Page 142 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
Chapter Twenty-Three:
The Apple
Cole wrapped the chains around his arms and pulled, straining with all his might, but the iron and stone did not budge.
Neither did Eirwen. She was utterly still, her immobile form slumped inside the glass container.
When she’d screamed, he thought he’d do anything to make her stop. Now she had, and that broke him far worse.
No, no, no, no!
Not like this. Not ever. Not without him.
Come back,he begged.Don’t you dare die. He can’t have your heart. Take mine, take mine. Not hers. Never hers.
Whatever good his would be to a god, he did not know, but it could take all of him if it would only spare her.
The Mirror had gone dark and silent, but now it was starting to crack. Great swathes of light poured forth. The room began to tremble and shake. One of the chandeliers split from the ceiling. A guard pushed his mother out of the way as it crashed to the floor in an explosion of glass and dust. The guard’s axe went flying, skidding to the floor a few feet away.
Cole lurched for it, his fingers skimming the handle. His wrist strained against his manacle, his thumb burning. He lapsed back, examining the joint, and wondered if he could break it. If he could get one hand free, he could use the axe to break the chains binding him. Probably. Possibly.
He glanced back at Eirwen’s coffin.
Hopefully.
He raised his hand and smashed it against the pillar with all the force he could muster. Pain shot through the joint and he swallowed a low scream. It wasn’t enough, not quite.
“Cole!” his mother shrieked. “What are you doing?”
He did not reply.
“Stop!”
He drew back his hand.
His mother raced forwards, snatching up the axe and swinging it over his head, once, twice, three times. The chains fell away from him, and she dropped the axe to the floor.
She stared at him, half in horror, as if she didn’t know this person before her.
Cole grabbed the fallen axe, and hurtled towards the coffin as light filled the room, smashing it open with the handle and ignoring the pain splitting through his hand as Eirwen pooled out of it and into his arms. He yanked her under the table as the Mirror divided, powdery shards of glass erupting through the room.
A figure stepped out of the frame. He was eight feet tall and pure white, with a muscled, slippery body clothed in a loose, sheeted garment. Long white hair spread down his back, and his eyes, no longer black, were blue and piercing. Eirwen’s eyes.
Eirwen coughed in his arms, shattering the feeling in his chest. She was alive. Whatever happened next didn’t matter.
“You really have to stop saving me,” she spluttered.
He kissed her forehead, relief shuddering out of him. “Never, my darling. But it’s all right. You saved me first.”
Eirwen raised a hand and stroked back his hair. “I don’t quite know what you’re talking about, but I will always save you,” she said. “Always.”
Janus rose to his full height, glancing back at Eirwen. “You’re still alive,” he snarled. “Interesting.”
He raised a giant hand towards her, but a bullet cracked through the air, narrowly missing his outstretched fingers.
All turned towards the noise.
Onyxstood in the entrance, flanked by the rest of the dwarves, the Huntsman, and several rebels, all dishevelled and streaked with blood. But alive.
