Chapter 21
EVER
The more I panic, the more snow falls. Cruel realm. I was already a nervous wreck by the time I reached the border, wondering if I'd ever find Kelter and scolding myself for leaving Eli. Maybe he would have come with me—if I'd asked.
Maybe I wouldn’t be facing real death again, alone.
It’s been hours since the snowstorm overcame me after I crossed the border, knocking me down and burying me and my cereal box in layers of ice-cold flurries.
The loud whistle of wind screamed in my ears as I blindly crawled my way out then climbed a tree, leaving the box behind.
Even with how hard I worked to get up the damn thing, I should be frozen solid by now, my limbs blue and frosty, my lashes iced over and my heart caught midbeat.
Instead, I’m just really fucking cold.
It’s impossible. Or magic. Maybe another broken part of me. Maybe my essence keeps me alive through it. Or maybe I died hours ago, and I simply can’t tell the difference anymore.
But impossible or not, dead or alive, my fingers are numb and red. I rub my hands together and huff a hot breath into my palms. I don’t even feel it. Or my toes.
What if I could actually use this magic inside me?
I want to do something more useful than pull magic from plants, like when the roots guided me to the carriage.
I grab hold of the branches on either side of me and narrow my focus to the rough ridges on the bark.
And I try to connect without pulling. I try to believe.
Because if I can bring Eli to his knees with only the touch of my hand, then I can keep myself safe.
I can be fiercer than a storm. Tougher than ice.
I can be stronger than the threat of death.
I throw all of myself into the foreign act, finally illuminating the branches around me in a light almost as white as the snow and melting a clump of snow that splashes onto the top of my head in a cold dollop. Success. Sort of. I try again. And again. A storm on the edge of rage.
But the wind roars on, my skin more raw with every fervent gust. I let go, spin my rings and stuff my hands into the slight warmth of my pockets.
Paper crinkles. That damn heart of mine jumps with pathetic expectation.
Even as I struggle to unfold the paper with my shaking fingers, even as I read the words and soak them up, my mind tells a different story: of course it’s not a note.
Eli didn’t write it. He couldn’t have noticed my fresh change of clothes wadded up in a ball for dressing after my bath.
He couldn’t have snuck it in while I was testing which cereal was the least stale.
But it is. And he did.
Never,
Giving you a head start doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you when I catch you.
Eli
He made the effort to write a note and hide it, and that’s all it says? And worse yet, he knew I was leaving? And let me? The hurt and anger blend and bind, kindling the fire of the other, inciting feelings too volatile for names.
The snowflakes quadruple in size. I can’t see more than a foot away with how violently they fall and flurry.
I shove a fresh pile off the tops of my knees.
My ears ache, and frozen blood crystalizes over my lips where my chattering teeth punctured the skin.
This is a new level of cold, a should-be-fatal level.
Another vision burrows into the icy layers of my mind.
Wolves circle below, fangs bared, jaws snapping.
My frozen body slips from the branches. Then it’s instant—the capture of my neck, the rip of teeth through my skin, the tearing of flesh from my bones.
I’m too cold to scream as they sniff my stomach, their warm breath a deadly caress before they feast on my organs.
I return from the sickening vision, hyperventilating and hugging the limb I cling to. Why? How many times must I go through it? I’m starting to think the only way to truly escape the torture of death… is to die. But I’ve put up with this too long to let that happen. I won’t let death take me.
The bright snow blinds me, the flakes on my cheeks a thousand times colder with the rush of sensation after death. Who would create such a thing as cold and miserable and fucking majestic as snow?
Ametrine, apparently.
At least it’s keeping any Vaile from finding me. They’re probably waiting in their crooked homes for the storm to pass.
As though the freezing temperature wears away at my common sense, I slide my icy hand down the front of my chest. As soon as I close it around my necklace, she’s back.
Must you get yourself into these situations? my hallucination of Ametrine scolds, but worry burdens her words, concern.
I throw everything at her at once. How am I still alive? How come I feel things around Eli? What’s wrong with me?
The answer you can handle right now is that your body will never work like anyone else’s. The essence changes everything, especially in a body that’s already different. Nothing is wrong with you, but you do make questionable decisions, like running off into a dangerous realm by yourself.
I’m not sure I can handle anything at all. I need to see Kelter. I don’t know why.
She calms herself with a long exhalation. I imagine her eyes closed, her face serene and—
What do you look like? I ask, interrupting my own thought. To address someone in my head. I should be more disturbed with myself at this point, but I’m already in too deep to run down saner pathways.
I’ve never regretted creating Vaile as I did, with beautiful minds such as yours.
She chuckles softly. You’re a delight to listen to, Ever.
I don’t have a body to reference anymore.
Even my voice is something you’ve made up to process my form of communication.
And if you need to go to Kelter, then do so.
Life isn’t meant to give you all the answers from the start.
You’d never explore or seek out more without the unknown.
If I could ever believe she was real, it’d spur from the simple fact that I could never come up with anything that calm and accepting, that positive.
You still have light in you, she says. And I’m back to confident that I’ve made her up, because that’s exactly what I needed to hear.
I know what you need because I know you.
I’ve been stuck in my death stone for millenia and spent the last twenty-three years—the best of them all—watching over you and experiencing your life through your emotions.
That must have been miserable. The ‘experiencing my life’ part, I clarify.
She laughs full out this time. No, but you’re like a child of mine, so if you could take the necklace off while you’re… horizontal—
While I’m what?
Getting lucky? she tries. I feel all of your arousal.
Oh holy mother of fuck. If my cheeks can get any pinker, I’m sure they do. You can feel that? Every time? And nobody calls it that anymore!
Doing the deed?
I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to undo it. That’s worse.
Boning?
Stop! Please. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. You’re not even real. Why won’t you stop?
Now you know, she says, a smile evident in her voice.
And in all seriousness, it was frustrating not to be able to talk to you because my stone wasn’t whole, but beyond that, it was an honor to be so close to one of my creations, practically a part of you.
And to know I did the right thing putting the last bit of unclaimed essence in you.
Why would you do that? I ask.
Because I believe in you.
I open my hand, letting the stone drop back to my chest. I must be truly mad.
The cold returns with a vengeful gust of wind that has no idea which way it wants to go. Neither do I. But I can’t stay here and wait to die. Even if that means trudging through snow for hours until my limbs are immovable. It’s better than giving up and waiting for help that won’t come.
And I have to get to Kelter, though I can’t justify the necessity of it. He’s a grown man capable of taking care of himself, but being apart from him tears my soul down the middle. And every step I take in his direction stitches it back together.
But even while my heart runs toward him as though I don’t have a choice, I question my own motive. What am I running from? The possibility of something good? That maybe Eli cares about me?
That’s a reason to run.
I breathe into my hands, trying to defrost them before climbing down. Clothes seem useless in this weather, only a layer of fabric to soak up the snow.
I drop from the lowest branch and sink into the bed of white.
It reaches my chest. But it’s light. I plod through one step at a time, the cold burning my skin, the air frigid, my nose about to fall the fuck off.
Snow has always been something in books, not a force of nature I ever thought I’d experience.
But I walk on. And on. Without direction, and as always, without hope—not as some sad attempt at being tragic, but simply because hope is only an illusion that leads to loss. Even a map couldn’t show me the way through the infinite whiteness. My heart slows to the same low drum of my thoughts.
I’m only half aware when voices drone in the distance. Men. Then shouting.
And I pull myself out of my inner spiral with the straightening of my spine and the sudden locking of my knees. I reach for Eli’s knife. I have no idea how to fight with it, but I’ve seen enough death to try to fend off an attack if I have to.
Or maybe not.
Two men run toward me, their long legs tackling the snow with ease compared to mine.
The cold must be no more than a nuisance to them.
They bare their chests as if they were poolside under the Calderan sun.
I’m within their reach in less than a minute.
In their grasp seconds later. A hand picks me up by my neck, surely bruising my ice-cold skin.
And a scream slices through the air. I’m thrown to the snowy ground. “Don’t touch her! She’s cursed or something,” the man says, huffing violently.
“Get away!” I kneel and slash the knife about, still sheathed and harmless, only cutting air.
His companion tosses him a rope. “Drag her. He said to bring back anyone we find.”
No thanks. I glide the blade from its sheath and stab it into the first man’s boot. He groans and grabs my hair, immediately regretting it and wailing again. So I twist the knife.
But the other man kicks me in the head with a brutal bash of his boot, and the ringing in my ears makes it hard to fight back as he wraps a rope around me with loop after loop. Then pulls it tight. Then drags me through the snow. The first man limps along behind us, Eli’s knife in his hand.
And instead of worrying for my life, I want more of that warmth, the heat in the strong fingers that held my neck. That’s how cold I am.