Followed by Fros(50)

His smile shrunk but did not disappear. In three strides he closed the gap between us and touched my face with his fingers—fingers that felt as cold to me as anything else, and perhaps they were. I bit my tongue to keep myself from flinching. I would not fear Death, and I would not allow him to wield any power over me.

“I’ve told you, haven’t I?” he said, studying me. He wore a peculiar expression. He looked almost . . . lonely. “Yet in recent months I’ve often wondered the same thing. What were the words of that young man’s curse, hmm? Do remind me.”

I had not forgotten them, even now. Mordan’s spell had etched itself in my memory.

“I don’t remember the spell itself,” I said quietly, pulling away from his touch. “It was in a language I didn’t recognize.” I shivered, thinking of the rest. “‘I curse you . . . to be as cold as your heart.’”

Sadriel smirked at that.

“‘May winter follow you wherever you go,” I recited, and my eyes widened. I stared hard at Sadriel and finished, “and with the cold, death.’”

His amber gaze glimmered with amusement.

“But mortal curses don’t affect you,” I said, stepping back. “You said so yourself.”

“Correct you are, love,” he said. “But it’s interesting to think about, hmm? Perhaps that was a hint to breaking it.”

“If it takes death to break my curse . . .”

He touched my chin, tilted my head to the side, and released me. “Something to ponder on.”

He turned around and walked toward the back of the cave, stretching out his arms. “I am bored. Perhaps if you cannot entertain me, I’ll find someone else to catch my interest.”

I stalked after him, my skirt flapping around my ankles. “Sadriel—”

“Who shall I go visit in the city?” he continued, glancing back at me.

“They can’t even see you!”

“Oh, but I can make them.”

I gaped and pressed a hand to my frozen chest. “Don’t you dare, Sadriel!”

He began to fade.

“Sadriel!”

I rushed for him, but he vanished before I could grab him, and my violet fingernails clawed only air.

“Sadriel!” I shouted, spinning around. Surely he didn’t have the power to take a healthy soul for no other reason than to taunt me . . . but who was I to question the strength of Death?

I snatched my head scarf from beside the hearth and ran out into the desert, my feet skidding along fresh snow made golden by the distant evening sun. I did not see Sadriel outside. Then again, he had a quicker method of travel than I did.

Running across the snow as fast as my cold-cramped legs would carry me, I wrapped the head scarf around my head and neck, constantly searching for the flourish of a black cape or the gleam of his ruby necklace. I called out his name once more, hoping he was merely toying with me, but he did not reappear. He had never been the sort of man to come when called.

Snow thinned beneath my feet and made way for sand as I broke through the perimeter of my winter. The cloud floated above me as always, tethered to me by unseen threads. My heart thudded in my chest, pumping icy blood to icy muscles. I ran, desperately searching. Why had he drawn me to the city? Had he been bluffing? Was it too late to stop him if not?

To my surprise, I reached Mac’Hliah without stopping for a rest, though my lungs burned with each frosty breath and needles filled my legs. It was twilight, and there were few people on the streets.

A man hammering a small nail into a shoe glanced up at me through thinning black hair as I struggled for breath. I brushed sand from my dress and swallowed. My legs ached, but I hurried at a quick walk, searching up and down lanes and between homes. I heard a dog bark not far off and quickly changed direction, hugging myself against the chill.

I dared not call Death’s name, but as I weaved between homes and tents I began to feel sure Sadriel had only meant to rile me—or at least I prayed he only meant to rile me. If he truly wanted to hurt someone, I had little hope of stopping him. I would not have put it past him to frame me for such a thing, either.

I stepped aside to let a short man with a handcart pass me, his eyes wide with earnest wonder. Kneading a tight muscle in my shoulder, I allowed myself a moment to catch my breath and calm myself. Surely I would return to the cavern to find Sadriel laughing at me.

I turned around and navigated my way back through the north-most homes of Mac’Hliah, not entirely sure which route I had taken into the city, but I could see the white-crusted peak of my mountain, so I had no fear of getting lost. Yet as I made my way through narrow alleys and winding streets, I knew I tread new ground, for I saw people I would have remembered my first time through, even in my panic.

An old man, too old for me to name his age, sat huddled against some sort of shop with dark windows, his stringy beard long gone gray, a dirty mashadah draped over his head and shoulders. Filth lined his wrinkles, and he reached for me with a wrist so thin a wintry gust from my storm could have broken it. Not far from him, on the other side of the road, huddled another man, slightly younger but in no better condition.

Beggars. My heart grew heavy at the sight of them. During my few trips into the city, I had always taken the main roads either to the market or to the palace and always with others to distract me. I had never stepped foot on this edge of town. How many more homeless wandered the streets without help or home? Did Imad know about them?