Page 42 of The Midwinter Mirror
And then he’s gone, running toward the village, and a moment later, the huge basilisk rises into the sky.
Wind booms off his wings, and snow swirls past my face.
I pull the children close, urging them down the path, every step agony as Zayne flies straight into danger. My mum and dad are standing in front of the door, staring toward the village, but they turn when they hear us. My mother’s eyes widen, and she runs down the steps.
“Oh, God, you did it. You found them.”
“Here, take Chloe,” I say, handing her the six-year-old girl I have in my arms. “I’ve got to get to the village. Help Zayne.”
“I’ll drive you,” my dad says.
I nod.
“I’m coming too,” Josh says.
“And Grimlet is coming.”
I want to say it’s no place for an eight-year-old—or a tiny gargoyle—but I know I won’t stop them.
We all bundle into the truck, and he’s away, racing down the snowy road to Elderfell.
The vehicle screeches to a halt in the village square, and we all tumble out. I take in the villagers huddled at the far end, one man yelling, another kneeling in the snow, pressing a scarf to a wound. Half the village seems to be on fire. Then I look up.
The Hunter hovers on vast black wings, half centaur, half nightmare. His huge horse’s body gleams like ice carved from obsidian, his upper torso human only in outline—horns curling from his skull, eyes burning white as frost-fire. His presence presses against me like a storm, and I choke back a gasp.
A scream of challenge fills the air, and there he is.
Zayne.
Or not Zayne—Raze.
The basilisk soars above the church steeple, emerald and sapphire scales flashing in the firelight of burning houses, wings snapping wide enough to blot out the stars. His roar shakes the night, and Khazim answers with one of his own, shrill and cold.
I can’t breathe.
The square below is chaos—people scattering, the Christmas tree crashing to the ground, ornaments shattering like glass rain. But all I see is Zayne fighting, the beast inside him unleashed.
They slam together midair—talons to hooves, flame to ice—and the shockwave punches my ribs. Khazim scores him—threeblack tears across Raze’s side. Blood steams, crystallizes, falls like glittering ash.
“Should we help?” Josh pants beside me, eyes wide.
I raise my hands, magic prickling hot through my veins. But as I watch, I realize I don’t need to help. Zayne doesn’t need my magic. He’s got this. The bond between Zayne and his basilisk thrums so strong, so sure, it drowns out even my fear. He’s not losing control. He’s not the angry boy I once knew. He’s a weapon, honed, unstoppable.
Khazim lashes out with a barbed spear of ice, catching Raze along the flank. My heart stops—until Raze surges higher, wings pumping, and dives, jaws wide. His fangs sink into Khazim’s shoulder. Fire pours from his mouth, wrapping the Hunter in a torrent of burning light.
Khazim screams. The sound splits the night, rattles the windows. But then it shatters, broken, silenced. His body twists, writhes—and crumbles into shards of black ice that rain down across the square.
The scream cuts off. The wind forgets to breathe. Then the square exhales.
Raze hovers, chest heaving, before he throws back his head and roars his triumph. The sound isn’t just victory. It’s freedom.
And I know then—I don’t have to save him. Not this time. He’s saved us all.
I race forward as he lands in the snow, his form shifting back, scales dissolving, wings folding into nothing until it’s just Zayne standing there. Silver-eyed, bloodied, magnificent. Mine.
I don’t stop running until I’m in his arms.
Chapter 17
