Ice Country

I watch as Skye and Feve talk, wishing it wasme instead.

~~~

When Siena starts talking to Buff and Wilde,Circ comes over to me. He’s limping and I can see a grimace everycouple of steps, which he’s unsuccessfully trying to hide.

“You alright?” I ask.

“I’ll live,” he says with a forced grin.“I’ve had worse during Hunts.”

“For the tug?” I ask, wondering what a tugeven looks like. Like a bear maybe? By the time the meat gets toice country it’s already butchered and wrapped in skins.

He nods and I try to imagine how differenttheir world is to ours. “What’s it like?” I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“You know, living in fire country,” Isay.

He nods, almost to himself. There’s asolidarity in his eyes and expression that makes me feel like he’ssomeone you can depend on, someone who’ll cover your back no matterwhat. It reminds me of the way Buff is, only with fewer jokes.

“It’s hot,” he says with a straight face.

I stare at him for a second and then laugh,realizing he’s joking, but not. Maybe he’s even more like Buff thanI thought.

“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” he says.“On a warm spring day when the wind is blowing, the prickler aregrowing, turning green, the burrow mice are scavenging in the sand,and the desert floor is rolling in every direction, it’s home.Especially if you’ve got someone special beside you, leaning intoyou.”

“Siena,” I say, picturing the two of them soclose even when separated by bars and stone, holding hands, playingtheir thumb game. I try to take that memory and stick it in thedesert.

“We go back a ways,” he says, almostwistfully.

“And Skye?” I ask, trying not to look at herahead of me, whispering to Feve.

“I’ve known her just as long,” he says.“They’ve both changed over the years, but Skye more thanSiena.”

“How do you mean?”

He laughs, a hearty chuckle that’s full offond memories. “Well, Siena’s always been the way she is. You know,the way she has with words, always making me laugh, always wishingevery day was full of more hours I could spend with her. She’s gota real unique way of looking at the world. The only thing she’sever lacked is confidence in herself, which is the biggest changein her. Ever since she joined the Wilde’s, she’s got that spark,like she knows she’s more than just a stream of words, that she’sactions too.”

I take it all in, nodding to myself as Iremember how quickly Siena made me laugh, and also how quickly shestrung her bow to protect the lot of us against the guards. Yah,I’ve seen firsthand everything that Circ just told me. “And Skye?”I say.

“She’s always had the confidence, always hada lot of friends, was never afraid to speak her mind to anyone andeveryone that’d listen.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, laughing.

“So you’ve had a taste? Well, that’s prettynormal. She’ll tell you what she’s thinking in a heartbeat, notcaring whether you like it or not. And if you cross her or herfamily…”

“Watch out,” I say.

She sounds perfect, I think to myself.

“Dazz,” Circ says, and I hear the sadnesscoming in his words, the compassion.

“Don’t,” I say, unable to hear another I’msorry from anyone.

~~~

We’re almost to the border.

We stop to rest in a blank spot in the woods.People are finally talking again. Buff to Wilde. Siena to Circ.Skye and Feve. I’m the odd one out for the moment. I stalk off intothe woods, find a clearing of my own, big enough to fit me and mytemper, which is rising for no reason at all.

I grab a stick off the ground, snap it overmy knee. Too thin—too easy. I pick up a thicker branch, do the samewith it, relishing the snaaaap! as it shatters into twopieces. I imagine it’s the king’s leg or arm or head.

“Argh!” I yell, and I’m sure the others willhear it, but I don’t give a shiver anymore. I’m done crying, I’mdone mourning. My anger will sustain me now.

I hear sticks cracking in the forest and Ilook away from the sound. It’ll be Buff, my best and most loyalfriend in all of ice country, hearing my temper-induced cry, who’llcome ru

I can’t look at him, not by any fault of his.I can’t look at anyone right now.

The twigs stop snapping and feet scrape intothe clearing.

“I’m fine,” I say to the forest. “Leave mealone.”

“I tried to git ’em to go back to thepalace,” Skye says.

A tremor runs through me. Anger? Excitement?Both? Neither? Something else entirely? My emotions, whilesurface-deep, are like a labyrinth, a maze of false walls andtrapdoors.

I stare deep into the cracks of a tree trunk,not seeing anything.

I don’t say anything.

“That was yer sister on the wall, wasn’t it?”Skye says. “With the king.”

I stare straight ahead, like a statue. Shelooked back too. Saw what I saw. I didn’t imagine it.

I don’t say anything.

“It’s a seven day journey,” she says. “Acrossthe desert. A day to prepare and gather provisions and warriors.”She pauses and I can’t help but like the way warriors soundsin the rasp of her voice. “Then seven days back. It sounds long butit’s only half a full moon. We’ll come back stronger. We’ll crushthat baggard.” I like the way she says crush, too, but Ican’t enjoy it, because all I can see in the lines of the treetrunk is Wes dying while I watch helplessly.

“Why are you leaving?” I ask.

“I trust Wilde,” she says. “The others dotoo.”

I can see that, but still…I can’t wait twoweeks for them to return. I can’t. “More like you’re scared ofGoff,” I say, my words an obvious lie.

She frowns again, takes a step forward. “Yernot thinkin’ straight. What happened to yer brother, it’s—”

“Don’t speak of my brother.” Fire’s burningin my chest, hot and cold and fast.

“—cloudin’ yer judgment,” she continues as ifI hadn’t spoken.

“The only thing that’s clouding my judgmentis you,” I say, taking my own step forward. Three steps away. Icould almost touch her if we both reached out.

“We’re all tryin’ to help you ’ere.” Stopthere, I think. Just stop there.

My eyes are burning but I don’t blink either.“Yah, I’ve heard that one before,” I growl. “But people don’talways come through for you, do they?”

“Are you sayin’ I’m lyin’?” Skye says,getting that look in her eyes, the one I saw just before she leapton Big’s back in the dungeons.

I ignore it, goad it even. “Just confused.Wooloo,” I say in a mocking tone.

She pushes me away with both hands. “Go toscorch,” she says.

I scowl at her, take a step forward.

She charges, grabbing at my arms, trying toget ahold of them, to pin them, but I twist away and grab back,clamping my fingers on her shoulder for a quick second before sheslips away. Arms outstretched, she manages a firm grip on my arms,and I grab her back. We grapple, frantic-like, as it turns into awrestling match, and she’s strong, so strong, stronger than mostguys I’ve fought before.

I push and pull and try to get an edge, butshe’s pushing and pulling and doing the same and then droppingsuddenly, throwing off my center of balance and I’m falling,falling, slamming into the dirt, scrabbling at her as she holds medown, throwing her offa me, rolling, getting on top of her and thenI realize I’m not angry, I’m not angry, I’m fighting her but I’mnot angry—least not at her. My guard falls away and she takesadvantage and throws me to the side, gains the upper hand. But I’mnot seeing her, at least not the her that’s here, who’sfighting me, I’m seeing the Skye who’s arms were reaching outthrough the bars, grabbing mine, want in her eyes and on her lips,and I don’t want to fight anymore, not one second longer, andso—

—I’m holding her and I think she’s holding meback and—

—my hands draw up her slender neck, run alongher jawline, cup her chin, and then—