Page 32

“Your blush said something different a minute ago.”

Instantly, his grin disappears, replaced with something like discomfort.

With difficulty, she tucks the tunic into the pants and ties them as tight as she can. She tears the sleeves and pant legs and pockets the spare fabric, not bothering to make apologies. When she is done, she faces Ryon. “I’ll take my weapons now.”

His eyes narrow, but he does not argue as he retrieves her ax from his belt and then her blade. Dawsyn reaches out to take them from him and as she does, his fingers touch hers, holding them there.

“I know full well how quickly you can kill me with these, girl, so do not think me a fool. Just know that I will fly you above the trees and drop you if you wield them.”

She wants to say something cutting. But her stomach rises at the thought of falling from the sky. Instead, she wrenches her only possessions from his grasp and secures them at her waist. “I will not have reason to wield them – unless you keep calling megirl.”

They set off. Running is now so much easier without the heavy layers of the dress. She follows him as they weave through trees. Again, his eyes keep straying to the sky. Every so often, they hear the quickened air of beating wings and they hide, but they never see a Glacian above them and they hear no shouts.

“Your friend Phineas – do you believe he has betrayed you? Is that why we heard the horn yesterday?” Dawsyn asks him, their gait slowing to a walk as they navigate a dangerously steep decline.

“There is no way to know. I want to believe that he returned to the palace and told them that I was dead, like the other hunters, but I cannot be sure.”

“Why would he not spare me? Surely, if he meant to save your skin, he would save mine, too? What use is it, sending a horde of Glacians to look for me if he knows I’ll lead them to you?”

“He couldn’t claim that you were dead, too. He would be expected to return with you, corpse in tow. They would still try to drain any lingering iskra from your body, like they did with your other… friends.”

Dawsyn remembers the way Lester’s and Carl’s bodies slid into the oily clutches of the pool.

“It would be safer for you if we parted ways then. You must know it.”

“I do not,” he retorts. “If they find me, I’ll need someone who knows how to hack their heads from their shoulders.”

Despite herself, her lips quirk.

A flurry abruptly pulls at them, blowing long tendrils of black hair from her shoulders.

“The storm is almost here,” she tells him. But her voice is chased away by the wind. He is many paces ahead of her now, able to traverse the near-vertical decline far quicker than she.

A movement catches her eye. Her head turns.

A mass stalks her through the trees, traipsing with ease against the rocky slope. Its heavy paws find purchase on the unforgiving terrain, as if walking on flat ground.

A cat, as large as she, with white fur not a shade darker or brighter than that of the fresh-fallen snow around it. A rumble starts in its great chest, steadily increasing as it bares its teeth at her.

Dawsyn does not move. Moving fast enough to outrun the animal would mean falling to certain death.

“Ryon,” she calls softly. But the wind sends the word uphill and away from his ears. He continues away from her, hastened by the oncoming storm.

The cat, its coat prickling with anticipation, stalks ever closer, rounding to get the higher vantage.

Fuck.

Dawsyn’s knees bend of their own accord. As she breathes steadily, her hand brushes the eye of her ax, closing over the neck.

Not yet, she thinks.Not yet.

The cat pounces – claws biting the earth in a spray of frost and rock fragments.

Dawsyn’s ax flies. She throws it from its neck, flipping handle over blade. As soon as it leaves her fingers, she dives forward to the incline. Her eyes closed, she hears the ax hit true, feels the light spray of warm blood on her cheek and listens for the sound of the great cat falling.

It barely misses her. She hears the great thud of its body slamming into the earth at her toes and then tumbling. Looking back, she watches as the mass of white spins downhill. It gets closer and closer down the grade to where Ryon stands, stunned by the creature coming to a stop beside him, an ax in its chest.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN