by Ruth Lauren
A shout rings across the snow, and my head snaps back.
The guards have seen us.
I whip my crossbow from my back. “Get behind me,” I say. And before I can give it a second thought, I’m running, slipping, and sliding downhill, new snow rushing with me, Anatol’s harsh breaths behind. One of the rescuers launches to her feet and barrels into two of the guards, one of whom was already releasing an arrow. It whistles through the air and my heart stops, but it falls short.
More arrows fly past as we skitter over ice and rocks that I don’t feel anymore, though I know how sharp they are.
I dig my heels into fresh snowfall to slow my descent. Anatol skids to a halt next to me. I hold up my crossbow and take aim at a guard. Then everything speeds up—the other rescuers follow the lead of the first woman and leap to their feet to attack Inessa’s guards. Queen Ana draws one of the guard’s swords with a ring of metal that echoes around the pass and wields it while backing away. Anatol rushes forward to his mother, drawing his own sword and taking up a stance next to her.
I circle around the guard my bolt is pointing at until I’m next to Anatol.
“Cut their bonds, Anatol,” says the queen. He turns swiftly and releases the rescue party.
Inessa’s guards look to the one who must be their leader. She’s tight-lipped, her eyes flashing, but she shakes her head, and Queen Ana’s rescue party surges forward and disarms the guards who still hold weapons.
The first of the Pyots’kan soldiers enters the pass. There’s no time to explain.
“Run!” I say to Anatol.
Queen Ana holds her sword aloft, and we scramble backward, up toward the overhang where Anatol and I hid before. The rescue party falls into place around the queen, and Anatol and I stand in front. My legs ache and my crossbow keeps dipping as my boots sink into the snow and throw me off balance.
“What are you doing here?” I hear Queen Ana say. “Where is your sister? And the Guard? What of Demidova? Those ships …” Her breath is coming in gasps, but even though she’s frozen to her bones and her country is under imminent threat of attack, her voice is commanding.
“We must get above the pass, back onto the mountain,” says Anatol, just as out of breath. “Valor has a plan.”
I stumble back as we reach the top of the incline and the ground levels out. From this vantage point, we can see for miles in either direction, but as the front ranks of the soldiers in white enter the pass from Pyots’kan soil, snow starts to fall again, slowly for a few seconds and then thick and fast. Unarmed now, Inessa’s guards run toward the Pyots’kan end of the pass.
On the Demidovan side, out on the plain, black furs and gold sashes stand starkly against the snow, and the muted sounds of called orders and snorting horses filter through. It’s a unit of the Queen’s Guard. The snow-blind battle is about to come to us—if I don’t stop it first.
“Valor!” Anatol pushes forward, outside the protective circle of the rescue party. We’re both breathing hard.
I raise my crossbow and aim at an overhang of snow, blinking away fat flakes, and let a bolt fly. It embeds in the snow. I squint, hoping so hard to see movement that I clench my fists around my bow.
“Help her!” It’s the queen, ordering the rescue party. Four of the six have bows, either their own or taken from Inessa’s guards, and they step forward instantly and aim as I did. I nock another bolt and join them, and we shoot in unison.
Nothing happens for a beat, but then there’s a slight slide that I see only because the dark dots of the bolts move.
“Again!” I cry.
The two guards next to me look at each other first, but they do as I say. We reload and release again. I stare intently, willing it to work, all my thoughts bent on it. The snowy overhang creaks and cracks and then starts to slide. It builds up speed, and Inessa’s guards shout as the snow falls like rolling waves into the pass.
My mouth has dried out, the anticipation tensing every muscle in my body.
“The other side!” I shout over the noise. A wolf’s howl echoes around the mountain, and a horse’s panicked cry answers it. There are shouts from the pass as Inessa’s guards and Pyots’kan soldiers flee from the falling snow.
We shoot and shoot again, but there’s no overhang on the right side, and the snow won’t fall.
A wall of snow still tumbles from the left, crashing down into the pass. The Pyots’kan army retreats, taking Inessa’s guards with them, but there’s a mass of soldiers building at the entrance to the pass. Waiting. All I’ve done is delay them.
“It’s not enough,” I say, swinging wildly to Anatol.
Queen Ana joins us. “The Guard is almost here,” she says. Halfway across the plain, I can see a swarm of black and gold showing through the snowfall. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do to stop the battle now.”
I shake my head. “If we close the pass, they can’t get through. Ever.”
The queen presses her lips together, kind but firm. She nods to the slowing tumble of snow in the pass. “You’ve bought the Guard enough time to get here. Trust in them. With any luck, we’ll keep the battle out here on the plains, far from the city.”
It’s not enough. My whole family is back there. All my friends. All the people of Demidova.
“Your Highness?” One of the rescuers offers the queen a thick cloak and starts talking about battle strategy, pointing out spots to place archers.
I catch Anatol’s eye and take a step back, then another and another. He frowns but follows me until we’re both behind the rescue party.
“We need to close the pass for good,” I say.
He shrugs, a little impatiently. “I agree. Everyone agrees with you, Valor. But the fact remains that we can’t.” He spreads his empty hands.
“What if we could, though?”
“Then we should do it, of course. But—”
“Come on.”
I dash back down the path and then veer sharply to the right. The black walls of Tyur’ma rise ahead of us. The torches on top of the wall, already lit, blink tiny firelights into the white sky. I keep running straight toward the prison, feeling almost as though I’m fighting my way through the falling snow as well as what’s already on the ground. After a few minutes, I scramble up the path to the portcullis—the same path Peacekeeper Rurik’s cart struggled up months ago when Feliks and I arrived here.
“What are you doing?” Anatol gasps, but he doesn’t slow down.
I reach the gridded iron of the narrow door and look up, up, up to the top of the wall. A shudder passes through me, and it’s not from the cold of the iron under my hands.
I shake the door, my fingers gripping the bars, yelling at the top of my voice. “I know you’re watching me. In the name of the queen, open the door!”
I stand back and wait, the cold air searing my throat. Anatol stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
Behind us, the Queen’s Guard is close. If the ground were free of snow, I’d probably be able to hear their boots marching by now.
I open my mouth to scream again, but the portcullis rattles and starts to open. I don’t wait for it to rise fully, ducking under it as soon as I can. Anatol bites his lip but follows. The passageway between the two walls is empty, so I bolt along it and around a corner.
The cage I entered with Feliks and Peacekeeper Rurik is there, just as I remember. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I slow at the sight, but then force myself to speed up again until we’re standing in front of the grid of bars.
There, on the other side, her gray furs as immaculate as ever and her eyes just as cold, stands Warden Kirov.
CHAPTER 23
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” The warden’s voice is still like a bucket of ice water to the face, but I don’t let myself shiver. I know she knows what’s happening beyond her walls.
“I need to close the pass. You have to give us the blasting powder used in the mines.” I dig my elbow into Anatol’s
side.
“By order of Queen Ana of Demidova, who has just been … liberated,” he says. I hope Warden Kirov doesn’t hear the lie in his voice like I do.
Her gaze flicks to him, but comes back to me.
I tilt my chin up. “We’ve rescued the rightful queen from Inessa’s guards. The queen regent is working with Anastasia and Pyots’k, and I know you’ve seen the approaching soldiers. We are about to be overrun by the Pyots’kan army. This isn’t about settling any score between me and you, it’s about—”
Warden Kirov steps forward, and I break off as she unlocks the cage between us. She doesn’t take her eyes off me while she does it. “There’s no score between us,” she says smoothly, in exactly the tone of voice that lets me know that there is indeed an enormous score between us, and it is most certainly not settled. “Now hurry. There’s no time to waste.”
For the second time, I step through the cage into the empty grounds of Tyur’ma. The place is silent—locked down, the remaining prisoners confined in their cells. My chest tightens. Warden Kirov calls out orders, and two Peacekeepers I hadn’t even seen materialize. One of them is the woman with the eagle tattoo on her back who walked across the grounds the night I escaped from my cell and went to the tower.
The warden speaks low and fast to the Peacekeepers. They run to the mines. I watch them track across the tall drifts of untouched snow in the desolate grounds, my gaze stopping on the empty space where the ice domes stood. I glance across at the infirmary, but it’s shuttered like every other building. Nothing moves except our breath on the air. It’s preternaturally quiet with the fall of the snow.
At the top of the wall stands a Peacekeeper, a bow in her hands. She stands stock-still and stares at me. I exchange a look with Anatol, one that says we both now know who hit his horse. Did Warden Kirov order it? With the snow as bad as it is, it would have been a difficult shot. Was it meant for the prince, or for me?
I breathe faster, my palms prickling with sweat. I know the Warden can’t keep me here this time, but I can’t stop the fear that spreads through me like a bloodstain on snow.
But before I know it, the Peacekeepers return and press black tubes capped at both ends—like strange candles with long wicks—into our hands. A Peacekeeper tells me how to set them off, holding fire inch-sticks out for me to take.
Warden Kirov unlocks the cage and I step through, eager to get away. Anatol and a Peacekeeper follow. The Peacekeeper unlocks the other side of the cage, and then we’re out in the passageway and I can almost—almost—breathe again.
“Valor?”
I hesitate for just a moment, and then turn back to face the warden.
She smiles, as fathomless as ice. “Don’t forget to run.”
I stare at her while a shiver works its way down my back. Anatol tugs me after the Peacekeeper, and I slide the blasting powder sticks into my pockets as I run. The fire inch-sticks I keep tucked into my mitten, held safe against my palm.
The portcullis rattles upward by means unseen as we near. Anatol and I dash out under it and down the path.
I take one last look at Tyur’ma. The Peacekeeper stands, his stance wide and his arms crossed, in the narrow doorway, tattooed wolves fighting over his skin as the portcullis slams back into the ground.
“What now?” Anatol’s cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright but hectic, darting around as we run.
“Take this side of the pass,” I say between breaths. “I’ll go to the other. We run to the Pyots’kan end and lay charges there first.”
The prince nods, no energy or breath left to speak, and I leave him, dropping down the mountain in great leaps, not heeding the Queen’s Guard, which is almost at the mouth of the pass now. I race up the rocks to reach the other side of the pass and run down the length of it, glancing across to see Anatol running parallel on his side.
But down in the pass, the soldiers in white are already there, already marching through. I lose my footing and stumble forward, my hands hitting snow and stone, pain jarring up my wrists.
I push upright, running again before I’m even fully standing. My hands sting, and after a few dozen steps, the inside of one of my mittens feels damp. I reach the end of the pass and pull up short. Out on the plain in Pyots’k, the army masses in the shadow of the mountain.
I drop to the ground, my heart beating out of my chest. Anatol stops directly opposite me across the pass. I pull my mittens off my shaking hands, and blood smears up my left palm. I wipe it off on the snow, ignoring the burn, and fish a blasting powder stick out of my pocket. I jam it as deep into the snow as I can and try to wedge it into the rock itself, and then I fumble the fire inch-sticks out of my mitten. There’s a red stain on the packet, but the sticks are dry.
The first one blows out instantly, but I strike the second on the exposed rock and cover it so closely that I burn my hand. The long wick fizzes into life, and I take Warden Kirov’s advice—I run. Halfway back, I see Anatol. He’s been stopped, accosted by half of the rescue party. He’s gesturing wildly.
As I drop to set my second charge, the air splits with a crack. Instinctively I cover my head. When I turn to see, the pass is clouded with snow and particles of rock. Debris tumbles down the sides. Anatol’s first charge has gone off.
I rush to light my second powder stick, jamming it deep into a crevice so that only the fuse shows. Then I run, lurching forward as my first charge goes off. The ground rumbles beneath my feet, and I hear rock crumbling. Shards of stone and snow rain down around me. I desperately want to turn to look, but I don’t dare. An arrow flies past me, shot from down in the pass, and then a bolt, so close I feel it on my furs. I dodge away from the edge as much as I can and keep running.
I snatch glimpses of what’s happening on the other side of the pass, the queen being hurried away down the mountain, Anatol following her while one member of the rescue party crouches at the beginning of the pass on the Demidovan side. She’s lighting another charge.
As she takes off running down the mountainside, I throw myself to the ground and light the last of my own charges, then I follow, skidding, running, half falling, and tumbling on the rocks. Ahead of me, the Pyots’kan soldiers who have already made it through the pass spill out onto the plain in Demidova.
The wind whips the snow briefly to one side, the flakes bending like a flock of tiny, delicate birds, and suddenly I see the whole scene. The Pyots’kan soldiers stream through the pass, and just a little way down the mountain, approaching fast, is the Guard.
The two charges above go off within a second of each other with ear-splitting cracks that vibrate my head. Shouts of “Retreat!” ring out and are drowned by a rumbling of rock that feels like it comes from right beneath my feet. I skid to a halt. The sides of the pass shift and slide, gathering momentum; rock and snow, ice and stone cloud the air like foam on waves.
Hope spreads into my frozen heart even as debris starts to spill out of the mouth of the pass and toward me on the slope of the mountain. I run again, down toward the plain, because there’s nowhere else to go now.
The first ranks of the Guard clash with the Pyots’kan soldiers who made it through the pass. Shouts underlie the ringing of sword on sword and the whistle of arrows through the air. I spin around, searching for Anatol. A sudden skirmish looms up out of the snow in front of me. I grasp my crossbow and pull it from my back, holding it in front of me in terror.
The soldiers don’t notice me, and it’s not until the fight has passed away from me as quickly as it came that I realize I never loaded a bolt. I wasn’t even armed.
Through the blinding snow I see a flash of dark hair and a familiar face. I open my mouth to call Anatol’s name, but then his face changes, contorting in fear. A soldier advances on him. I run, loading my bow as I move, lifting my boots high, shouting out Anatol’s name. I throw myself in front of him, crossbow raised, finger hovering over the trigger, ready to release.
“Get away from my friend,” I say, though it’s more to keep m
e steady than in hopes that the soldier will hear me. I don’t hesitate when it comes to the hunt. But this is not a hunt. The man in front of me is not an animal, he’s an adult with a drawn sword, and this feels very real in a way that holding a crossbow has never felt before.
“Valor!” Queen Ana’s voice, pitched higher than the shouts on the battlefield, almost draws my attention. She runs straight toward the soldier, swinging her sword back and then forward. The soldier in white drops to the ground, and I wonder, if I’d had to do it myself, could I have?
The queen calls my name again. I see dismay on her face, but I don’t understand. Then I look down and see the red stain seeping across my furs. An arrow sticks out of my chest at an angle.
CHAPTER 24
I watch as if in a dream as the Guard fights on around me, as the queen runs forward, and as Anatol’s hand reaches for me as I drop.
The sky grows dark around the edges, and the pass moves, the mountain moves. Everything tilts, and the ground moves up to meet me.
“You closed the pass, Valor. You did it.” Anatol’s breath escapes in the smallest cloud, once, and the world goes black.
Bare tree branches interlace in front of a gray sky, and a horse moves under me. My skin is hot, but I’m cold—I must be, because I’m shaking and I can’t make it stop. Hands touch me, and faces blur in and out of my vision; it’s cold and black again. I wake up and Sasha is there, but my head is too heavy to hold up and my eyes won’t focus. Maybe it’s a dream.
There’s noise behind a door, but the door stays closed, and I can’t reach to open it. When I try, my shoulder screams.
I open my eyes. There’s a weight on my chest. No—my body is bandaged tightly. I’m in a deep, soft bed, light slanting in through half-drawn red velvet drapes that fall from ceiling to floor. I’m in the palace.
I turn my head. Sasha leaps up from the chair next to the bed, her face alert and pointed, her dark eyes huge. “You’re awake. Are you awake? Does it hurt very much?”
