“No.” I press the heel of my hand into my eye, but the explosion of color against the inside of my eyelid reminds me of Hunter’s magic falling from the sky. “Amber did. It was an accident.”
“In the heat of battle, these things are inevitable,” he says gently. “Your friends did what they had to do to survive.”
“Does Chronos know where we are?”
“Not yet, but one of his teams is close. Douglas Lausks is leading them.” I utter a curse. “They’ve narrowed your location to a radius of a few miles. They’re awaiting reinforcements.”
A few miles. I shoot to my feet. We have hours at most. The smoke from the chimney trails like bread crumbs over the valley. Fleur will be asleep soon with the rest of them, crashed out and vulnerable, same as we were when we washed up on the beach. “I have to go.”
“No, Jack. It isn’t wise to run. They’ll only come after you.” Lyon’s instructions tumble out fast, as if he’s afraid I’ll hang up before I hear what he has to say. “Stay where you are and let them find you. Their distrust of each other is their weakness. They are an army only in number;they will not fight like one. Once they’re defeated, you’ll have a clear path of escape.”
“An army? We were nearly crushed by a single team of Guards and two Seasons last night. How many more could there be?”
“Their numbers are of little importance. The longer you remain together, the more powerful you’ll become. They will not let you go quietly, Jack. Win over those who will listen. Take strength from others where you can.”
“What about you? If you care so much, why the hell aren’t you here?”
“I’m doing everything in my power to help you.” I kick at the boulder, remembering every conversation I ever had with my mother when I called her to bail me out of that goddamn school. “My presence would only make you more vulnerable. I’ve no teeth for battle.”
I drag my hand through my hair as I search the valley, wondering where the Guards are now and how long until they get here. “What if I can’t protect them?”
Run? Fight? Are these my only choices? What if Chronos was right and every decision I make only leads us closer to the same shitty end?
“You wouldn’t be a man if you weren’t afraid, Jack.” He says it in the same soft voice he used that day in the Control Room, after I watched Chronos foretell my death. “You are not alone. You have Fleur and the others. Hold on to each other. I’ve done everything I can. I believe in you, Jack.”
The line goes dead before I can ask him why.
30
Distance Between Us
FLEUR
My toes are numb, my lips still tingling when I leave Jack by the woodpile and come inside. The cabin smells like burned stew and the tang of unwashed bodies. The last serving of stew Jack never came in to eat has cooked down to a thick inedible paste at the bottom of the pot. I open the iron door to the stove as quietly as I can so I won’t wake the others. Poppy stirs when I drop the first log on the coals. There’s a wheeze in her cough that wasn’t there last night when she went to bed. She sits up and sniffles.
“You’re back,” she says quietly.
“How’d you know I was gone?” I whisper.
From her sleeping bag in the corner, Marie grumbles, “Because Julio was up worrying about you two half the night. The rest of us didn’t care enough to stay awake to witness your walk of shame.” She rolls over, turning her back to us, but I’m sure she’s listening.
“Ignore her,” Poppy says, holding her sleeping bag open for me. I slide in with her, drawing it up as high as it will go. Her skin’s clammy. It smells like salt, as if the six weeks we spent at sea are still lingering in her pores.
“Your feet are freezing!” she says, letting me warm them against her. I can’t hold back my grin, thinking back to the pond, the snow, Jack’s kiss... Poppy studies me sideways. “Winter looks good on you.”
I rest my head on her shoulder, and hers falls against mine. “I’m sorry I kept you up. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
“It wasn’t that. I knew you’d be fine. It was Woody,” she whispers. “He woke up sick in the night. Chill gave him some aspirin and he fell back to sleep about an hour ago, but his leg... it doesn’t look good.” Woody’s long hair is tangled with sweat. I can smell it from across the room, and under it, the faint putrid odor of infection through his bandages.
Poppy coughs hard into her hand. The others begin to stir. A pale ray of sun seeps through the grime on the windowpane, revealing a feverish flush on her cheeks. She buries her next cough in the sleeping bag.
“You don’t look good, either.” I stroke her hair back, resting my palm on her forehead. She’s warm. Too warm.
“It’s nothing,” she says dismissively. “I’m fine.”
Chill sits up and scratches his chest, scowling at the room like he can’t quite remember how he got here. He rises stiffly, grimacing into the burned pot on the stove.
The door flies open, a cold wind rushing in behind Jack.
