Page 18 of A Sword of Ice
Even if she grumbled internally about it.
There was no other choice.
It was a cold, dark night. Iona wrapped her fur jacket tighter around herself and sighed. She wanted to burrow beneath blankets. She’d take her ten-foot by ten-foot molded room over this any day.
Sometimes, she forgot how lucky she was until she lost what she had. And she’d lost so much already.
Sighing, she leaned her head against the wall and let her eyes flutter closed.
Within moments, Iona was asleep.
* * *
Stiff limbs madeIona groan as she got up and stretched. Her bones creaked like an old door and her limbs popped uncomfortably. A yawn escaped her and when she blinked her eyes opened, she noticed everything was white.
Winter still hadn’t hit with full force, but the snow was inches deep up to her ankles. It was a wonder she hadn’t felt anything or died of frostbite last night. She did feel chilly. Her body ached all over, a pins and needles sensation crawling against her skin as her blood circulated and found warmth.
She never thought she’d miss the heat, but she did.
Her boots scrunched under the snow and she winced. It was going to be difficult hiding when she was going to be making so much noise with every step. It was one thing to keep to the shadows, another entirely to leave a trail of noise in your wake.
Oh well.
Iona left the alley.
The soldiers that had invaded yesterday weren’t out in packs today. Some patrolled the streets in small groups of twos. She figured they weren’t used to the cold, and their steel made them shiver; she could hear the rattling of their bones from where she stood.
She chuckled silently. That could be used to her own advantage if she found herself backed into a corner.
She went about her day, scuttling like a rat running from the lights and chasing shadows. At the docks, she observed, but didn’t make herself known. The new soldiers hadn’t touched this part of the city yet, but she still wasn’t going to take any chances. Besides, hiding and observing in the shadows would tell her who she could steal from.
She didn’t want to take a boat from anyone innocent or vulnerable. That meant she wouldn’t steal from single mothers or the elderly. But human men who took advantage of another’s weakness?
After an hour of watching, Iona finally found her target. A robust human man with a thick, black mustache and glaring eyes. From her position around a building, she could see the meanness emanate from him like a tangible thing.
He shoved a child worker, nearly sending the kid toppling over the boat. She then watched as he grabbed a rope and presumed to beat him until he bled.
That was the one, she thought. That was the one she was meant to steal from.
A gift from Mana, and karma served at its finest, no doubt.
His boat was average in size, a steel thing that looked like it could hold about a dozen people, maybe a bit more. Since it would just be Iona and her familiar? It was perfect.
It wouldn’t be such a hardship to steal from an asshole, but she had to be careful about how she did it.
Decided, Iona sent a thank you up to Mana and stalked away. Now, all she had to do was gather her things and go get her familiar. Within a few hours, they would be gone.
And she could say goodbye to Porir City. Her own version of a domed cage.
It would be no great loss. There weren’t many memories she treasured here. She had no friends, not really. Henry had been that for her. A friend and, eventually, a parental figure; not a replacement for the father she’d lost one hundred and two years ago, but someone she could always confide in.
Porir hadn’t felt like home since Henry died.
Now she had the opportunity to leave this place, and maybe put the plan she’d been sitting on for years into motion. If it all worked out the way she’d hoped, then she would retire back to where she came from. Hopefully there was still a bit of home left in the Feylands. Hopefully there was no credence to the rumors she’d heard and Tir na Faie was still intact.
“Here’s to hoping,” she whispered to Mana as she slipped into an abandoned building four blocks away. The floor was made of wood and metal sheets that wobbled. She stepped over the cracked floors, counting in her head.
One.
