Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1)

by Davis, Kaitlyn

  One yank and I am on the ground, tangled in beefy arms that seem to appear from nowhere as they hold me still, bind my wrists, my ankles, tie a cloth over my eyes.

  I am blind.

  In the darkness, a voice whispers, "I'm sorry."

  Pain explodes in my head, zipping down my back until my entire body burns. And then it disappears.

  I disappear.

  When I wake, darkness greets me. Black stripes crisscross my vision, thin and mildly translucent, almost like thread. Like a blindfold, I realize as a trickle of boastful conversation filters into my ear, too loud for my pounding head to handle.

  My body wriggles, aching for freedom, but I quickly realize my hands are bound tightly behind my back and my feet, too, are strapped together.

  The noise travels from behind me, so I use my strength to flip my body, rolling over my hands, biting my lips to keep from crying out at the pain of straining already spent muscles. Fire flickers dully into view, bringing my eyes slowly back to life. A shadow passes quickly in front of the fire, and the crunch of feet on leaves trickles into my ear.

  My body goes completely still.

  Fingers slip into my hair as hands convene, twisting at the back of my head until the cloth falls free. I blink rapidly, fighting the sting of sudden brightness, fire blazing before my face.

  Four men sit around the flames, all eyes on me while they sit quietly and pick at the bones in their hands. The smell of roasted bird fills my nose, causing a grumble to rise in my stomach, loud and painful. I ignore it, surveying the scene as fast as I can. We are surrounded by trees, far from the city and completely alone. Each man sits with a gun and knife strapped to his waist. A large rifle leans against a tree behind them. There is probably another hidden in the grass by their feet.

  If I could cut my binds, I would likely be able to slip free into the night. I doubt they would waste bullets following after me—an injured prisoner is much more difficult to deal with. Either way, I should probably try to escape. It would be suspicious to be too complacent, to seem too willing to be caught.

  A fifth man is behind me, and I assume it is the prince. His boots shuffle against the ground and warm fingers touch my wrists, skin on skin, but then they pause.

  "Are you going to run if I untie your hands?" His voice is smooth like velvet, washing over me. The same commanding voice of the queen, somehow empowered.

  Like the queen, my gut tells me that I cannot lie to him. That he would see through me. Somehow, he would know. So I tell the truth. "Yes."

  His hands abandon the bare skin of my wrists, finding my shoulders instead. Cradling me, he lifts my upper half from the ground, using his strength to help me sit upright.

  "I appreciate your honesty," he says and steps into view, crouching down to my eye level. I meet his penetrating gaze.

  "Would you have believed me if I said no?"

  The only reply I receive is a deep grin, and then he stands, walking close to the fire and grabbing a plate of food.

  "Do you like chicken?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "I suppose not."

  "Then, yes."

  His tone sounds amused, but I keep my face blank as he comes back to sit at my side. He cuts through the meat with a knife and fork, teasing me with the possibility of escape if I could just slip that blade free without his realizing.

  I look up and he is watching me, eyes reflecting the fire, gaze intrigued as he puts the plate on the opposite side of his body, setting the knife down a full three feet from my eager hands.

  The fork rises to my lips and I bite, eyes popping wide as the flavors explode behind my lips.

  "Do you know who we are?" He asks, hands back to work on feeding me dinner. Another slice of chicken rises to my mouth and I accept it eagerly, savoring the spicy taste before I respond.

  "Rebels."

  He pauses, trying to catch my eye, but I keep my glance down, focused on the food. I will not reveal that I know his identity, not so soon, not until I can use it to my advantage. For now, they are five rebels, five enemies I would love nothing more than to destroy.

  The prince sighs. "I suppose that is how you would think of us, but I don't fault you. The queen's power is strong."

  "What would you know about it?" I peer sideways, but he ignores me, not at all fazed by the question.

  "My name is Asher," he continues, and I swallow quickly, surprised that he tells me his real name. Perhaps he doesn't realize that the name Asher is well known through Kardenia, very much wanted.

  Attention back on the fire, Asher points to the first man on the left, who continues to stuff himself, face greasy with chicken juice. "That's Toby." He shifts to the right, to a man who sits with his hand at his waist, guarding his knife with nimble fingers. "That's Dave." He moves to the next man, who is broad and wide, with a midsection that pooches just slightly over his pants. A smile waits for me on his lips, almost kind. "That's Joe." Finally, his finger lands on the last man, who does not watch me but instead turns a stick, rotating the bird roasting in the fire. "And that's Al."

  There is a pause, stretching into tense silence. I know what they wait for, but I feel like being difficult.

  "And you are?" Asher finally asks, putting my now empty plate back on the ground. His body inches farther away from mine, leaving the air empty, hollow.

  "Your captive," I say, swallowing the last remains of my dinner.

  The prince nods, as though he expected nothing different from my response. Their gazes fall to the blindfold at my feet, but I don't want darkness anymore, so I know I must continue the conversation. I must try to be nice, no matter how difficult that may be.

  "Where are we?" I ask. "Where are you taking me?"

  "We left the city last night," the prince begins, and as he speaks, the four other men in the group lose interest, returning to their dinners. I wonder if the prince is truly part of them, or if he feels alone, surrounded by men who were born in a different world than he. The rebels are all from the original Earth—at least I assume so. No one from the magic realm has ever been able to leave Kardenia or the queen, no one except for the prince who sits before me.

  Still, his face gives no impression of sadness. It is like happiness perpetually floats around him. A smile always graces his lips, a fire always seems alive in the dark nebula of his eyes.

  He leans back to rest on his forearms, casual while he continues. "And traveled all day today before you awoke. I believe we are in a place you would know as New Jersey, traveling west toward our base, which happens to be where we're taking you."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have a theory I'm trying to work out," he answers, but the words seem more for himself because I do not understand the meaning behind them.

  "And why let me know the way?"

  The prince shrugs. "We'll keep you mostly drugged until we arrive, though I told the others it is not necessary. No one in Kardenia could travel there willingly—it is too far removed from the queen's power, she would never allow it. Even if you escaped, you could never find it again."

  "How can you be sure?" I ask, curious. I've never spoken to anyone so freely about the magic before, especially no one so knowledgeable.

  Asher meets my gaze, eyes full, brows downcast, lids crinkled, like he knows my soul and is sorry for it. "I was born in Kardenia, so I know the effects of the queen's thrall when I see them. And you have fallen deeper than most."

  "How can you tell?"

  He leans closer, so I can almost feel his breath on my cheek while he thinks. I do not back away, I hardly move as he assesses me.

  "You don't flinch," he starts, and he is right. No tremor pulses down my veins. Nothing moves my muscles. The prince takes that as a sign to continue, and his gaze travels with his words, searching me for more secrets. "Your breath is calm and even despite your situation. Your gaze never leaves a cool level of calculating, looking for weakness, looking for openings to escape. Your speaking tone never changes. It does not ri
se in surprise, lower in remorse, or deepen in anger. Even now, you watch on, silent as I speak ill of you, raising no words to defend yourself. I've barely seen you smile, which I guess is understandable given the situation, but I have also not seen your fists clench or your jaw square with fury."

  He pauses and I remain as I am, watching, quiet, immobile on the ground. The prince lounges, but his tone has gained a fullness I am not used to. His throat seems tight.

  "But mostly, it is the questions you've asked. Not a single worry has slipped through your lips, no fear that someone might miss you at home, might come looking for you. No commanding threat that a loved one will seek revenge, because loved ones don’t really exist in Kardenia, not as I've come to realize they can."

  "And yet," he says, turning, flipping onto his side so it is obvious I have his full attention. My gaze does not shift from the fire, but my concentration has faltered slightly, drawn in by his words. "You did not capture me when you had the chance. You let me go. So maybe you are not in as deep as it might seem."

  I know this is an opening I should take advantage of, a moment where I can gain his trust like the queen wants, but those words will not come. They flicker in the firelight, waiting to be said, waiting for my lips to steal them from the flames.

  I could denounce the queen and it might sound real. I could say I allowed myself to get captured so I might escape her hold. I could admit I needed to force someone to drag me away, so I might finally be free.

  I could say all of those things to make this trusting boy trust me.

  But I say none of them.

  Instead, I look up at the leaves hanging overhead, the darkest shade of evergreen, swaying so the sky flickers just beyond, and I say one word.

  "Jade."

  "What?" Asher shifts his weight. I've caught him off guard—I can tell by the way his body jerks back to face me. I've pulled him from his thoughts, likely similar to mine, ruminations on the queen neither of us can escape.

  "My name," I repeat softly. "My name is Jade."

  A moment passes between us, brief, but I know it is significant. My heart twinges uncomfortably, a feeling I haven't experienced before, almost as if something has tugged on it, urging it to life.

  "Thank you," Asher says, breaking the bond and I curl into my knees, stone once more.

  He gets up and walks back to the four other men, expression coming alive as he leaves me on my own. They laugh as he sits and tells a joke, casting a jovial bubble over the group while I rest cold on the outside.

  But my attention is on what the prince left behind. A knife sits three feet away and I could inch my way over, but I sense this is a test. He is too careful to leave such an opening by chance.

  I'm not sure what Asher is testing. My loyalty to the queen? My loyalty to him?

  But it is not a question of loyalty, not for me. It is a question of freedom. If I use the knife, I have no doubt of my ability to escape. But I would be running back to the past, back to what I know, back to a life that never changes, never excites.

  But if I leave it, I move forward into the unknown. What will happen when we pass beyond the threshold of the queen's thrall? She seemed to think the bond would not break. The prince seems to think otherwise. And I do not know.

  But I am willing to find out, willing to try.

  So before I can change my mind, I fall on my side, to the direction opposite the knife, as though laying down for sleep. I wince as my head knocks against the dirt, further bruising an already sore wound, but my chest feels light.

  I look back to the fire and realize the prince's eyes never left mine. The hint of a smile graces his cheeks, and I know he knows my choice. I also know I've passed his test.

  He walks back over, a cup in hand, and eases down next to me.

  "Drink this," he whispers as he helps raise my head from the ground. The liquid burns as it travels down my throat, but I do not cough as the fire reaches my stomach.

  "Drugs?" I ask, but I already know the truth. My lips feel fat and my eyes begin to blur, almost masking his affirmative nod.

  The flames expand, tingling down my arms and legs until I am numb from the heat—numb in a different way than I ever have been before. The stars seem brighter, the trees expand and spread across the sky, warping as my mind begins to fade away.

  "Can I tell you a secret?" The prince leans down. His pale skin glows luminescent in the firelight, brighter now, almost blinding to my eyes. His fingers brush my upper arm, blazing hot, but I do not flinch. I cannot move. My body is bound, my mind floats up with stars, far away.

  "I knew you wouldn’t take the knife," he murmurs, voice like a lullaby that releases me, frees me until I am drifting in the beyond.

  And then bright dreams take hold.

  I don't know how long the fever continues.

  All I know is that the world has become a series of flickering pictures I do not fully understand. Dreams that fold in and out of each other, interrupted by a reality that seems imaginary. I see my mother watching over me, brushing my hair from my sweaty forehead, kissing me goodnight. I see the queen watching me with victory in her eyes, triumphant smile on her lips. I see the commander looking on stoically as I am given special honors. I see the world through free eyes, I see my paintings come to life, I see an endless horizon waiting for me.

  And then there are times when I see the prince. His eyes dark and deep with concern, skin like moonlight. He says words I do not hear, cannot register. He feeds me, forces liquid down my throat and food into my empty stomach.

  Beyond him, the stars sparkle.

  Even now, my eyes flicker, coming to wakefulness but I do not know if this is yet another dream or if my sickness is finally over.

  The darkness behind my lids is almost comforting. There is a nothingness that feels safe, soothing compared to the madness I've been living these past few days. Weeks? I don't know.

  Without opening my eyes, I groan and stretch my muscles. They ache too much for this to be anything but real. My arms extend overhead, and my fingers hit stone. Smooth stone. Too flat to be natural.

  I sit up, forcing my lightheadedness aside, and realize there are cushions below me. Perhaps a mattress.

  "You should rest," a familiar voice says. Slowly, dropping my weary head into my palms, I open my eyes toward the sound.

  The prince sits next to me in a lush chair, expression full of concern, but I am too curious to bother responding. Instead, my eyes wander.

  Below us, a woven rug lines a concrete floor. I am sitting in a bed, body kept warm by thick blankets decorated with bright flowers that are far too feminine for my taste. A door rests closed beyond the foot of the mattress, a door and not bars. But still, I will not fool myself. This is prison—pretty, but nonetheless a cell.

  There are no windows, I realize, even though curtains hang along the walls, covering up dull gray stone—flat like what I felt behind me. A subtle blue glow fills the room, unnatural, not from a fire.

  I gasp.

  It's not possible.

  My hand rises to cover my mouth, and my feet begin to work on their own. Tired legs force me to stand, slip from the bed, and make their way to the center of the room. I do not stop until I am directly below the source of the light, basking in its glow.

  A light bulb.

  Electricity.

  It's different from the round globes I remember. This glass is twisted into an oval, emitting a cool tone.

  I swallow a shaky breath as my hands tremble, reaching up.

  "I wouldn't…"

  But I ignore Asher. I need to feel it. To touch it. To make sure it is real.

  My fingers barely brush the glass and it burns, stinging fire into my skin. I rest there for a second, embracing the heat, before snatching my hand back. My eyes have started to go blind from staring so directly at the source, but I am entranced. I cannot look away.

  "Pretty cool, right? Scared the crap out of me the first time I saw a light bulb."

  The word
s pull me in and I switch my gaze, staring now at the prince. "How? When?"

  The grin on his face widens at my surprise, and he leans forward, animated. "Welcome to life outside of Queen Deirdre's realm. I don't think they ever lost the electricity out here. It's been on for as long as I can remember."

  "Where are we?" I stumble back, unsteady, memories flashing before my eyes. Memories of my cityscape brightly lit against a black sky, of my books illuminated by the pink lamp on my nightstand, of my mother's face in a warm yellow glow just before she kissed me goodnight.

  My legs hit the bed and my weight falls back, landing with an oomph on the mattress as my mind spins.

  "Far enough away that the queen's magic can’t touch us."

  I meet his gaze, pit clumping in my stomach. The prince might think that, but even if the lights work, I am never free. I feel her still, ice in my veins, watching me.

  He keeps talking, not at all discouraged by my silence. "We're in the rebel base, as you would call it. It's an underground complex." His thumb points over his shoulder at the bare wall. "No windows. There's an old town above us, abandoned buildings that act as a good cover to keep us a secret. Each roof has solar panels that trap the sun and turn the energy into the electricity that powers this place." He shrugs. "I don't much understand it, but it's something like that, I think."

  I nod. My mouth is still too dry for words, but I remember reading something about that in my books, different forms of energy—wind, solar, coal. Others still. The information is trickling back into awareness.

  The silence is broken as the prince laughs suddenly, a barking sound that escapes his lips against his will.

  "I'm sorry," he says between chuckles, "but if you could see your face right now." He shakes his head, falling back into the chair, watching me, mirthful. "Flip the switch, I dare you."

  I follow the flick of his eyes toward the door and see a small box on the wall. In its center rests a circular button. Hesitant, I look back at him, encouraged by his confidence. And then I stand, walking across the space until my fingers rests on the plastic.

  I lick my lips. Swallow.