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Don’t look. Don’t look.
Not yet. Too obvious.
Buff’s at the end of the hall, sort oflooking at everyone, but definitely favoring Wilde’s direction.
Don’t look—
—how can I not look?—
—don’t. Really, don’t.
I look.
I mean for it to be a quick, nonchalantglance, just to see that she’s there, but she’s looking right atme, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips I’ve gotten to seethe most of over the last day. I don’t blush this time, not onebit, just look back, meeting her eyes, feeling something akin toexcitement rush through my chest.
She’s not icy, like we thought. Nay, herbeauty goes far beyond a word like that, which suddenly seems sochildish, so ordinary. And she is anything but ordinary. With deep,brown eyes that seem to collect every last flicker of torchlight,strong high cheekbones that fit her right-sized nose and full lipsso perfectly, she’s a brown-ski
I’ve been staring a while.
“Mornin’, icy Dazz,” she says, soft enough soonly I can hear.
“Morning, beautiful Skye,” I say, shockingmyself at my own boldness.
Skye’s grin fades and I can tell I’vesurprised her too, which is some feat, considering she’s seemed onestep ahead from the very begi
When Buff says, “Catch, Wilde!” she lookspast me, and the moment is broken. I turn, too, and watch as Buffchucks the stone awkwardly through the bars. To his credit, it goesin the general direction of Wilde, skipping across the stone andresting in front of her cell, where she picks it up. She looks atBuff, her long black hair draped behind her.
“Ahem.” Buff clears his throat. “Wilde, mylady, what are the three most important qualities you look for in aguy?”
Chaos follows the question. I’m laughing,unable to help it. Feve’s protesting, yelling something about thechildishness of Icers. Siena and Circ are holding hands and more orless just shaking their heads. And Skye’s screaming the most,saying things like “…burnin’ not what we agreed,” and “…searin’wooloo Icies.”
Wilde, however, raises a hand, instantlysilencing everyone, including me, as I suddenly find myself unableto laugh. “Truth, honor, wisdom,” she says, answering.
There’s silence for a moment, and then I say,“Sorry, Buff, oh for three.”
Laughter fills the dungeon, Buff’s being theloudest of all as he nods his head. I catch a glance from Feve andit’s not filled with animosity. He’s not laughing exactly, but he’snot glaring or frowning or shooting eye-daggers, so I guess it’s awin.
Skye’s laughing, too, which makes me smileeven bigger. Score one for the fu
We all stop, however, when the door bargesopen and Big sticks his thick head in. “What the freeze is goin’ onin here! Shut yer gruel-eaters ’fore I shut ’em for you!” He slamsthe door and there’s a lot of hands over mouths, as people try notto laugh.
“Now, can we stick to the rules?” Wildesays.
Buff nods sheepishly.
Right away, Wilde turns down the row andsays, “Dazz,” bouncing the rock along the floor. It skitters to myfeet and stops against my toe. I look up expectantly. What will thewise Wilde leader ask me?
“What are you not telling us?” she asks.
Chapter Twe
I bite my lip. I’vetold them most everything, but not one of the most importantthings. They might already know all about it—but then again, theymight not. And who am I to be the one to tell them? On the otherhand, who am I to keep it from them?
I decide on a more neutral approach, seeingif I can draw what they know out of them.
“My sister was taken,” I say.
Silence and stares.
“I’m sorry, I left it out because—well, Idon’t know why. Just because it’s personal, I guess. Her name’sJolie, she’s twelve years old, and someone took her away, abductedher in the middle of the night. I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t—”My voice breaks and I look at the ground, at the rock at my feet.Failure written all over me. Plain as day for Skye to see. Icouldn’t even protect my own little sister.
“Who took her?” Wilde asks softly.
A second question. Do I have to answer?Should I answer? Can I answer?
“I don’t know for sure,” I say, “but Ithink…”
I grab the rock, skid it across Siena’s cell,all the way to Circ’s. “How can the Heaters send their children toKing Goff?” I ask, with no attempt to keep the venom outta myvoice. I feel heat rising everywhere. My fists clench and I feel myold friend, my temper, urging me to hit something, anything. Somuch for our fun, laughter-filled game. Maybe we should’ve stuck toBuff’s type of questions.
“What?” Circ says.
“What the scorch are you talkin’ ’bout, Icy?”Skye says. There’s no question it’s a capital I in Icy thistime.
My eyes meet hers, but there’s no anger inthem. Or truth. She has no clue what I’m talking about. I scan thefaces of the other prisoners and find the same thing in all ofthem. Confusion. They’re as clueless as I was not that long ago.They don’t know an icin’ thing about any of it, which is a hugerelief, because if they did…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t besomething I could forgive. Says the man who delivered the childrento the king.
I sigh, close my eyes, feeling the heat leaveme.
Eyes closed, I tell them everything I leftout the last time.
~~~
When I finish, there’s complete silence.Dungeon master Big would be proud.
When I open my eyes, I expect everyone to belooking at me, just staring. Hating me. For being the messenger.For not doing anything to stop it. For delivering—actually being apart of taking—the children to Goff.
But they’re not. They’re looking off intonothing. At the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. None of themspeaking or doing much. Just waiting, as if maybe I’ll say, “Ha! Igot you, didn’t I?” But I can’t say that, as much as I wish Icould.
Finally, Wilde speaks. “Goff took yoursister. Jolie.” It’s not a question.
I nod, tired of speaking.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“What’s he doing with the kids?” Feve asks. Ishake my head, feeling more and more helpless. “You don’tknow?”
“No one does,” Buff says, coming to therescue. “Not even those close to the king. It’s a big mystery.”
I remember that it’s Skye and Siena’s fatherwho’s as much to blame as anyone. I look at Skye first, but shemust have something mighty interesting on her thin, leather shoe,because she’s studying it with both her eyes. So I look at Siena,who feels me looking, and turns her head. There’s a tear in hereyes, just hanging there, as if it’s not strong enough to make itover the edge of her eyelid.
“That’s what he was doing for the Cure?” shesays. It’s a question, but I don’t think she’s expecting an answer,so I don’t say anything. She wipes away the weak tear with the backof her hand, then slams it into her other palm, as if smashing it.“I always wondered what’d be enough to trade for some of the Cure.Some tug meat ain’t nothing. Guarding the border? It made sensewhen we thought there was no Fire in ice country, when maybe fearof it spreading would make the king give a lot for a little. Butnow it makes sense, in a knocky kinda way. If Goff wanted littlekids for some reason, then he’d pay anything for them, even theCure. No wonder my father was so obsessed with reproducing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Siena sighs. “He was so focused on girlsgrowing up and having children,” she says. “He told us it was forthe good of the tribe, to ensure our numbers didn’t dwindle. Butreally…” Her voice fades away in an echo.
“He wanted more available to trade.
“We still don’t know why he wants themthough,” Circ says, reaching over and grabbing Siena’s hand.