“Yes,” I whisper. “A human man once told me a lot of those.”
George stares at me, eyes crinkling around the edges.You don’t remember anything, do you?
His gaze shifts to the wooden camel I hold. “May I?”
I shrug and plop it into the old man’s hands.
He removes his mittens and holds it up to the light with an explorer’s curiosity. “I used to ride camels back in the day. But I did have a favorite.”
“Let me guess. Cleopatra.”
George chuckles. “Why, yes. Called her Cleo. Poor beast wasn’t brighter than a sand mite.”
I turn my gaze. The crowd of Winter folk are starting to wander back to the city. “Why did you come up here, George?”
He runs his fingers over the curves of the camel’s humps. “You looked so alone. So alone and sad.”
“I’m used to being alone and sad.”
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “You remind me of someone I once met in the desert. There was a young boy…lost in a storm.”
“You don’t say?”
“Where did you get this? Anya liked to carve trinkets like this.”
“Take a closer look, O’Connell,” I say, a hint of a smile on my face. “It’s quite obvious by the shoddy job. I made it myself.”
George brings the wooden beast to his nose. “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’d say it’s rather cute. It’s got character.”
That’s the same thing you said last time, I think.
I had begged and begged for Anya to make me a figure. But she had forced me to carve one myself. The first few had all been turned to kindling. After some time, I got better, managed to find something I liked in the wood. And I gifted it to her.
In return, she clasped her hand on my wrist, and the golden rose bracelet appeared. New magic thrummed through my body.“You have shaped this. Now shape yourself, Prince of the Below. You decide what to do with the magic you bear.”
George plops the camel into my palms. “It’s a good carving, Cas. Reminds me of Cleo.”
I close my hands around it. Why did she give this back?
“You know, the thing about Cleo,” George muses, “is that she had an uncanny sense of direction. She got us out of more than one or two mighty bad sandstorms.”
I clench my fists tighter, almost feeling the rough fur, the sand in my mouth.
“My Anya used to say this thing.” A strange smile spreads across his face. “Trust yourself to find the way.”
“When the path is lost, the journey begins,” I finish for him.
George puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles softly. Then he stands and turns to walk down the hill. “That’s quite right.” He glances back at me. “Look at that. Perhaps you’re not so alone after all.”
My heart stutters in my chest, and I struggle to blink the crusted ice out of my eyes. But I’m not imagining it. Coming up the hill are Ezryn, Dayton, and Farron.
Dayton gives me a wide grin. “Y’know, in Summer, it’s custom to have a long night of drinking and celebrating after a funeral.”
“We’re planning to raid Kel’s stores of mead,” Ezryn says.
“What we’re asking, Cas”—Farron grins, then reaches for me—“is…do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.” I stagger forward and grab his hand, letting these princes—these friends—pull me out of this storm.
