Breath of Winter, A

by Edwards, Hailey

  “I understand why he sent you.” He was protecting his clan. “Why did you want to come?”

  “The Araneidae must fall.” She tapped a fingernail against her bottom lip. “Think of it. When their clan is destroyed, so will their allies be. There will be chaos as trade routes close and alliances collapse. They are the linchpin. Remove them, and the other Araneaean clans will wobble. One shove from the right hand, our hand, and they will collapse. That is when we will strike.”

  “Even after all Idra did to you,” I said, “to your city, your people, you continue to serve her.”

  Lailah swept her hair atop her head and turned so that I saw a pair of metallic wasps set into the skin of her nape. “I am Necrita.” She continued turning until we faced one another again. “In this life, Idra is Mother and I am her first daughter. I am but one rebellious youth to the eternal mother.”

  In a blink, her situation became clear to me. “You have no choice.”

  “There is always a choice.” She flitted close to me. “I made mine. For your service to me, I will let you make the decision I was never given.” She stroked my cheek with a claw. “Will you become one of us, a harbinger of the new age of the Second World, or…” the razor edge bit into my skin, slicing my throat, “…will you die underground without the sun kissing your face one last time?”

  I barely dared to move my lips. “You realize that isn’t much of a choice?”

  “You are splitting hairs with an ax.” Lailah reached behind her and, with a pained gasp, she held out her bloody hand to me. “You would be my first spawn, and I have always wanted a daughter.”

  On her palm perched one of the metallic insects I had seen burrowed into her skin.

  I forced out the words. “If I say yes?”

  “Then I mark you with my sigil and bring you before Idra so she can witness your conversion.” She brushed her fingers through my choppy hair. “That was the purpose of the pitcher, after all, to allow you to ingest as much of my venom as possible in preparation for what comes next. Fynn was such a darling for lacing the rim each night. Thanks to him, your body is primed for transformation.”

  Great, well, that explained my reaction to her song. It was a trial run. One I must have passed.

  While she fussed over my appearance, I sneaked a glimpse of a hazy-eyed Henri. “What then?”

  “Do you think I came here for the scenery?” She laughed. “I came to seize the nest in the name of our monarch. All that remains to be seen is whether you accept my offer…or you die.” Her head tilted to one side. “Don’t think too hard, dear. There are but two ways out of this room, and you will survive only one of them. I do hate to pressure you for your answer, but my army grows restless, and the effect of my song is temporary on the living, even those I’ve marked. Unless…” She ran her fingers down Henri’s side. “Did you mean for me to kill him?”

  “No.” My vehemence startled her.

  “No need to yell.” She rubbed her ears. “I am standing right here.”

  Stall her, Zuri. There has to be a way out. “How long does the, um, transformation require?”

  “I can’t say.” Her lips pursed. “I was Idra’s once she laid her hands on me. I was told by my sisters who have already spawned that some of their children’s conversions lasted for days while others held out mere hours. It is a difficult thing to estimate when so much depends on the will of the person and the power of their maker.” She patted my cheek fondly. “You may agree to accept my mark and then choose to fight your transformation. In fact, I might prefer it. Yes. I think that I would. Fight it. Your surrender will be made all the sweeter for it, and Idra will praise me when my feisty warrioress succumbs. It will speak highly of my strength, and therefore of hers.”

  Being given the option to fight for my life was unexpected, but not unwelcomed. Perhaps she had meant what she said, in her way, that she wanted to give me more choice than she once had.

  Days. I was stubborn and willful. How could I not be, raised female among a passel of brothers?

  I glanced at Fynn, whose empty stare gutted me, to Henri’s furious scowl, and then to Braden’s corpse. There was only one choice if I wanted my brothers to survive, if I wanted to give Henri and Erania a chance to overcome the Necrita and thwart Idra. If I wanted all these things, I must pay the blood price for them. I did for my brothers—for Henri—what they would have done in my place.

  Facing Lailah, I swallowed. “Do it. Make me yours.”

  “My dear,” she said, holding the sigil near my ear, “I thought you would never ask.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lailah blew her ripe breath across the metallic wasp sitting on her palm, and it shook out its wings. Its legs were crusted yellow with her blood. Its mandibles clacked while it studied me, tilting its head as though deciding on the precise spot where it ought to land and burrow in my flesh.

  My heart banged against my ribs. I choked when I saw its feet tapping to the same rhythm.

  “It won’t hurt,” Lailah assured me, “much.”

  Nodding, I clutched the armrests of my chair and braced for what came next.

  She huffed across the sigil’s back, and its wings snapped upright. When she pursed her lips, exhaling harder, the sigil twisted its wings, letting her fetid breeze carry it right to my shoulder.

  My breath stuck in my throat. I couldn’t scream if I had wanted to, and who was left to hear me?

  “That’s it,” Lailah coaxed. “There’s a good girl.”

  Unsure if she meant me or the sigil, I gritted my teeth until my jaw popped as I waited. I was so tense, so tight, that when the prick of a stinger plunged in the hollow of my throat, I laughed. I shouldn’t have. The tiny prick lingered long enough for me to glimpse pity around Lailah’s eyes.

  I raised a hand to my collarbone. “What’s wrong—?”

  Fire spread through my throat to burn my tongue, which spewed a language unknown to me. While the words fell from my lips, Lailah began to sing. It was not her song for the risers, it was a lullaby, and even without understanding the words I knew it was a farewell to who I used to be, what I used to be, because the venom from the sigil’s sting blistered my core until the remnants burned to ash, and I was rebuilt in her image. Clawing at my throat, I gasped for air.

  My awkward gulps were overshadowed by Lailah’s rising chorus. Her song wrapped around my chest and squeezed until my eyes fluttered closed. So this was death. I was perversely pleased to know I would not be her pawn after all, that my body had rejected the change she had instigated.

  “Sweet girl, you aren’t dying,” Lailah said from inside my head.

  Panicked, I swallowed air until the taste of her breath sat heavy in my mouth. “Please.”

  “This is better than I dreamed it would be.” She clapped her hands. “Use your mind. Go on. Tell me anything. No. Don’t speak. Shut your mouth. Think. Use that brain of yours. Come on.”

  I flung my thoughts toward the sound. “Kill me.”

  “I have killed one child of mine.” She sighed. “I have no intentions of losing another.”

  “I am not your child,” I spat at her.

  “Blood of my blood.” She lifted her hand, her fingers smeared with yellow blood, and licked each one clean. “You are as much my child now as Hishima ever was. Welcome to the family.”

  “Get out of my head.” My skull ached as though my brain was simmering.

  “Oh, fine. You can keep your privacy for now.” She took my arm. “I do admire your spirit.”

  Her grip wheeled me forward. “What are you doing?”

  “We have much to do, and that…” she gestured to my chair, “…will only be in the way.”

  I shrugged from her grip. “Slaughtering a nest full of innocents must take so much time.”

  “More than you realize,” she answered, not understanding I hadn’t meant it as conversation.

  “You are insane.” At least the raving, ravenous version of Lailah had held grains of truth.
r />   “Insane is a harsh word.” She clicked her nails in that way I hated. “Stop fighting me.”

  “I thought you said you wanted me to fight.” She had given me permission to struggle.

  “Fight the infection, not me.” She nudged the chair. “Stand up. Stop wasting my time.”

  “My ankle is broken. You were there. You ought to remember when it happened.” I snorted. “I can’t walk on it yet. Whatever your plans, you’ll have to push me along for the ride, Mother.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” A well-aimed kick shattered the large rear wheel nearest to her.

  “What are you—?” I watched as she circled the chair and lined up with the second big wheel. “Stop it.”

  “Now.” She splintered that one and circled around to the front. “Stand.”

  Life as I knew it was over. Why not humor her? What was the worst that could happen? If I never walked on my ankle again, so what? How long was never? Next to her, never was relative.

  “Suit yourself.” I swung my leg from the brace onto the floor, swallowing a sizzling rush of pain that threatened to engulf my senses. The burn rushed through my blood and left me spluttering.

  “I’m waiting.” She pantomimed a yawn.

  Bracing on the armrests, I pushed from my seat. I stood, defiantly and unevenly, waiting for the ankle to buckle. Aside from the agony lodged in my throat, I felt fine. A little awkward from the treads making the difference in height between my feet even more pronounced, but I felt fine.

  “How did you know my ankle was healed enough to support me?” I asked.

  “It’s not.” She shrugged. “The infection will mend your bones sooner than they would have healed on their own, but it will take time. Until then, those pain receptors are being dampened.”

  Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I thought for an instant Henri glanced at me.

  It must have been from pain or wishful thinking. He hadn’t moved. Neither had Fynn.

  Not since Lailah sang.

  I jerked my chin in their direction. “What will you do with them?”

  “Leave them here, I suppose.” Her wings rustled. “See how kind I am? I have not made you choose between your family and your…friend, is it? I will allow them to live. They are my gift to you.”

  “Thank you.” Twisted as our situation was, I meant it. “Do you know if…? Are my brothers…?”

  “Risers, as you call them, have contained them in the stables. That was some time ago, and they aren’t very dependable help, I’m afraid.” Lailah’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t hear any screams, did you? They usually scream.”

  Tamping down the panic boiling in my gut, I said, “No. There was no screaming.”

  “See? I’m sure they’re fine then.” Her fingers snagged while she pulled them through her hair. “Enough talk. It’s time we finished this. Come along. Everyone is waiting for us to arrive.”

  Afraid to ask who everyone was, I followed her as she glided to the bastille’s hatch.

  “Henri, dear,” she cooed at him, “would you mind opening these pesky doors for us?”

  He lurched toward the door, each step making him grunt.

  “Keep fighting my will,” she said, frowning, “and you’ll pull something.”

  Out of options, I knew my best bet to spare as many lives as I could was to remove Lailah from the nest. That acceptance made it possible for me to nod at Henri and hope he grasped my meaning. I saw the moment he stopped fighting and caved to her influence. He opened the bastille, and then the laboratory door. He stood there, his palm against the metal, his body blocking our way.

  “What have I done?” he asked in a small voice.

  “You made the decision to live another day. Don’t move from this spot and you might even last two.” Lailah patted his head on her way past. “I mean that. Don’t move. Don’t bother with warnings. It’s too late. You can’t save your nest, your clan or your family. Actually,” she said, tapping claws to her bottom lip, “I would lock myself in here if I were you. Oh yes. Do that. I might need you later.”

  “I’ll do it,” I volunteered. Locking Henri inside the bastille with Fynn meant two less people to protect.

  I shoved hard but met resistance. Peering around the door, I cursed at the sight of Fynn standing there with a bloody nose from where I had slammed the door in his face. When I turned to ask Lailah to order him back inside, he pushed Henri, slid through the gap and shuffled down the tunnel after her.

  “Can you stop him?” I called after her retreating back.

  Her steps never slowed. “It’s in their nature to follow.”

  With one last glance at Henri, I nudged the hatch shut. He was safer in there, and without Lailah rescinding her order he stay put, I had no hope of moving him. With Henri secure and one brother in tow, I had three more to locate and hide away until this ended and they were restored to their senses.

  Walking the tunnel was sickening. Up and down, up and down. Cast to bare foot, I trailed her.

  As I counted who else was left, it occurred to me, “You ordered Asher to open the hatch for the risers. You wanted them loose in the stables. Why not attack us then? Why wait until now?”

  “I gave no such order.” Her wings snapped in agitation. “I was not ready to reveal myself to you. The risers were under orders not to enter the nest, but, as I said, they aren’t trustworthy.”

  Once again, my thoughts drifted to Edan. I couldn’t believe he was innocent in spite of Henri’s steadfast belief Edan wouldn’t betray him. Lailah claimed she hadn’t given the order. Who was left?

  Try as I might, I could only see Edan leaving the hatch ajar. Yet I couldn’t discount Henri’s trust entirely. Given Edan’s perverse sense of humor, had he let a riser in on his way out as a warning? Intent as he was to escape the nest with his wife, I bet he thought it was a kindness on his part.

  Fresh agony splintered down the front of my neck. Ignore it. The harder I thought, the farther the direction of my thoughts shifted from our potential enemies to the enemy I was becoming. It was all I could do not to touch the metal sigil that was happily burrowing its jaws in me.

  We reached the stables in record time. Either Lailah was a fast walker, or her wings gave her speed. Wings. Would I grow my own? Would my skin pale and my veins run yellow as hers had?

  Lailah’s voice intruded on my musings. “Idra must accept you before you’re given wings.”

  I cleared my mind as best I could. “You can still hear me?”

  “For as long as you live,” she said, “you are mine to call and mine to do with as I please.”

  There was my answer.

  She paused on the lip of the ramp to admire the chaos below before spreading her wings and leaping into the air, darting here and there to better survey her grand scheme as it came together.

  I stopped where she had and shivered at the sight and the plummeting temperature.

  Icicles hung from the yawning mouth of the open entry hatch, forming teeth ready to snap at any who risked passage. Through the stone frame, Erania’s white breast lay exposed, waiting for those who had invaded her to plunge their daggers in her heart. If her people died, then so would she. Who else could survive this unforgiving clime? The Segestriidae? No. The Necrita had lost any potential allies in that clan when they burned Titania and slaughtered its rulers. The Necrita themselves? Not hardly.

  There must be a reason why they hadn’t ventured this far north before now.

  If the Araneidae had caused Idra so much grief, based on what she had done to Lailah, it seemed to me she would have come to Erania and crushed Maven Lourdes herself. That she had avoided the northlands was telling. That she sent her firstborn in her stead was also telling. Cold must not agree with her. Perhaps Idra had gambled on her spawn being able to withstand the harsh climate, being half Araneaean, or possessing three quarters of one’s body. Fractions were never my strong suit.

  The queen’s curiosity must have won over caution.

  T
hat or she didn’t care if Lailah came back alive.

  Either way, Idra would have her answer, which was that Araneaean-spawned Necrita had the ability to survive the frigid northland clime. If that was a true revelation, then no cities were safe.

  If Erania fell—my pulse hammered—then so would all the rest.

  “This was inevitable.” Lailah hovered near my elbow. “The northlands held longer than she expected, but she always knew they would fall. This is but the first city we will drop to its knees. Once we lay claim to all the northlands in the name of the Necrita, the southlands will crumble.”

  “We are not so easily defeated,” I panted, leaning against the wall until I could stand again.

  “The southlands are close to anarchy. If things continue on as they have been, they will each kill their neighboring clans and leave us with nothing to do but stake our claims over the bodies.” She tilted my chin back. “Don’t give me that look. Sacrifices must be made if we are to succeed. This nest is but the tipping point. Those who are suffering look to the north for aid. If aid continues to arrive, our work is compromised. We can’t knock the legs from under this revolution if we allow food and water to pass through our lines into enemy cities, now can we?”

  “Enemy cities,” I marveled at how militant her thinking had become. This Lailah scared me. I wished with all my heart the slobbering waif she had pretended to be was the real threat. This new face she presented to me—a unified Necrita with their riser armies—terrified me.

  “You see?” She carried on as if I had agreed with her. “It must be done. Let’s not dawdle.”

  Wary of the incline, I tested my footing and found it sure. Milling around the stables were a handful of risers, not an army, but enough to devour me if Lailah ordered it. One dragged its foot behind it, hobbling on its turned ankle. Mine gave a phantom twinge. If not for the cast wrapping mine, I would fare as well as she was. The cast supported me, keeping my bones aligned, and the treads prevented me from tumbling down the incline. Despite that, Lailah grew bored waiting for me and launched herself into the tumult brewing beneath us. Careful as I was being, I still rung a seam with the thin metal treads, and I stumbled, almost rolling face-first the rest of the way down.