Followed by Fros(62)

And despite the way my heart ached so terribly I could barely move one foot in front of the other, despite the overwhelming sadness that made me cry before I could reach the city’s border, I truly meant every word I had said to Faida. I barely knew her, yet I wanted her to be happy. No, not her. I wished that for Lo. I wished him every grace life could offer, and I would do anything to give it to him.

Oh, how I loved him.





CHAPTER 25





After four years, I finally grasped the entirety of Mordan’s curse.

The curse’s physical effects were obvious, of course. Every day, hour, and second of my life would be spent encased in an unbearable chill that no human—no living thing—should be able to endure. The kind of cold that freezes to the bones, to the spirit itself. The cold that stills the heart and crystallizes the blood. The kind of cold that even fire fears, that can turn a woman to glass.

But only now did I understand the implications. Just as I had broken Mordan’s heart, so would my heart be broken, for I could not so much as touch a man without hurting him. No matter where I went or who I met, conversation would be the uttermost limit of intimacy I could hope to achieve with another human being, and only then if they were willing to brave the eternal cold of my presence.

In a way I was glad it had taken me so long to internalize the cost of the curse, for if I had understood the deeper implications of the curse from the beginning, I might never have survived my first year. If my inner darkness hadn’t consumed me, Death would have.

Lying on my bed in the sanctuary of my cavern, the fire burning and the lamp turned low, I did not face my darkness, for truly I had banished it from me, and even with a broken heart, my will was forever strong enough to keep it at bay. At first I felt angry with the bid fate had made for me, angry at the injustice of it all. Then shame swept over me for thinking such selfish thoughts. Finally came clarity, and with clarity came a sorrow that spun itself like wool around me. I knew I could not have Lo—I could never have Lo—and any thought or action to the contrary would only bring him and Faida pain. Who was I to jeopardize their happiness? I forced myself to relinquish him, prying free one finger at a time, until a cold, dead ache rested solidly in my core. The kind of ache that only time can heal.

I wept over my fire throughout the night to keep the tears from clinging to my eyelashes and cheeks; then I carefully folded Kitora’s beautiful dress and placed it with my others, at the bottom of the drawer. All my tears spent, I curled up, shivering, on my bed, too blank-minded to read, alone with only my thoughts and the new heaviness that had pressed into my body.

Oh, how often I had played the part of the fool, but I learned from it every time. This new pain would ultimately help me grow stronger; I knew that. But it ached so terribly, and I felt so very, very cold.

In the morning I ate a breakfast of dates and flatbread and selected some yarn to weave on my small loom, for I had not yet received a larger one. But my hands shook terribly, and I could not bring myself to focus on the task, so I lay down. If I could not sleep, at least I could rest, though the winter chill pulled and wrenched the muscles in my body, my legs especially. The walk from the palace had been a long one.

I don’t know when I started humming, but I did, working through the tunes I’d heard at the Nameday Festival as I ran my gloved fingers over the patterns in my blanket, the one that depicted my storm cloud and a flock of birds over the Finger Mountains. I hummed one song after another, improvising the parts I had forgotten. I sensed Sadriel when he appeared at the far end of my cave, but I did not look up. I only hummed and traced the lines of my blanket, one by one.

“You are intriguing, love,” he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs, studying me.

I traced a black bird and smiled, though I’m not sure it showed on my lips. “Thank you.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“No,” I said, a little hoarse. “Thank you for sparing the boy in the village.”

Sadriel frowned. Crossing one leg over the other, he said, “Mercy is not in my domain, Smitha. A man either dies or he does not. My only role is as the gatekeeper.”

“I thought so,” I said, running my fingers over another bird’s wings. “When I chased you into the city, that’s what I thought.”

He laughed. “You chased me? I should have stayed around for long enough to see that.”

We were silent for a moment, but then Sadriel leaned forward, narrowing his shining, amber eyes at me. “It looks different, Smitha. What happened to you?”

“A very sad thing,” I said, stilling my hand. “But it will pass.”

Yet at the moment I struggled to believe my own words. Unshed tears lingered behind my eyes, but I was too tired to keep crying. Still, no distraction could dull the hurt in my chest that throbbed in tune with my heart. Only time could heal me. Only time.

I loved him.

I sat up, pulled my loose head scarf from my hair, and set it on my pillow, then tugged my right hand free of its long glove. I inspected the pale skin and violet nail beds, the veins that looked too blue and too dark. I stood, stepped toward Sadriel, and took his hand in mine, squeezing it. I relished his touch for a long moment before letting go and returning to my glove, working the cold-stiffened fabric back over my skin.

Sadriel watched me with a knotted brow. As I lay down, he asked, “What was that about?”