Followed by Fros(9)

“It’s killed my boy!” Toren shouted, tears in his blue eyes. “And look at your other child!”

My father glanced at Marrine, who lay curled in blankets by the hearth, her head resting on Mother’s lap. Mother stroked her hair. Marrine had fallen sick like the others, the continuous cold too strong for her to bear. Still, her fever had broken during the night.

“She’s a disease, Chard,” Cuper said, not bothering to lower his voice. Wrinkles etched his forehead in tight arches, emphasizing his receding hairline, and he trembled with the chill of my aura. “You’ve seen how it follows her. I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone, let alone on her and your family, but we will all die in our very beds if she doesn’t go. There’s no hope of catching Mordan, not now. We don’t even know which direction he went. And you’d be a fool to seek out another wizard’s aid! You’ll curse the whole town, you will.”

I slammed my fist against the cupboard door beside me, sending frost cascading across it. A sharp pain ran up my arm, magnified by the cold. “This is my home!” I cried, my tears freezing on my lashes. “I have every right—”

“You lost that right when you brought the wrath of a wizard upon us,” Toren interrupted.

“I’m not the one who let him stay here in the first place,” I quipped.

All eyes went to my father. He had been the one to open his heart to Mordan when Mordan was only a weary traveler. But no one could blame him for it. My father hadn’t known any better, and Mordan had seemed to be a perfect citizen until that day in the willow-wacks. The day he couldn’t take no for an answer.

Jacks, Ashlen’s father, met my eyes, and I saw some sadness in his gaze. I had spent so much time at his home over the years, I was nearly family. “Will you really stay here and watch your family die? Watch them starve away or freeze to death? What will it take, Smitha? Marrine’s passing? Ashlen’s?” His words were harsh, yet his tone was soft, pleading.

“That isn’t fair!” I cried, panic seizing my frozen heart. Not only did I have to be cursed, but cast out as well? I’d die! “You don’t even know how it feels. You don’t even know! I feel dead already, so cold . . . You don’t even know!”

I covered my face with my hands, tears slowly freezing against my palms. I would die next, anyway. I had seen Death, and he had known my name. A human body wasn’t meant to survive such a curse. I shivered.

The men were silent for a long moment, or perhaps they spoke in whispers—I could not hear over my own sobs. Finally, though, I caught my father’s words: “Give me one day. One more day, and she’ll be gone.”

For a moment I was truly frozen, immobile in my prison of ice. I had always expected to leave home someday, when I was wed. Not like this. Not with my own father betraying me.

I pushed myself to my feet, frost webbing about my footsteps. I stared at my father, unable to summon the words to defend myself. I looked to my mother, but she avoided my gaze. I had been cast out by my own family, my own flesh and blood. For the first time in my life I was unwanted, cast aside like sawdust.

I had nothing to say, nothing that could soothe the indignity that clung to me like candle wax. I turned from the kitchen and ran down the wintry hallway to my room, slamming the door behind me. The wood had chilled so thoroughly over the days of my cursed residency that it splintered. I didn’t care. If they wanted me to leave, I would leave. They would have the rest of their lives to marinate in the regret of their choice.

I dropped to the floor, followed by frost, and rummaged through the boxes under my bed. I pulled out my schoolbag, threw it on the bed, and began searching through my dresser drawers for clothes. I expected a knock on my door, an apology, but it never came. No one, not even Father, sought to make amends.

Even my anger felt cold.

I cried, icy teardrops pattering unevenly on the floor as I wadded up a chemise and shoved it into the corner of my bag, the fabric already stiffening from my touch. My bag was not large, so I took my two favorite dresses and folded them tightly inside, then pulled a third over the one I wore. I packed my hairbrush, chalk for my teeth, and three of my books, one of which included the Hraric volume I had borrowed from Mrs. Thornes. She would get her spring back, but she’d never see this book again.

Crouching, I pulled out the last drawer of my dresser and grabbed my hoard of honey taffies. I took one in my hands, and my rigid fingers struggled with the wrapper. Before I had fully removed it, the taffy had turned rock hard. I let it fall from my hands. It hit the floorboards and cracked into three uneven pieces.

I trembled but not from the cold. Not entirely. My curse gripped me like a noose, expanding as far as Euwan’s borders and stealing from me even the small joy I would get from something as small as a cherished candy. I realized then, staring at the broken taffy, that I was truly on my own—for if my own family could cast me out, surely no stranger would show pity on me. The very cold that had destroyed my life was my closest and only companion.

I resumed packing, moving much slower now, wanting to savor what little time I had left in my room. When I finally emerged, the men had gone. Father and Mother sat silently in the front room, and Marrine dozed by the fire. I went to the icebox to collect what food I could carry—how I would manage to find food after leaving Euwan and its surrounding villages, I did not know—and rummaged through the cupboards for extra supplies without a word. At least I would not have to worry about the food spoiling, only how I would be able to chew it.