We enter clear air, coming upon a large, circular clearing surrounded by the foggy barrier we passed through.
It’s calm and still.
At the back of the clearing, a wall of stone rises into the haze, water streaming gently down its surface, flowing into three large ponds.
All three pools are connected but divided by stone lips over which the water pours. The ponds appear shallow enough that the water would only reach waist height if I were to stand in it.
Steam wafts gently around the clearing, rising from the ponds.
Pausing for an excruciating moment, fully aware of how badly Thyra needs the warmth, I seek the scuffling that will tell me how close the Alak-Teah have come to us now.
The sounds of movement have stopped.
I don’t fool myself for a second that the creatures have retreated.
They’ll bide their time and attack when they think we’re at our most vulnerable.
After all, these hot springs are where they feast.
Thyra’s eyes have widened even further. Droplets of water now glisten across her face, neck, and right arm, where the Lethian armor doesn’t cover her, and the snow that had gathered between us is melting. Glistening liquid slides down the side of the black runes of the blood bind where she presses her arm to my chest. It’s far too late to avoid touching them.
Without another pause, I hurry forward, but I halt Thyra’s attempt to turn her head toward the rock pools, clamping my hand tighter across the side of her face.
Better that she doesn’t see the decomposed bodies and gleaming ivory bones littering the rocky ground.
Any animal or fae trying to escape the cold is easy prey for the Alak-Teah.
Although I’m gratified that the three fae bodies I make out are not of my generation—I can tell by the cut of the fur coats clinging to their bones, the style worn when my father was king.
After I took power, I ensured that every Frost Fae had a home to retreat into at night, and I applied severe punishments for any fae refusing to shelter those under their care. Gone are the days when my father would pit his followers againsteach other.
My actions do not come from kindness, which I’m incapable of feeling, but from necessity.
I will not waste soldiers by losing them to the cold.
Besides, there’s no point in testing my people’s loyalty when I know I’m hated.
Now, a glance at the bodies tells me that the deceased fae’s clothing could be very useful to me. No fur is thick enough to insulate against the nighttime blizzards in my kingdom, but I can wrap Thyra in the furs before we leave, which, ideally, will be at sunrise when the storm abates.
Five hours away.
Long hours during which we’ll have to survive the Alak-Teah.
Despite my hand across the side of her face, Thyra strains away from me, and I’m certain her survival instincts must be drawing her toward the warm water.
Not yet.
“Wait,” I whisper, my voice barely louder than an exhalation as I hurry to reach the water’s edge. “Wait.”
She whimpers, a sound I’m certain would wrench at my heart if it weren’t an empty void in my chest.
Her wordless plea only makes me more determined to control her entry into the water. The warmth radiating out from the water is gentle, but there’s a very real danger that it could be too much for her if she immerses herself in it too quickly.
Thyra’s frozen fingers and toes are visibly bloodless.
It’s clear her body’s barely functioning. I forced her back from death to a frame drained of blood, limbs frozen and threatening to blacken in places, and pain beyond any that a fae should ever face.
Even gentle heat could feel to her like she’s being burned.
