Page 55 of Frost and Death
My screams erupt at the invasion, squeezing my arms around Rick as I breathe through the arrow puncturing my shoulder.
“Fuck,” Rick hisses, as the coppery smell of blood clouds my senses.
It takes everything in me not to vomit.
Rick tugs the straps again as we pass Yalta, pointing his steed northward. A stinging sensation burns hotter from my injury.
“We should reach the trees leading to Biala Forest soon. Once we pass them, I can remove the arrow,” Rick tells me through the scattered winds.
My insides clench, and my shoulder throbs. The idea of removing the arrow only drives the pain more. Warmth streams down my back, ruining my wedding gown.
Mypreciouswedding gown.
I shriek in pain when the horse hurdles over a wooden gate.
Rick reaches an arm behind, holding me.
“I-I can’t feel my arms,” I seethe as exhaustion rips through me.
I crash into his back when the horse leaps over another fence, rampaging through a small field of crops, lightly frosted. These fields are essential and are being damaged and will hurt my people come spring.
The world swims around me as I plea, “Please, my people need these crops. Can’t we take another path?”
Hearing my request, Rick tugs the reins to the right, the steedleaving the rest of the crops undamaged.
A small reprieve drives my vision to soften, the hues of the blue sky blending with the lightly sleeted plains we ride through.
“R-Rick?” I ask, my head lolling and voice quieting.
“Stay with me. We are almost there.”
Heaviness expands from my scalp down to the rest of my body. Trying to fight it, I tighten my hold on him, but my strength falters.
I slump forward against a warm, hard cushion.
Rich cologne dulls the sense of agony, dipping into my veins and soothing my body as darkness takes over.
11
Who’s to Blame?
My eyes flutter open.
Biala Forest surrounds me with the soft light of the upcoming sunset peeking through the tree branches and leaves.
Memories force their way to the surface, remembering my wedding, Niko, Rick, and an arrow to my shoulder.
Bile coats my throat at the searing pain and begs for escape. Deities, why doesn’t anything ever play out right for me?
I must be cursed.
“I should have known you’d pass out,” a voice sighs.
I glare at my kidnapper as he tosses a swig of water from his pack while a small fire warms near me. I try to move my body, stopping when raw pain explodes. Hissing at the tenderness of it, I look down.
“This isyourfault,” I seethe through gritted teeth.
A jacket covers me as I lie on my side. I try to lift it, struggling through each breath. But my eyes widen at the amount of blood covering my gown, the sensation of tearing echoing in my head and body.
