by Bree Barton
He shook his head. “The moonstone grows more powerful by the day. It seems the more people Angelyne hurts, the more people she can hurt.”
Quin’s expression blackened. “She practices with other stones, too. Strange gems I’ve never seen. I think she may be storing her magic in new places, bewitching objects we’d never even recognize.”
Pilar frowned. “I’ve only known three stones to affect magic. Fojuen to strengthen, uzoolion to weaken, and lloira to store a Dujia’s healing gifts. Sounds like Angelyne has found a way to warp that, too.”
“I know it was wrong,” Quin said quietly, “stealing those men’s stones. I’m not proud of it.”
“Why? You survived.”
Pilar knew better than anyone that survival did not come in a silken bonnet. Survival meant dirt and blood under your fingernails.
It meant killing someone before they killed you first.
Chapter 4
For the Both of Us
TWO DAYS PASSED, THEN three. On the fourth day, Pilar felt the air grow colder. In the distance she saw big white mounds in the earth. Ice caves.
“We’re nearing the border,” she said to Quin.
“I imagine so.”
Once they crossed Dead Man’s Strait and entered the snow kingdom, they would go their separate ways. The idea flooded her with panic.
“Here’s a question,” Quin said, as they trekked through the snow. “Do you know what happened to Domeniq du Zol?”
He said it almost casually, like an afterthought. But she heard it. The catch in his breath.
Pilar missed Domeniq, too. He’d been her one true friend on Refúj, even if the friendship was brief. She remembered his kind, crooked smile, the way it lit up his face.
She also remembered the way he and Quin danced together at the Blue Phoenix. Sweaty. Close.
“I never saw Dom in the castle,” she answered honestly.
“I did,” said Quin, and she realized he’d been baiting her, that he’d known the answer all along. “Your mother uses him for magic practice. Sometimes she sends him out with the guards to round up more bodies for the Hall. She and Angelyne enkindle him, make him do and say all kinds of atrocious things he would never do.”
“How do you know what Dom would do? You’d only just met.”
“I know he’s good,” he growled. “And wise. And generous in spirit. More than I can say for you.”
She held up a hand. “I wasn’t arguing with you, Killian. Just asking.”
Quin’s eyes met hers for a moment, fierce. Then he looked away.
“We both know Dom was playing both sides. Training to be a Dujia Hunter, while secretly protecting his Dujia family. But the rest of the river kingdom doesn’t know the truth. To them he makes a powerful example. He’s the last surviving Hunter, now serving the new queen.”
“What about Griffin Rose? Fearless leader of the Circle of the Hunt? He’s still alive, too.” Pilar snorted. “Though last I heard, his mind is so far gone he slurps soup out of a shoe in the castle dungeons. Looks like all those years spent murdering innocent Dujia finally caught up to him.”
“And yet you’re seeking his Luumi counterpart,” Quin muttered. “You’re a tangle of contradictions.”
She wheeled around. “I’m a tangle of contradictions? Griffin Rose married a woman who was enthralling him! A woman who never loved him, but loved my mother, of all people. Griffin Rose, assassin of Dujia—and father to two Dujia daughters, one now dead.”
Quin stopped walking. “You might show some respect when you speak of Mia Rose.”
She glared at him. Mia and Karri were the two frozen lakes they tiptoed around. Pilar didn’t tiptoe. She was sick of not speaking her mind.
They were about to have their first real conversation, like it or not.
“I know there are things you want to say to me,” she said. “You just don’t have the courage to say them.”
“You’re not a very gentle person, are you?”
“There’s no place for gentleness in this world.”
“I think there’s nothing this world needs more.”
He began to hum.
Pilar recognized the melody. She was back in Kaer Killian, lurking in the corridors the night before the royal wedding.
It felt like a lifetime ago. She’d been so righteous in her mission. Kill Mia Rose, enemy of the Dujia. Save her sisters. Return to Refúj a hero, and finally clear her name.
Sometimes the things you wanted most were the very things that destroyed you.
Quin’s hum was tender. She couldn’t bear it.
“Stop,” she said.
He stopped. Took a breath.
“You want me to talk about Mia?” he said. “I miss her. I think about her all the time. Sometimes I lie awake at night, just to see if I can conjure up a memory of her freckles.”
“Why?” Pilar swallowed the softness in her voice. “Are you drawing a portrait?”
“Are you always this heartless?”
For eighteen years Pilar had been told to trust her heart. Feel instead of think, said her mother. Trust your heart, not your mind.
Her heart had failed her.
“I think,” she said, “that you’re doing a piss-poor job of moving on.”
“I’m not trying to move on. I’m trying to grieve.”
“Mia’s the one who stopped your sister’s heart! You should hate her.”
“I don’t hate people.”
“Liar. Everyone hates someone.”
Quin’s green eyes flashed with more pity than anger, which was worse. She wanted to wound him. Better to hurt him before he hurt her.
“You’re a coward,” she said. You shouldn’t even be here. If you were brave, you’d find a way to beat Angelyne. If you had even one speck of courage, you would go back to Glas Ddir and save your people.”
There it was. The spark of rage in Quin’s eyes.
“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. After a lifetime with my father, I’ve seen what hate can do.”
“How could you grow up in that castle, with those people, and not hate them? Don’t you hate your father for everything he did?”
“The minute I give in to those feelings,” he said, his jaw working around the words, “I’m no better than he is. You think hurting people makes you strong? I think it makes you a coward. You hide behind your fists so you don’t have to feel anything. Can’t you see I’m grieving?”
He tugged a hand through his curls. “It isn’t just Mia. I lost my sister. My whole family.”
“My mother was my whole family. She betrayed me.”
“I know.”
“She used me to kill innocent people. I only shot Karri because she told me to.”
“I know.” He looked her straight in the eye. “You do not have a monopoly on grief, Pilar. Even if you won’t admit it, I know you’re grieving, too.”
Why was he being so kind? She was giving him fire, and he was shoveling snow onto it.
“You don’t get to tell me how to grieve,” she snapped.
“Of course I don’t. But I believe grief has power. It flows through us whether we want it to or not. If we ignore it, the grief builds up inside us and leaks out in all kinds of ways. If we remember what we lost, the grief gets stronger—but we get stronger, too.”
“Your sister is dead because of me. Mia is dead because of me. I nearly killed you with my arrow! Why don’t you hate me?”
“I’m angry. I’m terribly sad. But I don’t hate you.”
“Fine.” She clenched her jaw. “Then I’ll hate myself enough for the both of us.”
When he placed a hand on her arm, she flinched. She was no longer there with Quin. She was in the cottage by the lake. Lying on a hard dirt floor, staring up at the wooden rafters, long beams casting shadows like a cell.
A punch she could take. Gentle touches scared her.
On instinct, she shoved Quin away, pushing him off balance. When he stumbled to the ground, her
chest ached.
She didn’t want to hurt him. Not really, not at all.
Quin was right. In the fight between her fists and her feelings, her fists would always win.
When she spoke, her voice was steady again.
“I want to give you something, Killian.”
“What could you possibly give me?”
She extended a hand and pulled him to his feet.
“I’m going to teach you to fight.”
Chapter 5
Serenade
WHEN IT CAME TO sparring, Pilar was the best fighter she knew. That wasn’t pride speaking. Or it was pride speaking, but pride rooted in fact.
Quin, on the other hand, was terrible.
“You’re not very good, Killian.”
“I’ve never done it before!” he huffed. “This is all new to me.”
“You want me to bake you a chocolate strudel?”
“I want you to be more patient.”
“Patience was never my strong suit.”
Quin had taken to the idea of sparring immediately, which was a relief. Pilar couldn’t return what he’d lost, but at least she could teach him to protect himself. Finally she had something to offer. Something a girl like Mia Rose could never give.
Beads of sweat clung to Quin’s brow. The yellow sun was gone, crushed by the bloated white blob of the moon. Pilar wasn’t tired in the slightest. When she fought she felt like someone had poured rai rouj into her veins, spiking her blood with heat.
“I told you, keep most of your weight in your lower half. You’re skinny so it’s even more important to have a strong base. Stop standing on the earth like a sprite.”
“Do sprites exist?”
“Everything exists. Now fix your form and come at me again.”
Quin charged forward, swinging his arms wildly. She swiped her foot behind his ankle and sent him crashing to the ground. Somehow he fell forward instead of back.
“Ow,” he moaned into the dirt.
“Sorry. You’re already dead.”
“I’m trying!”
“Try better. And bend your knees next time. If you don’t bend your knees you might as well be standing on two sticks. What happens to sticks? They break.”
She couldn’t believe how much she sounded like Orry. He was in her head.
Three years earlier, when Pilar was fifteen, a young married couple had arrived on the island. Morígna, the Dujia, was a musician. She gave Pilar her violin. Her husband, Orry, was a fight teacher. Orry was jovial and charming, passionate about showing his students how to protect themselves. Pilar trained with him daily. Who cared if the other girls didn’t like her? The lonelier she felt, the harder she fought. For the first time, her ever-ready fists were a gift, not a curse.
“Don’t rotate your shoulder forward,” she told Quin. “You want to stay grounded and strong. Hug your elbow tight to your body—it’ll give you more control. Then twist your body and pivot your front foot. The thrust of the leg accelerates the punch.”
“Where do I punch my opponent?”
“Cheeks, nose, or under the ear where the jaw attaches. Three weakest spots on the human face. Of course at the moment it doesn’t matter where you hit—you’re throwing punches like confetti. Start with palm strikes. That’ll keep your fingers protected.” She demonstrated driving her palm into Quin’s nose. “It’s a good trick. With enough force you can shove the nasal bone into his skull.”
“Sounds messy.”
“Fighting is messy. It’s one part choreography, two parts improvisation. For you right now, it’s three parts staying upright.”
“You’re good at this, you know.”
Pilar felt a surge of pride. The adrenaline rush she always got from sparring was so much better than anything she’d ever felt from magic. In the early days, Orry told her she was special. She would stagger home each night, bruised and bloody and blazingly alive.
“Water,” Quin gasped.
Pilar scooped snow into her leatherskin and handed it to Quin, who gulped down the icy slush. The prince looked good with a little color in his cheeks.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Thank you.”
“Drink up. We’re not finished.”
“But I’m exhausted.”
“Sometimes exhaustion can be helpful. You can’t trick your body—it’ll show you where your weaknesses are.”
“What’s in your pocket, Pilar?”
Her jaw clenched. “Nothing.”
“I see you touching it when you think I’m not looking.”
“It’s just a coin.”
She tossed it to Quin to shut him up. He laid the coin flat on his palm and squinted at the symbol side.
“This is the seal of Luumia. Ice leopard with a frostflower underfoot.”
“Ten points for Clan Killian.”
He flipped the coin over and read the hand-carved inscription. “Snow Wolf. That must be your famed Luumi assassin.” He cocked a brow. “You mean to tell me we’ve been looking for a dog?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all. I miss my dogs every day.” Quin chucked the coin at her. She caught it handily.
“Nice reflexes,” he said.
“My third finest feature. Bluntness, jawline, reflexes.”
“I thought it was self-hatred?”
With a roar, she tackled him from the side.
The coin went flying as Quin fell backward. She climbed on top of him, straddling his chest.
“Never, ever let them get you on the ground. Most men are a lot bigger than you and me. The second he’s on top of you, he’s already won. Now try to get away.”
Quin squirmed beneath her. An image of a broken horsehair bow flashed through her mind. She locked her knees tighter, forcing herself to focus on Quin’s face. His hair was mussed, his eyes piercing green. Pilar had never seen him from this angle before. She liked it.
She drew the dagger from her boot.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re already dead.”
Quin drove his palm into her nose.
The impact knocked her head backward. Hard enough that she saw a spray of white stars. Her knees loosened, and in a flash Quin shifted his hips beneath her. She keeled onto her side as he wriggled free.
“Success!” he crowed. He snatched the dagger from where she’d dropped it. “Sorry. You’re already dead.”
He was being smug, but it was the first time she’d seen Quin really smile. And she had to hand it to him: he’d nailed the strike. Her ears were still ringing.
Pilar brushed off the coin and dropped it into her pocket.
“Nicely done.”
“Four gods.” Quin’s jaw dropped. “Was that a compliment from Pilar Zorastín d’Aqila? We must commemorate this moment.”
He pulled a flask out of his satchel. Murky reddish-brown liquid swirled inside, and at the bottom: a dead sqorpion.
Rai rouj.
“Where in the Duj’s name did you get that?” she said. The prince was full of surprises.
He shrugged. “You never know what you’ll find in a heap of dead men.”
They built a fire and sat on the hard ground, passing the flask of rai rouj between them. With every nip, Quin loosened. Here was the drunken, dancing boy Pilar recognized from Refúj, back before everyone betrayed everyone else.
Truth be told, she was feeling a little loose herself. She loved the scalding comfort of rai rouj, even if it made her fractured cheekbone throb and the black fleas blur her vision. She felt better than she had in months.
“You know,” Quin said, “I actually quite enjoyed sparring. I haven’t worked that hard in . . . ever?” He rubbed his shoulders and groaned.
“It’s good to have someone knead your muscles after fighting.” Pilar’s cheeks flamed. “Not that you’d want me to.”
“On the contrary! I’d be delighted to have you pummel me with your tiny fists.”
“They’re not tiny.” They were absolutely tiny. “You’ve seen
what I can do with them. I have very strong hands.”
“Show me.” Quin peeled his shirt off in one smooth motion, until it got stuck around his head. “Help!” he said, his voice muffled. “My brain is too large, it can’t get free.”
She leaned forward and gave the shirt a good tug.
“Typical,” she said. “Your head was inflating again.”
Quin’s body was smooth and golden. She’d only seen one man naked before, and he was hairy in all the wrong places.
Pilar knelt behind the prince. When she dug her thumbs into the muscles at the base of his neck, he cried out. She froze. Were her hands only good for causing pain?
“Don’t stop,” Quin said. “For the love of four gods, do not stop.”
Only then did she realize the cry was the good kind.
She began to knead his knotted muscles with her knucklebones. As she moved slowly across his back, she grazed the white scar beneath his shoulder blade: the place her arrow had gone through.
She could apologize. Should apologize. But she’d never been good at saying sorry.
Apologies reeked of regret.
“Who is the Snow Wolf, Pilar?” Quin murmured. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Her hands stopped. If she told him who the Snow Wolf was—who he really was—he would look at her with pity. She could imagine nothing worse.
“Since you’re suddenly so interested in honesty,” she snapped, “who are you looking for in Luumia?”
Quin reached for his shirt. “You’ll judge me for it.”
“Probably.” She crossed her arms, defiant. “But I’m not going any farther until you tell me.”
He yanked the shirt down over his neck.
“All right,” he said. “I want to save Domeniq.”
The answer caught her by surprise.
Pilar pointed behind them. “Domeniq is that way.”
“Yes, thank you. I do have a basic grasp of geography.”
Quin picked up a twig and stabbed at the ground. “You say I’ve abandoned my kingdom and my people. But I never wanted to be king. My sister was born to sit on the river throne—and unlike me, she actually wanted it. Karri was bold and brilliant and bighearted.”