7. F（ire） and Ice #3
Aleksander’s eyes widened as he leaned forward off Plague like he was going to throw himself at me.
“I do,” I said numbly.
Aleksander bellowed with fury, magic rising off his shoulders in a steaming haze; he was on fire with power.
“She is now protected under the statute!” Ella screamed, raising her arms into a Shield.
Swearing loudly, foreign words falling from his cruel lips, Aleksander and Plague rose into the air.
“This is not over, Ravenal!” They banked away, joining Pestilence high in the sky.
Under the blood moon, they flew away east, back across the Moor Ocean toward Azote, the home of the Draconis Empire.
“Bye-bye, big fat birds,” Squire cawed.
Aleksander had failed; I was still free.
Lucky, lucky girl.
Gasping with disbelief, unable to process my good fortune, I clutched my racing heart. “Thank you,” I said to Ella. “Thank you so much.”
Ella smiled sadly. “Of course—”
“How old are you?” Axel asked me as he stepped in front of Ella protectively.
“Seventeen.”
He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “You’re old enough to pledge enlistment but too young to join. We’ll inform the Marshal . . . but the Crimson Army will probably forget to come back for you. They have no interest in the North.”
“And if they remember?”
His expression wasn’t encouraging. “I’d start praying to the old god. Your life is in peril.”
It already was.
Someone screamed in agony as they staggered into the main street—on fire. Ella ran to help them, and Axel chased after her.
On my hands and knees, I crawled through the street like an animal, over the melting ice. Head spinning with concussed pain, stomach in my throat, heart full of gratitude, I fought to get to them—Mom and Aurora.
Finally I threw myself at our door, banging desperately.
It flung open.
Mom and Aurora pulled me inside. I collapsed into their arms. Together they smelled like stringent soap, vanilla, and the only people in the world who mattered. Their knees buckled as I grabbed at them, and down to the stone floor we all went, together.
Squire hooted, cuddling between us all.
I tried to speak but couldn’t through my chattering teeth. Mom shouted with worry as she and Aurora patted out the flames sizzling the ends of my hair. I checked them over frantically for injuries.
“We’re okay,” Mom said as I grabbed them roughly. “We’re all okay, honey. Breathe.”
Aurora coughed as she hugged my back while Mom hugged my front. Squire pecked at my cheek, his way of giving kisses.
“I’m so glad you made it back,” Aurora whispered. “I was so worried.”
I held them tightly, shaking with strangled laughter as tears poured down my cheeks.
“I got you, sweetheart,” Mom said. “I got you. No one will harm you—”
Aurora nodded. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
“I won’t let them hurt you,” I whispered.
Aurora rested her head on my shoulder as the three of us lay sprawled across the floor. “We’re stronger than you think,” she said. “Just because we don’t venture outside the walls like you doesn’t mean we’re helpless.”
Mom sighed as she brushed singed hair off my forehead. Her bronze complexion had a slight sickly pallor in the firelight.
I cried harder, because each day Mom got older and Aurora got sicker. Mom’s voice had a slight rasp of asthma, but we’d both noticed Aurora’s cough getting deeper, more rattling over the years.
I roughly pulled the furry dire elk pelt off the chair, nearly knocking over our chessboard.
I righted a potato with wires sticking out of it—a school project Mom had made me do a couple years ago.
The wires were connected to a tiny piece of silver; they created a zap when touched, powered by the potato—a model of lost artificial technology.
I draped the fur around Aurora’s shoulders, and Mom helped me as my hands shook.
“We’re going to survive,” I promised them both, head aching. “They will not beat us . . . The Empire will fall.”
“Sweetheart, please—don’t worry about the Storm Wars,” Mom said. “It’s bigger than all of us. Just focus on keeping yourself safe.”
Aurora nodded in agreement.
The three of us had positioned ourselves into a circle on the floor, sitting close like we always did when we played our dice games. It was why Aurora had been over in the first place. We’d all agreed to a round tonight.
As if sensing my tangled thoughts, Mom pulled the three six-sided platinum dice out of their box. She said they were a secret gift from my father and we could never tell anyone about them. How he had the precious, extremely rare metallic objects, I’d never understood.
“Just one quick round,” Aurora said. “I know my parents don’t care, but I’m sure they’re worried with the attack.”
“Of course they are, dear,” Mom said, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Aurora had four older siblings. Aurora’s parents forgot about her at best and resented her at worst. It was why she spent so much time with us.
Mom tossed the three dice on the floor between us. She’d rolled a score of four—a two, a one, and another one.
“Lucky roll,” Mom said with a smile. The game was simple. Whoever rolled the lowest numbers won the round. “See, it’s a sign. Everything will work out for us.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth. “We’re not lucky,” I whispered, remembering the rows of jagged dragon teeth. We’re being hunted. Squire trembled on my shoulder, eyes wide with terror. I petted his tiny head.
Aurora clapped her hands, laughing as she rolled the dice and got a ten.
“We can’t win,” I whispered.
Mom’s eyes crinkled as she handed me the platinum dice. “Life isn’t about winning.”
That’s not true. After all, Mom and I played chess every night before bed because she said it would teach me everything I needed to know in life. I hadn’t lost a match in years.
Rule of survival: Always win.
I rolled my turn. Three ones stared up at me.
111.
“Lucky, special girl,” Mom said, and I felt sick.