Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1)

by Davis, Kaitlyn

  Click.

  The darkness is immediate and thick. The prince, the walls, the room. All of it disappears until I almost wonder if I am back in the fever dreams. Except I look up, watching as the light bulb slowly continues to fade out. The ceiling has a slight blue glow. It is the only thing I can see in this forever night, but even that begins to putter out. The halo shrinks, closing in, slipping through my fingers.

  Click.

  The light bursts back to life, shocking my eyes, but with it, something stirs inside me. A tingle scatters down my limbs as a grin comes to my face, an emotion I can't place. Mild warmth fills my bones, fighting against the chill. It feels foreign, as unnatural as the lights.

  Click.

  Darkness again.

  Click.

  Bright lights shine on.

  Click.

  Click.

  Click.

  I continue until my eyes begin to hurt, but my laughter fills the room, mixing with the prince, making a sort of music I thought had been lost to me forever.

  On.

  The prince sits in his chair, doubled over.

  Off.

  He disappears.

  On.

  Asher is standing now, eyes glowing like the light bulb above our heads, magical.

  Off.

  He is gone.

  On.

  He is closer, only a few feet away, arms on either side to keep his balance in this ever-changing atmosphere.

  Off.

  I breathe deeply, wondering what sight will greet my eyes next.

  On.

  Asher is right next to me, hand coming on top of mine, warm, stopping me from turning the lights off again. My throat closes, and I am trapped by his eyes, held captive by the stars that glow there. We both pause. But somehow it seems like we're conversing, as though the touch of our skin is communicating in a way that words cannot.

  I break the moment, stepping back, pulling my hand free, letting my insides freeze over once more. I don't stop until I am back at the bed, far away, enough distance between us for my head to stop spinning.

  He is the sun and now my limbs grow cold again. Winter seeps into my skin, but I am more comfortable this way, more like myself, more like the Jade I have come to know. I'm not sure whom that girl was, playing, smiling, laughing.

  It was not me.

  I am stoic, controlled, hard.

  I am not the girl who creates music. I am the one who silences it.

  My expression clears as my facial features fall into their normal state, relaxed and empty. I clench my fists, open them, close them again.

  Finally, I look back to the switch.

  Asher is watching me. A frown bends his face, twists it in a way I know is unnatural to him.

  I force myself not to care.

  He coughs, slipping his weight from the wall, clearing his features so I cannot read them. But he stays by the door, cautious.

  "I should probably get back to work." He sighs, shrugging his shoulders and slipping his hands into the worn pockets of his jeans.

  "Okay. Go ahead," I say. My tone is ambivalent, uncaring.

  "Someone will bring you dinner and some snacks, and I'll be back to check on you…" He trails off, waiting.

  "Okay."

  He nods to himself, a subtle move. His fingers wrap around the door handle, and I hold my breath, stilling myself, biting back a protest.

  He turns his back on me, walking out the door.

  But then he stops, twisting back around.

  "Oh, one more thing," Asher's voice is soft. His eyes do not meet mine but glance toward the corner of the room. "I brought you some books. Way better than encyclopedias."

  And then he is gone.

  I stare at the wooden panel until my heart slows to a steady beat, its normal melodic pace. Then I stand, test the handle, feel no surprise when the knob does not budge. I am trapped, stuck. The rebels do not trust me.

  Smart.

  Even I do not trust me.

  With a sigh, I push off from the door and step to the small stack of books in the corner. Without a doubt, they are the sort to contain made up stories filled with make-believe characters. Small, with bindings that have creases from being flipped through so many times, the shape is completely different from the heavy volumes I'm used to.

  I sit down, folding my legs over one another, as I grab the first book. The cover holds the image of a man dressed entirely in dark clothes, almost as though he were a Black Heart, and hanging on his arm is woman in a pink flowing gown. They seem lost in the woods. She seems in need of rescuing. I read the title, The Princess Bride, and put it aside for later. I am no princess, and I am not interested in a damsel in distress.

  The next depicts a boy dressed in green, seemingly flying through the air, followed by other children. A girl and two boys maybe. Peter Pan, I read. But I have no interest in reading about more magic.

  After that, a title called Twelfth Night. I flip it open, but the language confounds my mind, so I put it aside until a time when I can force myself into such concentration. Right now, I'm distracted. Half of my thoughts wander with the prince, down these halls and away from me, useless.

  I continue reading titles. Pride and Prejudice. The Count of Monte Cristo. Romeo and Juliet. The Great Gatsby. Robinson Crusoe. Harry Potter.

  On and on it goes, until I sit surrounded by lives I could easily pretend to live for a few hours, to escape with, a sort of freedom. And there is a sense of curiosity about what I would discover, a feeling that has never been there before. It fills my emptiness with intrigue.

  At the end of the pile, the last volume catches my attention. The size is flat and narrow, not a novel. The cover depicts a woman who looks to be asleep, golden hair curling around a wonderfully serene face. The Sleeping Beauty.

  I open the first page and realize it is an art book of sorts, a children's picture book. My mother used to read them to me, but I cannot recall the tales. All I know is the story will be told through wonderful images, paintings like the ones I used to decorate my room. In this foreign space, the familiarity comforts me. So I lean back against the wall, cradling this volume against my thighs.

  In the first spread, I meet a king and queen. Elegant and beautiful, they seem peaceful in a way no queen I have ever known has. In the woman's arms, a tiny baby girl, adorable and smiling, eyes green like mine.

  I flip the page, continuing as a series of gifts are presented to the little girl. Beauty. Musicality. Grace. All things I have never had a need for, all gifts that seem frivolous to me, until the last—death. But I turn the page, and the baby girl is saved, the curse is softened to sleep, a long sleep.

  Another turn and years have passed, the baby has become a beautiful woman. Golden curls flow down to her back, an elegant dress frames her body, and she is loved by everyone. It is her birthday and she is alone for the first time in her life, free to do as she pleases, so she wanders the halls, exploring. An old woman spinning thread is all she finds, but it is enough, and she pricks her finger, falling into a deep sleep. The entire town follows her, one by one, until the kingdom itself vanishes into a dream.

  The story turns to a prince, hunting, who happens upon this forgotten castle, frozen in time, cold. He is the only one awake, the only one who feels, and he breathes life into the empty hallways of the palace. Until he sees the princess, sleeping peacefully, and he touches his palm to her face.

  I flip the page, but it is blank.

  The story is over, incomplete. Ridges rest unevenly along the bind. The ending has been torn out, ripped free, and all I can wonder is why.

  For the first time, I want to see how it ends. I want to know.

  I move backward to the previous page, running my fingers along the prince's face as Asher's features fill my mind.

  He's left a message for me, but I don’t know what it is. I don't understand. I flip the page again, letting my fingers scratch against torn paper.

  Does the prince save her?

&
nbsp; Does the woman wake?

  Does the town?

  Somehow, it seems important. The answer is on the tip of my tongue. I want my blind eyes to see.

  A small flame flickers in my chest, burning hot, willing Asher to show me.

  I am too used to telling time by the rise and fall of the sun. Down here, surrounded by artificial light and concrete windows, my senses are confused. Sleep comes at seemingly random times, a quick yawn and my lids flutter closed. Only short knocks and dinner plates, or guided trips to the toilet down the hall, interrupt me. No one speaks to me. Asher has not come to see me again.

  Which is why I jolt in surprise when a knock sounds, soft and gentle, almost as though I imagined it. I put my book aside, leaving the lost boys to their own devices for a little while, and slide from the bed.

  Hesitantly, the door rolls open, slow enough that it seems pushed by a ghost. Then a blond head pokes through, eyes closed.

  "Can I come in?" Asher asks, uncertainty etched in his face, as though he is almost afraid of something.

  "Sure." I shrug.

  His grin returns and the door swings wide, slamming against the stone with a smack. Hands crossing over his chest, Asher leans back against the wall, completely calm, eyes surveying the room and landing on the neat stack of books in the corner.

  "Find anything you like?"

  Ignoring his question, I walk over and pull the book of pictures from the pile. I've been ruminating for however long I've been stuck here, wondering why the pages were torn, what message he was trying to send me, if any at all.

  "Did you do this?" I ask, flipping to the end, holding the empty binding out before me.

  "Me?" His eyes go wide—too wide.

  "I want to know how it ends."

  "So you liked it then?" He casts a sidelong glance in my direction, a wicked smile on his lips.

  "Does that matter?" I keep my tone calm, refusing to give in to his game.

  "It matters," he says quietly, more to himself than to me, before snatching the book from my hands to flip through the pages. At one point he stops, running his fingers over the paper, stuck on an image I can't see, stuck on something he seems to be hiding.

  Now I am certain it was a test, a way to gauge my reaction, but for what purpose I do not understand. Still, I want to know, I feel as though that art now belongs to me—the prince gave it up.

  "So?" I ask, bending my fingers, holding them back so I do not snatch the volume free from his hands.

  Asher looks up, an almost haunted look flashes over his features, quickly covered by the jovial face I recognize. He closes the book and hands it back to me, but for the first time his actions feel empty. "It ends happily," he says, voice resigned almost. "The prince wakes the princess, the evil fairy is destroyed, and the kingdom returns to its former glory."

  "How does he wake her?" I sense that something has been left out of his tale.

  A spark lights his eye. I did not realize I missed it until it reappeared, comforting me, bringing fire back to his otherwise cool face. "I'll save that lesson for another day."

  Again, I feel left out of a joke, or the butt of one.

  But before I can reply, a cough in the doorway grabs my attention. A girl waits there, around my age, though she seems more alive somehow. Her dark cheeks are flushed rosy, her brown eyes are wide and excited, her body seems to give off an energy that mine has never had.

  "Hi," she squeaks, as though she just cannot contain herself.

  "Jade, this is Maddy. Maddy, Jade."

  Asher stands back as the girl rushes forward, presenting her hand. My face tightens, and I fight the urge to step back, instead lifting my hand slowly into hers. As soon as our fingers touch, her grip clamps, swishing my hand up and down until my arm feels like rubber, boneless.

  Finally, she releases and my arm falls limp to my side. Her gaze falls to Asher, lip partially bit, but he presents her with an encouraging nod.

  I remain silent.

  "Welcome to our home," she exclaims, voice bouncing against the walls of my tiny room. I'm made dizzy by her. "I'm sorry I'm so excited, but I've just never met one of you before. Someone from Kardenia, I mean. Oh, I mean, I guess we have Asher, but he doesn't really count. He's not, you know, under the queen's thrall."

  Maddy raises her hands next to her face and her eyes go wide, wiggling her fingers as though casting a spell.

  My jaw slackens and my gaze slips to the side, looking pointedly at Asher, silently pleading with him to do something. A shrug is my response. A shrug and a smile—a smile I suddenly want to slap from his face.

  "Oh it's okay," she continues, "you don't have to say anything. I mean, you're really overwhelmed, right? And well, we've all been told that people under the thrall tend to… How should I put this nicely? Act like total jerks. But it's not your fault, so don't worry, I won't hold it against you. I mean, you could, like say something, but…"

  She trails off into silence, watching me expectantly, wriggling her hands. I lick my lips, unused to so much frenzied conversation. Life in Kardenia is slow, calm. There are no surprises, no outbursts, everyone moves at almost the same pace.

  "Nice to meet you," I mutter, but that is all she needs and a bright smile infiltrates her features, stretching wide, and she takes my elbow into her hand.

  "Asher asked me to take you to the bathing area of the compound, no boys allowed sort of thing, so just follow me. It's like sort of a maze down here if you don't know where to go, but you don't look like you'll have any trouble keeping up. I hear you're part of the queen's guard, I wish I knew how to fight. I mean, don't get me wrong, I, I will…" She pauses, looking to Asher for assistance.

  "You're not going to punch her, are you?" He asks, but the conversation has totally lost me at this light speed. "Jade?"

  "Huh?" I murmur, turning to face him, until the words all register. "Oh no, I won't try to run away if that's what you're asking. Not yet, anyway." I add the last bit just for shock value. Success. Maddy is silenced for a moment, and my mind has time to catch up.

  "She's kidding," Asher asserts, but the force of his inspection suggests otherwise. I do what I do best, remain stoic and still, unaffected.

  A nervous laugh escapes the girl's lips. A little thrill vibrates up my throat, a little buzz lights my heart—the warmth is unnatural, but I wonder if this is what joy feels like.

  "Anyway," she says, pulling me toward the door, continuing as if nothing happened, "let's go. Later, Asher," she calls over her shoulder.

  My head fights to spin around, to get one more glance at the prince before we leave, but I remain as I am, facing forward.

  Maddy continues to babble as we walk arm in arm toward the baths. I learn that the compound is one of many, that other rebel networks still stand all over the world working to bring down the magic. So far, none have been successful. Electricity is mostly down everywhere, since the old grid has been destroyed by the new layout of the land, but salvaged solar panels and windmills still create usable energy for humans.

  I also hear of their lives, stuck underground, basking in the few modern conveniences they were able to preserve, trying to continue on as normal as possible. There are still schools and teachers, still a variety of jobs for people to pursue, still goals like life and love and family that people yearn for.

  Though she bounces from topic to topic, I try to keep my mind focused on her words, paying close attention so I can follow her meandering thoughts. With my concentration elsewhere, the surroundings blur. As far as I'm concerned, we walk in circles through this maze, one I do not wish to unveil. My instincts fight to map the path, to lock it in my mind, but I must not give myself an exit, a way to escape. Better that I am trapped here following the queen's orders. I will not give myself a way out of the choice I've made.

  I'm also distracted by Maddy herself. By the kindness in her tone, the way our arms intertwine as though we're connected, by the openness with which she speaks. Affection has never been a strong part of
my life, at least since the earthquake. I've forgotten what companionship might feel like, but listening to her speak, a memory resurges just out of reach.

  "Here we are."

  The two of us stop just before a door, which Maddy pulls open before guiding me inside. Curtains line the walls. Water rushes out of sight. Steam seeps up through slits in the ceiling. The light here is yellow, bright, and I realize we are close to the surface. Above my head are grates, barring any exit, but still, I can just make out the sun. My breath comes easier. After so many years on the wall, so many years of candles and firelight, I am relieved to escape the dim blue lights of the rebel base.

  "Welcome to the girl's shower room." Maddy keeps walking in deeper and I follow. "There's only one because it took forever for people to figure out the plumbing, cause we needed to loop an internal system without using any drinkable water up. But, I mean, it works and we still get to shower once a week, so it's okay. Some of the adults remember the good old days, back before the earthquake, but once you get used to it, it feels pretty normal. And you've been to the toilets, I mean, I hope you have. We have a few of those, but that plumbing system is totally different and way closer to your part of the compound."

  "Once a week?" The question slips out before I can stop it. Her tone sounded dismissive, but once a week sounds wonderful. I am used to cold baths and infrequent ones at that.

  "Ugh, I know, but it's not that bad."

  I nod, hiding the grin from my face, itching to test the showers. Water falls from spouts in the wall, if I remember correctly. I've seen them during scavenging trips, in every apartment, but we never tried to make them work.

  "Go ahead, I'll be back in a little while. We're only supposed to use the showers for like ten minutes, but I won't tell."

  As though we are conspiring to hide a great secret, she waves goodbye, but the silence is welcome, and I pause for a minute, staring at the wall of curtains before me. One is likely no better than the other, so I just select at random, pulling a blue panel to the side before stepping in.

  Like I suspected, a shiny nozzle is attached to the ceiling and below it a handle. On the opposite wall there is a hook waiting empty, and another holding soaps of different varieties.