I cowered on my knees in the snow, cut down like a great tree by the merciless cold. The storm howled in my ears and whipped through my hair.
Adrik, I whispered into my icy palms.
Just his name, over and over, as often as my freezing lips could bear it; just his name, like a desperate plea. The wind stole it from my tongue and stifled it with an angry howl.
You speak of the one who cursed us, it hissed.A witch of the wild, come to mock us?
“Who are you?”
We are no one. We are everything. We are the frost on the leaves, and the wind in the trees. We are the roots in theground, and the dew on the grass. We are prisoners. Prisoners to your king, your hero, your lover.
For a moment, silence.
Traitor.
Behind me, softly and gently, the snow crunched.
I did not need to look to know who it was. I felt the vileness in my bones, the rottenness in the breath of the breeze. Fear seized me, but it did not find purchase in my flaming heart.
I smiled as the steps neared. I smiled as he drew breath.
I smiled as he cooed, “Hello, little bird.”
Morning light danced over his black claws, their blade-like tips resting right above my heart. One wrong move, and my blood would stain the snow.
“Come, come, come, little witch.” His low lilt cracked with triumph. “Come home to me, little mad thing.”
“Still no crown, I see,” I said softly. “How is your dear sister?”
I needed just a little time. Just a little distraction. I snaked my hand into the coat pocket. The lordling snarled, those striking features twisting in anger.
“Do not speak of her. We are reunited, little bird. Nothing can stop us. Nothing, nothing, nothing.” I leaned a little closer as if intrigued, stifling a hiss as his claw dug into the skin above my heart. “We will have her throne. We will steal it from her. It is mine, mine, mine.”
I knew this creature. I’d learned him well, quietly watching from the shadows of his glamour. I loathed that he had carved himself thus into my bones, but now… Now, it bought me a moment.
I stripped my face of rage and of sharpness, and I hid my power behind a meek smile. I made myself into something vile men like him adored: A woman without thorns, something feeble and malleable.
I leaned closer. “Will you bring me something pretty from her castle?”
“Oh,” he cooed. A little closer. His claw pierced me. “Oh, little bird. You shall have a chamber of pretty things.”
Warmth bloomed in the fabric of my woolen shirt. Power tingled at the tips of my fingers. I snaked them secretly towards the coat pocket. The pocket… where was it, where was it? My fingers turned frantic, then stiffened with terror. I was not wearing my coat. In my daze, I’d thrown on Adrik’s cloak. Fear smothered the rage and darkened my thoughts.
The tingle sharpened to a sting.
“Ah,” said the lordling with a glance at my frenzied fingers. “A trick. A distraction. Do not look so sullen, little bird. We will rouse your powers yet.”
I trembled—from cold and from despair and from the fear that writhed so furiously beneath my skin, I could scarcely contain it. But what was this fear if not kindling to my rage? I feared him, but oh, I loathed him more. I loathed him for the stolen seasons and for the horrors I’d carry for the rest of my life. I loathed him for the cold I’d had to endure and for the loneliness. Above all, I loathed him for the smallness to which he’d condemned me.
I refused to let that smallness define me now.
I would not cower. I would not hide. I would not run.
I felt afraid, but oh, I felt vengeful even more.
He smiled.
So did I.
