Ice Country

I clench my fists in my lap to try to squeezeit back down.

Mother’s eyes flick to my hands. “I know,Dazz,” she says. “You’re angry. You have every right to be.” Shewon’t look at me, keeps her eyes on Jolie, and I don’t blame her.I’d be scared of me too if I were in her position.

“You as good as abandoned us,” I say throughmy teeth.

“I know.”

“Father didn’t have a choice—it was thedisease that took him—but you—”

“I know.”

“You could’ve been stronger, could’ve takencare of us, helped us through the loss that hurt us every bit asmuch as it hurt you.”

“I know, Dazz.”

“Jolie was just a little girl…is justa little girl. And Wes…Wes had to become a man, take care of all ofus, well before any kid should have to. And now he’s…” And I can’tsay it, can’t say it, not one more time.

“I know, Dazz.”

“You know nothing!” I rage, burning a hole inthe side of her head with my eyes. Still she won’t look at me,because she’s too weak, like she’s always been. “Look at me!” Idemand, and she flinches a little, her cheek raised, turning red,like she’s been slapped.

Slowly, so slowly, she turns to face me, hereyes filled with moisture and failure. “I’m sorry, I—”

She reaches for me, but I’m not ready totouch her, still hot and quivering with anger.

“—I hate myself for it,” she says, the tearsdripping out of her eyes and falling all the way to my feet,splashing on my boots.

The hurt, the anger, the accusations, all ofit, falls away from me, leaving me as bare as if I was naked,stripped to my very soul. Before me sits a broken woman, my mother,who’s punishing herself for what she’s done far more than I evercould. And she won’t…nay, can’t get through this without mesupporting her, especially with Father and Wes gone. All we’ve gotis each other and Jolie, and that has to be enough, will be enough.I’m sure of it.

I push into her arms for the second time,clutch her tighter than before.

When I pull back, I say, “Let me make you acup of tea,” and her teary smile warms me more than the fire, or acup of tea, ever could.

~~~

“Thank you,” I say, having spoken those wordsmany times before, but never meaning them as much as now. Mothertold me how Wilde helped her over the past few days, how withouther she’d never have defeated the drugs.

“I’m just glad I could help,” Wilde says, andI can tell she means her words too.

It’s just us, walking through the woods onthe edge of the village, while my mother, Skye, and Buff look aftermy sister. It’s the first time I’ve left the house in days, and thecool chill of the air makes me feel alive again. And going withWilde…that was my request.

“Wes and I,” I say, my voice crackingslightly, as it always does when I say my brother’s name, “we triedso many times…”

“It’s okay,” Wilde says, taking my hand,squeezing it, making me feel better with only those two words andher simple touch.

I can’t help but think about how differentsomeone’s touch can feel from another’s. When Skye holds my hand,it’s like my whole body’s on fire, reaching for hers, pushing forher, needing to be closer to every part of her. And when I held mymother’s hand earlier today, it felt warm and safe. But now,holding Wilde’s hand, it’s different still. A whole world ofdifferent, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. So full of caringand mystery and strength, like she’s giving me her strengththrough my glove, through my skin, charging it into me. Andalthough she only feels sisterly to me, I can see why Buff is sotaken by her.

“How did you do it?” I ask. I have to know,in case my mother ever falls again—so I can save her myself.

Wilde releases my hand, extends her palm, andcatches a snowflake on it. We both stop walking as she studies it,as if committing every last detail to her memory. I watch her,somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say.

When the snowflake finally melts from thebody heat coming through her glove, she looks at me and says,“Everything beautiful must die eventually. And to her, your fatherwas the most beautiful thing in the world. All she needed was tounderstand that.”

And, of course, that explains everything andnothing, but I’m thankful for it either way.

~~~

I still feel sort of awkward being alone withhim, but I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I pulled himaside.

Feve stares at me with dark eyes, waitingexpectantly. “Are we just going to look at each other all day,Icy?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “Look, I know thingshave been…rocky for us from the start, but I want to thankyou. I don’t know if my sister will wake up, but she’d be deadwithout you; and you never backed down from a fight that wasn’treally yours in the first place. So thank you.”

Feve raises his chin, cocks his head to theside, looks at me thoughtfully. “I still don’t like you much,” hesays, “but I accept your thanks. And you did save my life once. Whoknows, maybe we’ll become friends one day.”

Not today, I think. “Maybe,” I say,nodding.

Chapter Thirty-Five

They’re leavinglater today, Siena and Circ and Wilde and Feve and Skye.

Going to find the Stormers. To find Jade, ifshe’s still alive. It may be the last time I see any of them again.Buff’s going too, even though I’m not. He said he’ll get my revengefor me, as long as I take care of his family.

I’m scared of losing all of them, but I won’tabandon my family, not when we’re so broken to pieces, and yetfeeling like we have the potential to be whole again.

Skye said she’ll come around later to saygoodbye, but I think she’s delaying it as much as I am.

Mother’s out. I know, it sounds weird even tome. She hasn’t been out in a long time, doing normal things. Thebakery, which was burned to the ground during the Stormer attack,has been temporarily relocated and is back up and ru

I’m holding Jolie’s hand, just holding it,telling her a story. A story about her brother’s bravery, about howWes was her hero, trying to break down walls to get to her, to saveher. How he gave his life to save hers. My tears are flowing beforeI’m even halfway finished.

That’s when I feel it.

A twitch. Her finger moves beneath mygrasp.

I swear it does.

I stop speaking, stop moving, wait.

Nothing.

Nothing.

My imagination or a random muscle spasm.Nothing more. I can’t hope for more.

So I go back to telling my story, hoping forthe day when a twitch is real and turns into more—

She twitches again and I know this oneis real because right after it her mouth opens and sheyawns—really yawns!—lifts an arm above her head and stretches—

And I’m staring, just staring, tingling allover, my mouth gaping open, but sort of turning into a smile, butsort of not, because I could wake up anytime and it could all be adream, but then she’s opening her eyes, pushing the sleep—the long,long sleep—out of them with a little fist, the way she always hasand—

—looking at me, really looking at me, withadoring eyes that I’ve missed so much, missed more than I evenrealized until I see them right now, at just this perfect, perfectmoment.

“Dazz?” she says, and it’s the same voicethat spoke to me when the king had her, when he was stabbing her,trying to take my whole life away from me for no reason other thanhe could. But she’s not in his grasp anymore, won’t ever be in hisgrasp again, and I drop to my knees and I hug her, feeling anexplosion of warmth and love ru