CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THROUGH SMOKE AND SNOW
The second trial of the Tournament of Thrones is sparsely attended. I can’t blame anyone who opted to sit this one out. The few of us who are in attendance are shivering outside Widow’s Hall with no view of anything but snow—let alone the actual event.
My breath mists in the air as General Fain explains the parameters of the second trial. It’s a race, from the mountain’s crest back down to Widow’s Hall. The first candidate to make it to the finish line—here, where our small group of watchers waits—is the winner.
Luc and Kaidren will each receive a pickax, for the ice and snow, and a flare tied around their necks, for emergencies. The flare is to be used as a call for help only. Set it off, and the decurio will swoop in to rescue them. But doing so is an immediate forfeit.
As soon as the General is finished outlining the event, I rush inside. Already, I’m running out of time. The decurio is currently transporting Luc and Kaidren to the top of the mountain to start the trial, but I can’t do anything about that until I have supplies.
First, I need to dress as warmly as possible. Then, I need magic.
Ten minutes later, I’m in my attic, wearing fur-lined pants, a wool sweater, thick coat, and a heavy sjaal, snatching jars of my swirling red smoke and shoveling them into a bag.
I don’t hear Sef until she’s right behind me. “Mira?”
I jump, putting a hand over my heart. “Stars in hell, Sef. When did you get so light-footed?” I flash her a grin and keep stuffing jars of magic into my bag.
She shuffles around me, brows drawn. “You’re not seriously thinking of climbing to the crest by yourself?”
“I have to.”
“Mira.” Sef speaks sternly. “There’s a reason Widow’s Hall is here and not farther up the mountain. It’s dangerous. Steep, icy, and cold. If you fall—”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do, you’ll die.”
“I know.” Finished packing, I give her my most reassuring smile. “That won’t happen. I promise.”
The look she gives me is flat and unamused. “I’m not your brother. I’m not so easy to lie to.” She takes a breath. “And there’s something else.”
I sling my bag onto my back. “What is it?”
“Ophera is under attack.”
I stop breathing. For three seconds, I’m perfectly still. Then, “What did you just say?”
“Petruvia launched an attack on Farvelle on the eastern border.”
The same section of land that, according to the treaty, belongs to no one. “Are there any casualties?”
“I’m not sure. I only just heard about it.”
I told Luc to take care of this sooner rather than later, and he did nothing.
My only consolation is that the eastern border is on the opposite side of where I used to live with my mother.
It’s a cold comfort. Ophera—all of it—is part of me.
And now it’s being taken over by Petruvia, ruled by a king who doesn’t have a benevolent Opheran shadow flitting around behind the scenes. “Have the decurio responded yet?”
“I don’t know. I heard it from a stablehand. He said a few soldiers took greyhorns down the mountain to assess the situation. I don’t know anything else. I thought you would want to look into it.”
I do. Of course I do. But the second trial is starting as we speak, and if I’m not there, Luc will lose.
Stay or go? Make sure Ophera is safe, or ensure my brother’s victory in the Tournament?
I take a heavy breath. I know what I want to do. But rushing to see what’s happening in Ophera is only a solution in the short term. “Can you please ask around for me? Find out what you can. I’ll see what we can do to fix this when I get back.”
Sef looks shocked. “You’re still leaving?”
“Luc will fail without me. And I can’t do anything for Ophera if he loses.”
Sef stares at me for several seconds, looking almost . . . disappointed. She hugs me anyway. “If you die up there, I’ll never forgive you,” she murmurs into my ear. “Good luck, Mira. You’ll need it.”
Harsh winds and white snow batter me from all sides, visibility is nonexistent, and every step sends an ache through my entire body. It doesn’t help that I have a bag strapped to my back stuffed with jars of magic, a tshira knife, and a pickax slotted through a loop at the top of my pack.
This high up, the mountain is impressively steep, but it’s not the incline that makes my journey to the top absolute hell—it’s the ice.
It’s everywhere. Each step is a precarious struggle to move my foot from one slick pad to another. Just when I think I’m stable enough to pull myself up the mountain slope, it turns out the place I’ve set my foot is just more ice. The next thing I know, I’m nearly slipping to my death.
Before each step, I swing the ax, slicing through ice, snow, and rock, to give my hands something to grab on to, and my feet a space to slot into.
The trek is steep and painful, but so long as I use both hands, both legs, and my pickax, I make very, very slow progress. It feels more like crawling than climbing, but at least I’m moving.
I have no idea how much time has passed, but my fingers are numb, and I’m sure my lips are blue. Wind is so loud, it drowns out everything except my own labored breathing. The higher I climb, the thicker the ice, and the more force it requires to break through.
I swing the pickax once, twice, five times to carve out a space, then tuck it back into its loop atop my bag. My hands slip into the icy cleft, feeling until my fingers find something to grip—stone.
I’ve lost practically all feeling in my hand, but I hold firm. A groan falls from between my gritted teeth as my other hand grabs a large stone protruding from the snow. The muscles in my arms and back cry out in protest as I haul myself up and tumble onto the ledge above.
I’m sprawled on my back, exhausted. Snow cascades around me. My body is frozen, tired, and sore, but I force it to sit up and stand.
I’m tempted to use the magic in my bag to steal some warmth into my shivering limbs, but when I finally find Luc, I’m going to need as much of it as possible to get us down the mountain in one piece. There isn’t enough to spare.
Just as I’m about to keep moving, I hear shuffling.
I twist, searching. The world is a white blur. I see nothing.
My head turns as though hinged as I stumble forward, prowling through the blinding storm.
Looming ahead is a flash of black. I drag my feet through the snow toward it, until I’m close enough to make out Luc. He’s watching the ground, ambling his way down, so focused on not falling, he doesn’t see me until I’m nearly right in front of him.
I’m completely covered in snow gear, but he recognizes me instantly. “Mira? What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t think I was going to let you do this by yourself, did you?” I try to sound glib, but my teeth are chattering and my lips are going numb, so my attempt at humor falls flat.
“How did you even get here?”
“I climbed.” I try and shrug it off. “Where’s Kaidren?”
“You climbed? In this? Mira, you could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t.” This is why I didn’t tell him the location of the trial ahead of time. I figured he’d try to talk me out of interfering. “Where’s Kaidren?”
“I don’t know. Last I saw him, he was pulling ahead. I think I’m losing.”
“That’s fine. I have a plan.” My climb up gave me plenty of time to strategize. “I brought some magic with me. We’re going to slide down the mountain.” I rustle my frozen fingers through my bag until I reach the tshira knife. “On this.”
Luc frowns doubtfully. “On a knife?”
In response, I channel magic into the tshira.
It pools into an inky puddle at my feet.
With another burst of magic, it hardens into a thin, flat sheet.
It has no runners, but the tshira is smooth enough to function as a makeshift sled.
“We’ll slide on this. I’ll melt the ice into a path as we go.
You are going to use your pickax to veer the sled and keep us on course. ”
Luc looks between the sheet of tshira and me with thinly veiled trepidation. “This sounds dangerous.”
It is. “It’s the fastest way down the mountain. When we get closer to Widow’s Hall, we’ll stop. You’ll make it the rest of the way on foot, and I’ll slip away without anyone knowing I was here.”
Before he can object, I crouch over the tshira, sitting on top of it.
Luc doesn’t move.
“We don’t have time for this,” I say impatiently. “If we don’t do this, we’ll lose.”
Luc is silent for a count of five. I’m tempted to find a rock, knock him over the head, and haul him to the finish line myself, but he finally climbs onto the tshira behind me. His legs are longer than mine and scrunched up next to me so his feet don’t drag through the snow.
My heart drums into my stomach, churning all my fears and anxieties as I shove a wave of heat ahead of us, melting the snow.
I press my feet to the ground and push off, sliding the tshira onto the narrow, icy path.
My belly drops with the sensation. It’s steeper than I’d anticipated, and I’m grateful I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.
I lean to the side, and the tshira slides with me. Up ahead, the mountain drops off suddenly.
“Pickax to the left,” I call back to Luc.
He swings the ax into the ice behind us, and I plant my feet in the snow. We slide to a halt.
I focus magic to our right, melting us another path. We pivot and continue sliding.
We careen down the mountain, and I shout out to Luc each time we need to stop and turn. Our trail is shaky and we stop frequently, but progress is much faster than it would be if Luc was on his own, or if either of us was on foot.
Up ahead, a jagged rock juts out from the ground.
“Right!” I call to Luc.
Nothing happens.
I rock my body to the side. The tshira sled tilts, but not enough. We’re hurtling toward the rock, and Luc isn’t doing anything to slow us down.
“Luc, we need to stop.”
“I-I can’t. I dropped the ax.”
“You what?”
He mumbles something in response, but I can’t hear him over my own terror. The rock looms closer. Panicked, I shove magic at the sled, trying to force it to stop.
The tshira shudders, but there are two of us on here, and we’re flying at full speed.
The sled slows but doesn’t stop.
I grunt, forcing all of my magic, every scrap of my fading energy, into the tshira.
We jolt. The sled pivots ever so slightly to the left.
It’s not enough.
The edge of the sled slams into the side of the rock as we barrel past it.
I open my mouth in a scream that’s lost to the howling wind as we’re thrown into the air.
The sled flies out from beneath me. It falls one way, I fall another.
Air rushes by, and then I slam into the ground.
Groaning, I sit up, one hand pressed to my throbbing head.
I’m dizzy, trying to gather my bearings. All I see is snow, snow, and more snow. No Luc, no sled, no bag full of magic.
Panic is a vise around my lungs.
“Luc!” I scream his name, the sound so frantic and terrified, I don’t recognize my own voice.
“Mira? Where are you?”
Never in my life have I been so grateful to hear my brother speak.
A relieved sigh shudders out of me. I brace my hands against the snow to push to my feet. “I’m over—”
Something cracks.
I screech as the world drops out from beneath me.