“Our sleighs fit six”—he gives my father a quick once-over—“regular-sized men. Four sleighs were at full occupancy, and one was packed with crates.”
The fine hairs along my nape stand on end at the mention of crates, because crates mean supplies. Though I’d love nothing more than to believe the boxes were filled with food and clothes, my gut screams weapons.
Dante knew we’d come looking for him.
He knew and he prepared.
Seventy-Eight
After growing back the factory door, since the Volkovs turned out agreeable, I climb atop my father, and we take off east. The temperature over the snow-covered knolls is so brisk that, an hour into our flight, my face begins to frost over.
I tuck my seashell necklace inside the neck of my sweater, then roll up the yarn over my ears, nose, and mouth. As I lower my lids to protect my stinging eyeballs, something heavy drops onto my shoulders. I gasp when I realize it’s a pelt.
I know you hate fur, but keep the cloak on.
I unhook one of my arms from around my father’s neck to clasp the collar.Did you just skin a bear?
No. Fionn bought it from a village of trappers. Put the hood on.
I lower the hood over my frozen ears, whispering a quick thank-you to the creature whose life was sacrificed to keep me warm.Bronwen wouldn’t happen to have had a vision?
No.
Aoife suddenly glides nearer to us, and I notice that Gabriele has awakened. His cheeks and lips have regained a hint of pink, and his gray eyes, a hint of sparkle. “What are we doing back in Glace?”
Right. He missed a few episodes while asleep. I make quick work of filling him in.
At the end of my account, he sucks in a breath.
“The leg?”
He surveys his splint and twists his foot. “The leg’s fine. Healed, even.” He touches his thigh, then moves his hand over the knots Aoife fastened and begins to tug at them.
“Gabriele?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you inhale sharply?”
“What?”
“After I told you about the sleighs, you made a noise.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. Head’s a little muddled from . . .everything.” He beholds the white expanse. “When we were stationed here, Alyona brought us to these giant ice caves once. I was just thinking that perhaps Dante would’ve headed there.”
“Where?” My tone borders on hysteria. “Where are they?”
He slides his lower lip between his teeth and peers past Aoife’s wing. “They were at the base of the White Fang.”
“The White Fang?”
He nods to a mountain that’s thin and tall, chiseled to a daunting peak.
“Fitting name.” I’m about to ask if Lore heard when every Crow veers as one toward the bladed mountain.
Tell everyone to stay high, Lore.
He must, because once we reach the mountain, we linger at a great altitude.
