Followed by Frost

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  He laughed. “You chased me? I should have stayed around for long enough to see that.”

  We were silent for a moment, but then Sadriel leaned forward, narrowing his shining, amber eyes at me. “It looks different, Smitha. What happened to you?”

  “A very sad thing,” I said, stilling my hand. “But it will pass.”

  Yet at the moment I struggled to believe my own words. Unshed tears lingered behind my eyes, but I was too tired to keep crying. Still, no distraction could dull the hurt in my chest that throbbed in tune with my heart. Only time could heal me. Only time.

  I loved him.

  I sat up, pulled my loose head scarf from my hair, and set it on my pillow, then tugged my right hand free of its long glove. I inspected the pale skin and violet nail beds, the veins that looked too blue and too dark. I stood, stepped toward Sadriel, and took his hand in mine, squeezing it. I relished his touch for a long moment before letting go and returning to my glove, working the cold-stiffened fabric back over my skin.

  Sadriel watched me with a knotted brow. As I lay down, he asked, “What was that about?”

  I traced the white, woven lines of my storm with my index finger. “I just wanted to remember what it felt like to touch someone,” I said. A shiver coursed through my body, up my back and into my shoulders. “For a moment, I was scared I had forgotten. Thank you.”

  He frowned, and after a minute, shook his head. “You will not come with me?”

  “No, Sadriel.”

  And he vanished.

  That evening, or perhaps late afternoon, Lo came.

  I recognized his knock—firm, quick, and loud—but he had to knock twice before I found the courage to answer the door.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, drawing on all my years acting out plays for friends and family, all my years of lying to fake a smile. I had been a good actress then, and judging by the levelness of my voice, I had not entirely lost the talent.

  “I had my shift covered,” he said. “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  He walked in. I closed the door and poured oil on the fire.

  “That isn’t necessary,” he said.

  “I don’t mind.”

  The coals glowed orange with the heat. I took my time with the fire, and Lo remained silent. Finally I stood and brushed off my skirt. “What is that?” I said, gesturing to his hand.

  He lifted the book as though he had forgotten he carried it. “Garen’s Wish,” he answered, setting it on the table.

  Again I smiled. “I had begun to think you had forgotten—”

  “I did not know Faida was coming to the palace,” he interrupted, addressing the wall. “Imad extended the invitation without informing me.”

  Why was he telling me this? Did it matter how Faida had made her way to the festival? I swallowed and poured as much effort as possible into controlling my response. “Faida? I met her, but you have nothing to explain to me.”

  His dark eyes fell on me. “Misa—”

  “She spoke to me, at the banquet,” I said, moving to the bed and folding the blanket, if only to keep my focus on something besides him. “She wasn’t scared, not even hesitant. She came right up to me and talked with me as if I were a normal person. She even thanked me for bringing water to her village! I can’t imagine a better woman for you, Lo. I wish you had told me about her.” I blinked rapidly, forbidding fresh tears. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Have you set a date?”

  My voice quivered at that last word. I cleared my throat and tried to play it off as a shiver.

  He snatched the blanket from my hands and dropped it onto the floor. He looked at me as though he had struck me and regretted it. “It is custom, in Zareed, for children to be sworn to one another.”

  “I know your customs,” I lied, picking up the blanket. Keeping my eyes on the design. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I’ve lived here for a year already.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “So you have.”

  “How is Imad?” I asked. He looked at me, his eyes hard. When he didn’t answer, I added, “Are the dissenters still a problem? Nothing happened at the banquet, did it?”

  “I did not come here to talk about the banquet.”

  I refolded the blanket. “It was just a question.”

  Silence.

  “Did you want your books back?” I asked, stepping past him to the bookshelf. “I’ve had them for so long . . .”

  He seized my arm and stopped me, but the cold forced him to release me just as quickly. That alone almost broke me, but I would not cry in front of him. I pursed my lips and swallowed. Lo didn’t know—couldn’t know—how I felt about him. He had no obligation to me, and a wonderful woman in his future. He had such a future. I could never give him what Faida could.

  “Misa,” he said, his voice accenting my nickname so beautifully, “I want to talk about Faida.”

  “Is she ill?” I asked, feigning alarm. At least I hoped it sounded like alarm. “Are her brothers’ crops drying?”

  “No—”

  “Then you have nothing to explain to me, Lo,” I said, almost pleading. I trembled. But I only had to stay strong a little longer. “Thank you for the book,” I continued. “I’ll read it and let you know what I think, but I understand if you can’t visit as often. You’re captain of the guard, and well past marrying age, if I may say so.”

  He looked at me. I couldn’t describe it beyond that. It was an unreadable gaze.

  I just want you to be happy. Couldn’t he see that?

  Silence lingered between us for several minutes. I could feel myself crumbling, and it was all I could do to pick up the pieces before they hit the floor.

  “Then I will go,” he said finally. He crossed the room in long strides. Opened the door to torrents of wind.

  I found my voice.

  “Lo.”

  He paused.

  “That was why I didn’t see you, those two months,” I said, fingering the cubby of my bookshelf. “Because of Faida.”

  His eyes met mine—the last time I would see them for a while. “She was part of it,” he answered, and closed the door behind him.

  I managed to hold myself together for a moment longer—long enough for him to mount his camel and start back for the city—before I collapsed onto the floor and cried, droplets of ice rolling over Imad’s rugs.

  When Aamina came the next day, she told me Lo had left Mac’Hliah for Djmal, where Faida awaited him.

  CHAPTER 26

  I turned to the last page of Garen’s Wish, its string-bound papers crinkled and yellow. It was an old book, well worn, its bindings not the original. A book read multiple times, pages torn in a few places, likely by an eager child’s hands. Perhaps it had belonged to Lo’s mother and she had read it countless nights to him and his siblings.

  The story was about a boy who had everything—a big house, clothes in every color, enough food to last a lifetime, toys, family, everything—but he wasn’t happy, and he didn’t know why. To cheer him up, his mother bought him a wooden doll that separated in the middle to reveal a smaller doll, which separated to reveal a smaller and a smaller. When Garen opened the last doll, a genie appeared before him and offered him one wish. But Garen didn’t use the wish right away. He wanted to know the “wish of his heart”: the one thing that would make him happy. However, because his heart could not speak, Garen could not hear what it wanted.

  After days of tribulation, he went to the genie and asked to know the wish of his heart. This was a risk, for if the one thing Garen needed to be happy was unattainable by ordinary means, he would never have it, for he would have already used his one wish. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take.

  The genie obliged, and Garen learned the wish of his heart: to be unburdened. Garen thought hard on this, and in the end, he gave away all his clothes, fine food, and toys until he was very poor, but because of the joy his generosity brought the community, he made lifetime friends and found happine
ss.

  I stared at the last page, to a passage highlighted with smeared charcoal. For happiness has wings, and when burdened by the things a man should want, Garen could not reach it.

  It was the only marked passage in the book, and I wondered who had underlined it and how long ago. I thought perhaps Lo had drawn attention to those words before giving the book to me. Maybe they had been his favorite as a child. Maybe he had intended it as a message for me. A week had passed since Aamina had brought the news of his departure for Djmal. I wondered if he had married Faida, or if he were still preparing for the ceremony. I was glad for him, truly. Happiness had wings; I could only hope to be the wind that helped him fly.

  Rhono left a package at my door that included a letter from Imad himself, sealed with blue wax and stamped with the image of a spider. He had the best handwriting I had ever seen, each letter perfectly tilted and shaped. The hand of a king, asking me if I would once more rendezvous at the palace to make the journey to Kittat, Ir, and Shi’wanara and bring them water for the spring crops. My first impulse was to say yes, for I would do anything for Imad, but I admit my second thought was for that conversation I’d had with Sadriel—for those whom my cold had hurt, killed.

  Pinching the letter in my hands, I took a deep breath and nodded to myself. I would go. Further precautions could be made this time, and the water helped so many. Surely Imad knew of the dangers that lurked with my curse, but it was his duty to protect his country as a whole. I could not let Zareed wither in a drought for fear of harming a few. Perhaps this time, all would be well.

  In honesty, I was eager for the trip. I needed something to occupy my time, and I needed space from Mac’Hliah and its memories. This time, the trek would not be led by Lo. Zareedian weddings involved a great deal of pomp and circumstance, or so Aamina had told me, and it was likely I would not see Lo for a month or more. If nothing else, the journey would give me more time to heal.

  A few days later Eyan and Qisam braved my storm to retrieve me. After wrapping my things in my woven blanket, I mounted Leikah and rode into the city.

  I had not been in Mac’Hliah since the Nameday Festival. The lanterns had been stripped from the eaves of the buildings, and the civilians donned their normal garb, which still looked brighter and grander than most holiday wear in Euwan. Very few people crossed themselves as I rode by this time. Most continued on their way without taking particular notice of the clouds or the cold, and a few even cheered or clapped at the sight of me. One bearded man called out, “Praise the gods, it is damned hot out here!”

  I laughed, but not as boldly as Eyan did. He slapped his thigh as though that were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  “You are coming again, aren’t you?” I asked as we weaved through the market, Qisam riding just ahead of us to part the crowds.

  “I’m in charge,” Eyan said with a wide, toothy grin. “I think we’ll head south first, to Shi’wanara. Get the grumpy ones out of the way and finish with the pleasant. Then the ride back to the capital won’t be so long.”

  “Genius,” I said.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what to do wrong,” he added, scratching at stubble along his jaw. “I’d hate to break a camel’s leg or get a soldier lost, so I’ll need to get creative.”

  I eyed him and shivered. “Wrong?”

  “I’m worried I’ll be promoted. I spend enough time at work as it is!”

  Shaking my head, I chuckled at him, glad for his good humor. I still nursed a sore hollowness within me, but at least Eyan would help me take my mind off it.

  “Perhaps you should get food poisoning in Ir,” I offered.

  Eyan snapped his fingers. “And have Qisam lead the party home! Then he’ll get promoted and I can stay comfortable. There’s Northlander smarts, right there.”

  We wove through the streets, the palace looming larger as we neared it. I led Leikah on my own, having grown accustomed to the reins and her movements. I patted her neck with a gloved hand as we passed a group of children playing marbles, and Leikah shook her head and glared back at me with an almost indignant expression. Perhaps she could feel the cold through glove and fur. Or perhaps “faithful” did not equal “friendly.”

  I thought about the first time I rode Leikah in the Unclaimed Lands, when Lo had pulled down her muzzle and restrained her so I could board. His eyes had been hard, but the gesture had been thoughtful and kind. If only I had known then.

  I trembled with cold, wincing as the sensation spiraled through my chest and stomach.

  I didn’t dismount immediately when we reached the palace. From atop Leikah’s back I had a wonderful view of the sandy carvings that covered the palace’s facade—spirals and roses, faces of kings past, great lizards with wings. It seemed impossible one man could have created each and every engraving, but the style persisted as far as I could see. How long must it have taken to create such a masterpiece? If my hands could remain still long enough to hold a chisel, I would have loved to learn to carve stone—my snow sculptures were so fragile, not that they could compare to the majesty of these carvings. I guided Leikah down and slid off her back. Perhaps Aamina could find a history on it for me. Perhaps I would dare to enter a library myself when we returned from our journey.

  Several guards in indigo filtered in and out of the palace, loading packs onto their camels while stable hands held feed bags and filled troughs with warm water. I recognized a few of the guards from my last trip and nodded to them as they passed.

  “Smeesa!”

  I turned as Imad approached, garbed in a maroon robe and white slacks that looked almost Iyodian.

  I bowed. “It is good to see you again.”

  He waved his hands at me. “Don’t do that. Haven’t I told you before not to do that?” He bowed to me and smiled. “My greatest appreciation to you for agreeing to do this a second time, Smeesa. I have high hopes that next year the natural rain might favor us. But you must stay even then, if only for the sweet cream!”

  I laughed. “I would like to stay indefinitely, if the people do not mind.”

  Imad clapped his hands. “Perfect! Another celebration is in order. We will dine with my father when you return, yes? But now I must speak to Eyan. If you’ll excuse me?”

  I nodded, and he walked to the head of the line, where Eyan was tightening the straps of his camel’s saddle. He straightened immediately in Imad’s presence and saluted. Imad shook his head and said something, and Eyan’s laughter echoed off the surrounding mountains.

  I smiled and turned back to Leikah, and barely managed to restrain my shriek at the sight of Sadriel standing not an arm’s width away from me.

  Glancing around to ensure no one could hear me, I hissed, “What are you doing here?”

  He tilted his head and stared at me as though my question were obvious. And it was. Sadriel went where death called, which meant death lingered nearby.

  I shivered and stepped back, frantically searching the area around me, my eyes darting from soldier to soldier. All lively, healthy. I turned back to Sadriel and asked, “What, what is it?”

  Sadriel lifted one long finger and pointed. Not at a soldier, but at a tall domed building behind me, lined with beige columns and topped with a green-rusted copper spire. A government building. But beside that spire I saw movement. Squinting, I spied a man dressed in white to blend in with the snow cloud above us. He wore a white hat to hide his hair and a white veil to conceal his face.

  And in his hands he held a brown bow, arrow nocked and string pulled back to his ear.

  Lo’s words resonated in my memory. “There has already been one attempt on Imad’s life . . .”

  It all ran through my mind so fast my vision blurred. Imad. The extra guards. The dissenters. The assassin.

  And no one else saw him.

  I spun on my leather-soled shoes, the city blurring around me. My body moved too slowly. I forced my cold muscles into action, pushing myself harder than I ever had before. Running. Running. Screamin
g.

  “Imad!” I rushed toward him. “Ki Pah’al e Vrara!” Get out of the way!

  He looked up, confused. Eyan, confused. The stable hands, alarmed.

  But I ran for him until we collided, and as we fell lightning exploded through my back, piercing me deeper and deeper, ripping through skin and muscle and bone.

  We hit the stone ground, me on top of him, the air expelling from my lungs. Red leaked into my vision. I tried to reclaim my air, but the hurt dug, seared, and burned down to the core of my being. My head floated.

  Imad’s face muddled in my vision, swirling and darkening.

  Sticky, hot blood gushed down my back, and I was gone.

  CHAPTER 27

  My body felt very heavy when I opened my eyes, as though I had been asleep a long time. I lay on a large, soft bed with mustard-colored drapes hanging from its frame, mauve blankets piled atop me. A wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed, and beside me rested a small, round table littered with glasses, bottles, bowls, and bandages. I had the distinct feeling I had been here before, though it took a moment for my sluggish mind to register it.

  The palace. The room where I had spent my first night in Mac’Hliah.

  My mouth tasted strange. I turned my head, my neck stiff, and tried to sit up. A dull pain thudded in my back. I reached behind me and touched the layers of bandages wrapped around my ribs. I realized I was naked.

  And I was warm.

  I gasped and pulled my hand away, staring at its peachy flesh and pale nail beds, the faint pink scar running across my palm. No hard veins beneath the flesh. No shivering. No cold. No sign of frost.

  Ignoring the pain in my back, I sat upright and touched my face. Warm. My neck, warm. My chest and stomach were hot from the blankets, the skin soft. Strands of blond hair swept into my eyes.

  I shrieked, and I cried, warm tears filling my eyes and falling down my face, running smoothly along my cheeks without freezing. I threw back my covers and looked over my hips and legs, warm and healthy and smooth. I pressed a hand to my mouth and laughed and sobbed, warm tears gushing from my eyes and falling in wet droplets onto my breasts and covers.