We all knew this wasn’t a matter of taking a moment to think. If I didn’t do this now, I wouldn’t do it at all.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to believe—my family, or the writhing, sickening feeling in my stomach that this was wrong?
“I can’t,” I murmured, and took a step back. There was nothing else to say, nothing that would make sense to them. I took another step, past the still-lit candles, wrapping my arms around myself like they would shield me from the murderous look in my mother’s eyes.
None of them tried to stop me. Magic swirling like a windstorm, heart racing, I reached the door and pulled it open with a trembling hand.
Mother shook her head the tiniest amount but didn’t speak. I’d disappointed her again, and this was worse than any kill I could have made without her permission. This would earn me far worse than a slap. There was death written on her face. Suffering.
Her expression swam in my vision all the way to my bedroom, but she let me go.
Seven
It was dark.
More than dark. Something greater and more terrible, a pitch blackness that crushed my eyes and my chest and squeezed the air from my lungs. Every breath echoed like I was in some enclosed space, and my arms almost refused to lift to check. Unseen, my hands pressed flat on something cold and hard inches from my face. I ran my fingers across the surface—smooth and flawless like glass. Outwards to the corners, and then down the matching sides before they fell beside me once more.
I didn’t wonder where I was. I’d touched this icy-cold smoothness enough times to know. Years hadn’t faded the memory of my tiny hands trailing along Alaric’s coffin as if it held any semblance of my dear older brother.
Panic didn’t choke me. I drew the deepest breath I dared, steadying my hands, and pushed them against the lid once again. It didn’t matter, in this darkness, but I closed my eyes and searched for the wisp of magic in me. The familiar metallic tang tickled the back of my tongue, but no words came with it. None of the instinctive incantations that would help me spin magic into whatever I needed.
Now the panic set in; I’d never had this happen. I’d never not been able to work my magic. And now, with my botched nameday ceremony, it’d happened twice in a row. My magic was something I’d understood from my earliest memory. Was this what Mother meant by a punishment from Nalcai? If I wouldn’t give myself to her I’d lose my power entirely?
My blood felt paralyzed, and my eyes snapped open to find my hands not against the coffin lid but on either side of a woman’s face.
She was beautiful, coldly and terribly beautiful—her face too gaunt, too pale, her eyes too wide, her lips too thin, but radiating some power that captivated me and made me want to beg her to speak. The warped blue-green light of my family’s crypt danced behind her, sending shadows streaking across the planes of her face, and I saw her eyes were not wide eyes at all, but dark, empty sockets. Endless and pulling.
Her lips spread in a grin, and she laid one long-fingered hand against my chest. Over my heart. “A fair exchange, Neyva,” she hissed in a voice like steel and wind.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Her fingers curled in, nails piercing into my flesh.
“Don’t you scream, darling. It only takes a word.”
My eyes flew open, reeling from the nightmare, and I stared at the ceiling, gasping for breath. Cold sweat snaked down my spine.
It was still dark.
A different kind of dark—the vivid, sucking dark outlined by the familiar hues of midnight.
And the fingers were still curling into my chest, like ice reaching for my heart.
There was a shadow with its claws on my heart, and the taste of metal filled my mouth, and adrenaline struck my veins like lightning. I grabbed at the shadow’s wrist on instinct but found my fingers closing on themselves, so I squeezed my eyes shut and let my magic act.
“Predators of frost and night,
Flee from blades of burning light!”
A whoosh echoed through the room, firelight flashed through the darkness behind my closed lids. I saw the outline of a swirl of shadow and light that made my eyes burn and tear, and there was a deafening shriek, then everything faded to the soft dark of night. I focused on my ceiling and let myself catch my breath and then flung the covers aside and bolted out of bed. My bedsheets were tangled around my feet, knotted like roots ready to drag me under, and I kicked them off. The cold chased the last traces of sleep from me. I snatched a silken robe from next to my bed and pulled it on, then surveyed the room.
The candles by my bed were lit from the spell, low and soft but a small comfort. They made my shadow loom and flicker on the far wall, but mine was the one shadow in sight. A wave of my hand ignited the others around the room and chased away the last of the darkness. No more lurking spell-monsters ready to pounce.
I put a hand over my pounding heart, the flushed skin above the neckline of my nightgown. No pain. I crossed to the mirror and found my reflection looked like a ghost—my face as white as my robe and gown, eyes wide, chest heaving. My hair was disheveled, and my robe was slipping off a shoulder. There was a single small rip in my dress, where a claw had reached through to skin and bone, but no marks. No blood.
I stayed there, locked in place in the center of my bedroom, studying every inch of it. Waiting. Another attack didn’t come. The taste of magic faded.
I was safe, for the time being. No doubt my would-be assassin would think better of trying again so quickly. I couldn’t let myself relax; I grabbed a hand mirror from the dressing table and crossed to the pale-wood writing desk, ignoring the neat stacks of paper and waiting pens, and sat.
My heart raced as I lifted the little sewing knife tucked away in the drawer and drew it across the pad of my finger. I barely felt the sting; the welcome taste of magic rose at the back of my tongue, along with a sharp kind of fear. Mother would have my head for doing this, but that didn’t matter now. Not after what I’d already done—what had brought on a shadow meant to pluck my heart out with my permission or not.
Besides, I needed the truth, and that required something in return.
I traced my fingertip along the circle of the mirror’s surface, watching the smear of crimson follow the action. Again, and again, three times around as I whispered my request.
“Mirror, mirror, heed my call,
Shed all masks within these walls,
Danger comes as darkness falls,
What traitor walks such sacred halls?”
The silvery surface bubbled and rippled, like a disturbed pond, the shifting reflections of my bedroom ceiling turning to swirling gray and gold. I leaned closer.
Candlelight, faint and flickering. A figure lying on the floor, unbound gold hair spread around her. Eyes open wide, full of a familiar icy annoyance. I knew exactly what it meant, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I watched as Sarafine sat up, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and sighed. “Well played, little sister,” she murmured, her voice distant and warped as if from underwater.
I dropped the hand mirror. It was wrong. She’d been casting something else and it was only bad timing.
Mirrors were never wrong though. Mirrors saw all. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Sarafine and I had never been anything more than rivals. But to come after my life?
My racing heart might have stopped, I couldn’t tell. Then a wave of white-hot fury struck me, dragging my shock down like a tide and taking over. I clutched the knife, my mind whirling with all the possible curses I could cast.
I didn’t choose any of them. I closed my eyes, taking a deep, steady breath, and set the knife by the mirror. No. It wouldn’t do to act rashly again. I’d become a danger to myself, to my family. Anger was a threat that needed to be controlled; I knew that now.
Revenge would do nothing. Short of killing her, she would try again. An endless exchange that would stop with one of us dead. Mother would never tolerate murder between us—I couldn’t hav
e cared less what she might do to Sarafine, but I wasn’t going to put myself any further on her bad side by hurting her. Even if it was fair.
In any case, could I? I’d never completed a curse on my own flesh and blood, whatever they’d done.
I’d never considered it before. I’d never quite loved my sisters, but I’d never wished them harm.
The clock far off in the house chimed the hour, startling me. I counted halfheartedly—four hours past midnight. I didn’t know how long I’d been awake, but I didn’t think I’d slept long.
Don’t you scream, darling. It only takes a word.
Are you going to give up so easily?
Whosoever follows the Dark shall give Her their weeping Heart.
I didn’t know if I was right about any of it, but I knew I had to make a choice. There was no more time for pretending or wondering. Things had changed, for better or worse. My family was willing to kill me, and my purpose no longer sounded like a worthy one. I could be a weapon, or I could be…
What else could I be?
I wanted to know. How could I make a choice when I didn’t understand my options?
All my life I’d been trained to observe and calculate. To plan so there was no risk, no flaw. To be perfect. But now, I made my decision in an instant, a reckless instant that might be my death, or my salvation.
There seemed an equal chance for either, and all I could do was pray the odds would lean in my favor.
I pushed myself from the desk and changed, tossing my nightgown and robe aside in favor of a more suitable but inconspicuous dress, a pale gown with a tied belt. No fussy corsets tonight. Stockings and boots went beneath, and I slung a light cloak and then a fur-lined one around my shoulders. My hands were quick and sure as I twisted my hair up and secured it with the deadly hair stick, and then I stuffed a handful of jewels from my jewelry box into a leather bag. I didn’t look at what they were; I didn’t care. A few carefully selected vials and jars joined them, the most useful for defense and protection, and a candle. I paused in the doorway, memorizing the room once more. The room that had been my home, the heart of my comfort and privacy, for eighteen years.
A room lined with danger and shadows and secrets. It always had been, but now it was more than ever.
I turned away.
I stopped in the dark kitchen to add two apples, a pouch of nuts, and a wrapped loaf of bread to my supplies, and then slipped as quietly as possible out the door. The dead-winter cold hit me like a wall, but I didn’t let it slow me; I moved on silent feet to the stables, and lit the lantern hanging beside the door with a flick of my fingers. The horses stirred, snorting foggy breaths. I picked a good, strong stallion I’d ridden often, well trained and loyal, and he stood patiently as I struggled with his tack, a task always left to the stable boys I’d paid so little attention to.
Then I led him out into the night, and by the light of the single lantern we picked our way on the quietest paths through the grounds.
I paused at the gates , pulse drumming in my throat. Once I crossed there was no recanting. If I wanted to, I could replace everything and return to bed. Pretend it’d never happened. Go apologize to Mother in the morning and ask to finish the ritual. Gain my full magic and appease Nalcai.
I could be the same Neyva Morningspell who had sat in Mother’s room and received the heirloom woven through my hair now. The pride and joy of the family.
But I wasn’t her. I never could be again.
I urged the stallion forward, and as we departed my home, snow began to fall from the sky like ash.
Eight
The guard would be scouring the city for me. I didn’t know how long it’d take them to cave in and send word further out that I was missing, but the quicker I moved the safer I was. Noblewomen couldn’t disappear into thin air.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Not permanently; I could go back, fake an assault or kidnapping, glamour some guards into standing by my story. I’d fool Acalta. The rest of the world, if need be. But not my family. Never my family. I’d made my choice and there was no undoing it. Morningspell women did not run, and I had. Left in the dead of night like a common thief.
If Sarafine had tried to kill me, there was nothing stopping my mother. I wasn’t safe in the house. I never was. They’d given their hearts and wouldn’t be satisfied unless I gave mine.
I let the icy breeze dance between my fingers like it could spin itself into rings. I could have coaxed it to, if I’d wanted.
My heart wasn’t worth more than that, was it?
I wasn’t sure. But my life was.
I urged my stallion on.
Sunset streaked across the sky, and my joints were stiff from riding. The dull thud-splash of hooves on mud paths brightened to the familiar clop of frosty stone, and I studied every inch of the village I’d spend the night in. Even for a witch, travelling alone at night outside of the noble squares was a fool’s mission and would get me killed as surely as if I’d spent another night at home. I’d taken care to weave through Acalta to avoid the drunken street rats who’d put a knife in my horse’s side for a chance to rob and rape me.
The village was not large; a passing stop for travelers more than anything. Inns and taverns lined the street, broken by a few shops. Residential homes were along the far edges. I found the center, a broad circle of old buildings facing what I guessed was the village’s single well, and swung from my horse, smoothing my skirt and cloak and checking my bag was in place. He followed obediently beside me as I crossed to the inn that seemed the safest—not too quiet but not too loud, with welcoming lights in the windows.
The snow had stopped hours ago, but I kept my hood raised and ducked through the door. Inside, a fire roared in a stone hearth, thawing my red and frozen fingers, and lanternlight flickered pleasantly. A few other patrons sat at tables, eating, drinking, or talking, and every eye turned to me as I crossed to the counter where a woman wiped crumbs off with a thin cloth. She looked up at my approach and did a poor job of hiding how she took in my fine fur cloak and clean dress.
“How can I help you, love?” she asked in a voice that sounded like she was trying hard to be welcoming when she’d been working since the crack of dawn and wanted nothing more than to stop dealing with customers.
“I’d like a room, and a place for my horse, if you have it.”
She eyed me again and smiled too sweetly. “A girl like you out by yourself—shouldn’t you have an escort? Dangerous parts here.”
I pulled a ring from my bag and set it on the counter, never moving my gaze from her. It was worth at least the entire building, but I didn’t care. Judging by the way her eyebrows flew up, she wasn’t going to correct me either. “A room and a place for my horse, please.”
She lifted the jewel, flipping it over and over. When she deemed it real, she nodded to me. “Of course. Anything to eat, love?”
I was already sacrificing the jewel; there was no point in refusing a meal coming with it. It’d give me one more meal I could provide on my own with what I’d taken from the kitchen. “Yes, please.”
“Wine?”
“Water.” I couldn’t afford anything but perfectly sharp senses.
“Of course. I’ll send someone to fetch your horse.” She slipped toward the kitchens, calling to someone around the corner.
I stepped out the door, waiting next to my stallion as a boy rounded from the back of the inn, dipping his head to me. “Your horse, miss?”
I nodded and the stable boy took his reins, clucking his tongue. “We’ve been travelling all day; he’ll need food and rest.”
“’Course. He’s a fine horse, miss. Lady bless your night.” He cast me a bright smile as he led the horse away, but I didn’t return it. As long as I got my horse back in the morning well taken care of, I couldn’t care less about his dimpled smile or his good wishes. I returned to the inn to find my supper waiting.
I ate in silence, watching the other patrons from lowered lashes. All men, all casting me flee
ting leers with various intents shining in their eyes. I doubted it was often that a pretty young woman in fine clothes walked in and paid in noble jewelry. It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but without a glamour it couldn’t be helped. A good, full-body glamour required more than I’d brought with me, not to mention time and dedication.
Whether it was respect or intimidation I wasn’t sure, but nobody bothered me as I picked at the bland stew and heavy bread. A different kind of meal than I was used to, but it was filling and warm, and with the winter night icing the other side of the windows, I wasn’t about to complain. I almost laughed at the way the men pointedly didn’t speak to me, despite their obvious interest. If they knew my name, they would run from the inn or come crawling on their knees, depending on which stories had found them. One by one, they retired for the night, casting me final lingering, curious scans as they went, and I lingered alone at my table as the most rowdy, late-night guests quieted.
It was late; I’d been awake for close to twenty-four hours now, and my sore, aching muscles demanded rest. But I knew how unlikely it was to come. Not after waking with that creature latched to my chest, not in an unfamiliar and unsafe place, and not with the weight of what I’d done. So, I watched the people file from the room, watched the lanterns burn low and dim and the fire calm.
“Ya look like ya could use that warm bed ya paid so much for,” a voice broke through my thoughts. I raised my head to look at the man at the table nearest mine, clad in the rough, dirty clothes of a traveler, face worn and lined with hard days and harder nights. He tilted his cup toward himself, as if checking his drink was still there, and spoke without looking at me. “Did’ja steal that ring?”
“And what if I did?” I cursed myself for not sharpening the edges of my accent; the smoother notes would speak of nobility as much as my cloak or jewels. I’d have to find suitable replacements soon if I wanted to go unnoticed, but the idea made my gut ache.
The Ruin of Snow Page 6
