me the Prince of the East.”
This time, there are no shadows or smoke or mist, just a moving image unfolding on the water’s violet surface.
The prince rides on horseback, a red mantle billowing at his back. About thirty warriors and a flock of crows follow. They’rein the wood, but not inside this construct. At least it doesn’tlooklike they’re inside this construct. They ride hard—on a road, not a path. The trees are lightly covered in white, their autumn leaves and needled branches cradling an early snow. Flurries blow softly in the wind, and the first rays of a rising sun spear the forest’s canopy, the light warm and wavering.
My pulse thunders. They’re on Winter Road.
The Prince of the East will soon reach Winterhold.
I don’t have time to consider what to do with this knowledge. No time to hurry outside to see if my sister’s construct still stands.
Because the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing fills the passageway.
Fast as I can move, I grab the Eastlander knife and dart to the wall beside the entrance where that pool of bloody darkness spills into the cave. I press my back to the rocks and raise my weapon, my heart feeling like it might burst with trepidation.
A tall form in a scarlet cloak and bronze leathers creeps from the shadows, hatchet in hand. An Eastlander.
I don’t hesitate.
With all the strength left in me, I bring down my blade.
The Frostwater ravine runs north and south, just east of Winter Road. This great, white crevice—tinted the shade of fevered cheeks—is mostly rock, though evergreen bushes and pine saplings have sprung up from the old riverbed thanks to a rainy early summer. Most of the bushes are buried in snow, and I’ve scavenged what I could from the thickets growing back the way we came, so walking north is the only option if we’re to stay warm here.
Nephele and the others have to be spent. I don’t know how they’ve held the construct for this long, much less after having provided me and Raina as much aid as they have. I’m certain Nephele must be a mess of nerves knowing her sister is inside this frozen world.
I keep moving that way, staring at the rugged cliffs around me. I can’t stop thinking about everything that just happened between me and Raina, how thereissomething she still doesn’t know about me, and how close we are to what feels like freedom, though there’s no way to be sure unless I walk to the construct’s end. I don’t know how far the enchantment reaches or how long the kingdom’s Witch Walkers will manage to keep their magick in place.
Or what will happen once we cross into the real world.
I swear the construct is weakening, though. Silent cracks of silver lightning fracture the deep red sky, leaving behind a dark bruise. I wouldn’t dare tell Raina, but I fear the red sky reflects the misery Nephele and the Witch Walkers are enduring, the fissuring a sign of their dwindling control.
We may be free sooner than expected.
