Page 43 of Frost Like Night
Oana appears between us, a delicate smile on her face as though she doesn’t even realize we’re fighting. Behind her, Rares smirks and brushes a hand over his cloak, freeing the ice, before he levels a stare at me and tosses the sword back into the bin.
“The coming trials will test you in other ways too,” Rares calls over the roar and pulsing chaos of the storm, which grows in intensity with each passing breath. “Angra will throw everything he has at you as you try to retrieve the chasm keys. The labyrinth also. Physical challenges will be the least of your worries. Attack her, dear heart.” He waves at his wife.
I hesitate but coil my fist for a jab. Before I get halfway to her, Oana moves.
Instead of calling a sword or water coils, Oana spins, arms tight to her body until she drops to her knees and slams her hands to the ground. With that comes—
Lightning.
I stumble backward, the blinding flash sizzling into the ground paces from me. Oana looks up at me, her delicate grin now just as wild as her husband’s, and before I can get to my feet, she leaps up and jerks her arms down again, sending another blast into the ground between us. The air heats up in a burst of static and flame, my skin prickling with its energy. I pull myself to my feet and take off running, trying to put distance between the crazy, lightning-wielding Paislian and myself.
Oana prefers lightning. It’s not as easy for her to call on as ice is for you, but what can I say? She loves her fire.
I stumble on the rain-soaked grass and go down in a puddle behind the barn, muddy water sloshing over me. Oana didn’t follow me back here—yet—but when I look around, Rares isn’t here either. It takes me a beat to realize he’s in my head, and I leap to my feet.
Stop!I shout at him.What are you doing? You can’t—
I can’t?he says.You have no defense for your mind, dear heart. There are only two defenses against the Decay—the protection of pure magic and strength of will—and strength of will can be broken down unless you build it up. You have pure magic to keep the Decay from infecting you, but Angra is still a conduit himself—you’ll have to learn how to block him. The labyrinth is crafted of pure magic, and so will demand a higher strength of will as well. Oh, Oana’s coming.
A horse whinnies. I dig my fingers into the earth on either side of me until I connect with something—a stone.
Oana saunters into view and I let the stone whirl toward her. While she’s distracted, I grab the barn’s wall and use it to steady myself as I make my way through the mud, boots sliding until I connect with the only slightly less slippery grass. Lightning sizzles and cracks into the ground behind me and I fling myself around the next structure—the storage bins. From there, the castle is only a few paces away, and I can duck down its side to gain some ground on her.
But you can’t hide from me, dear heart. Not until you block me.
I don’t know how! How do I block this?
The same way you’ve done everything else. You blocked your mother, didn’t you? How did you do that? Oh, this looks like an interesting memory—
Autumn. The little camp we had in the south for a short while, just before two more of our refugees, Crystalla and Gregg, set out on the disastrous mission to Spring that would enslave them both and ultimately kill them. I’m sitting in front of a campfire with Crystalla while she braids my hair, and Sir talks at the edge, some lesson on Winter’s economy. It’s too hard to pay attention because Crystalla’s fingers are gentle on my scalp, and the smoky aroma of the campfire mixed with the coziness of being here urges my eyelids to sink down, down, down . . .
“Little sacrifice,” she hums in my ear. “My little sacrifice.”
She’s not Crystalla anymore.
I whip around to see Hannah, covered in blood, gapingwounds cleaved through her chest and up her face, thick patches of maroon-black gore. She writhes and slides back, her hands going up to her head, where Herod grips her bloody white hair in a tight fist, dragging her away from me, and all I can do is scream and scream.
STOP!I topple forward, mud sucking around my knees as the images fade.That’s not what happened! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
Make me, dear heart,Rares coos.Hmm, what about this?
Before he can use more memories against me, I launch out from behind the storage bins, eyes snapping over the yard to find him. He doesnotget to use my memories like that. Hannah was never gentle or caring or motherly at all.
My emotions toward Hannah come so easily. Not anger, exactly—something unnamable and resolute, a dark, cold mix of truth and realization. That was why I blocked her, however inadvertently. She was my mother, but she never tried to be anything but my queen.
Let’s see if we can talk to her, yes?
I snarl and scan the yard again, still not finding Rares, but so ready to fight him.I have nothing to say to her.
And not because I still harbor anger; not because I’m still hopeful she’ll change. Because I’m done with her, I don’t need her, and if Rares brings her back into this mess she caused, only more problems will arise.
Intention coils in deadly springs in my chest, the air around me freezing with each breath. I realize my mistaketoo late—I’m on the offensive, planning an attack on Rares, which leaves me open to Oana’s defense.
A sizzle, a snap, and I dive just as lightning incinerates the ground behind me. Oana runs out around the barn, her braids whipping.
I roll and fling my arms over my head, morphing all the raindrops around me into layer after layer of thick, hard ice. It curves over me, a convex barrier that flashes up half a heartbeat before Oana’s lightning snaps out of the sky and hisses against it. The barrier explodes, the lightning continuing down to erupt into the ground at my feet. I’m launched backward, slamming onto my elbows as shards of ice cut across my face.
Block me, dear heart!
