Tears of Frost

by Bree Barton

  Mia kicked the sheets off the cot. To hells with sleeping. Even if she did manage to nod off, nothing awaited her but the wooden box.

  She could see Zai out on deck, leaning into the railing and staring up at the sky. Should she go talk to him? The idea flooded her with shame, but the alternative was to be alone with her thoughts, which flooded her with despair. A delightful duet.

  Her eyes swept the galley, snagging on a small silver tin. Jouma’s Brew. In Nelladine’s hurry to get off the boat, she had left it behind.

  Mia swept her hand along the stone slab and palmed the tin. Half empty. Or half full, depending.

  She dropped the brew into her pocket. You just never knew when you might need someone to come around to your point of view.

  By the time she joined Zai, he had his eyes on the curling black sea. Mia felt a pang. He’d stood up for her, argued that she should stay on the boat—and perhaps lost his two closest friends because of it. Considering her inability to mitigate her own magic, he could lose a lot more than that.

  Mia kept her distance. Her voice was quiet against the low hum and rumble of the waves.

  “Nell was right. It isn’t safe for you to take me to Valavïk.”

  Zai turned, studying her for a moment. He nodded to the empty ocean.

  “See anyone else you’d like to hire for the job?”

  He made a decent point. Mia couldn’t exactly paddle water while she waited for another ship to pass.

  She took a breath. “I will confine myself to the galley for the rest of the journey. Once we arrive at the palace, I ask that you depart immediately. You’ll have done your duty, and I will no longer be your burden to carry.”

  Zai was quiet a moment. Then he tipped his head toward the sky.

  “Have you ever seen the Ribbons? I doubt you have. Glas Ddir is too far north. Here in Luum’Addi on very clear nights, the Ribbons light up the sky.”

  All she saw was a sheath of dark purple—a calm, starless night.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “You will. The conditions are perfect tonight.” He smiled. “We just have to wait.”

  Mia tried to smile back, but she couldn’t quite get it right. Sometimes she wondered how no one else could see the cloak around her shoulders. The numbness had begun to feel like a part of her, as if the guilt and sadness had seeped into her flesh, bled into the marrow of her bones.

  “You can come a little closer,” said Zai. “I know you’re being careful. But it’s all right.”

  She took the tiniest step forward so as not to offend him.

  “Are the Ribbons the same as the Illuminations?”

  “No. The Ribbons have been lighting the sky for thousands of years. The Illuminations are a human invention, fueled by fyre ice.”

  “They were all anyone talked about in White Lagoon.”

  “That’s because we haven’t had them in so long. Of course the new fyre ice will be used to do much more than entertain people—the festival display is just a small sample of their potential. But for people my age, this is the first time we’ll get to see the Illuminations.”

  He folded his arms, then unfolded them. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “According to Nell, secrets are what make us real.”

  “Yes, that’s one of her favorites. She’s always saying things that get me thinking. Even if half the time she goes and contradicts herself.” Zai smiled. “I guess we all do that.”

  “I like her. And I’m sorry she left. I seem to drive people away.”

  “Not me. I’m still here.”

  She came an inch closer, still leaving plenty of space between them. “Are you going to tell me your secret?”

  He shifted his weight. “Sometimes I’m not sure fyre ice is the magic elixir everyone says it is.”

  “Really?” Mia said, surprised. “You seem like a pure devotee.”

  “You asked Ville how fyre ice could be a self-replenishing resource. I’ve asked him the same thing. He always avoids the question or tells me I wouldn’t understand. But I hear whispers. Not everyone thinks the new pits are such a good thing. Especially among the Addi.”

  “And you?”

  “Me? I have a foot in both worlds, I guess.”

  “But didn’t you tell me the Grand Fyremaster is using fyre ice to right a lot of prior wrongs? I thought he was trying to make reparations for all the ways the Luumi have hurt the Addi.”

  “I’m sure he intends to. But with every advancement, there is always a cost. The colonizers thought they were ‘helping’ the Addi, too. Bringing civilization to an uncivilized land.” Zai shook his head. “It’s remarkable how often the word civilize has been used in place of oppress.”

  He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Not tonight.”

  Mia nodded. When he looked skyward, she did too.

  “There’s something special about the Ribbons,” he said. “In Kom’Addi my family would hike several hours into the heartlands to get away from all the noise and lights. We’d lay out blankets and lie on our backs. Sometimes we waited for hours in the freezing cold. But it was worth it. When I see the Ribbons, I feel like the sky has picked up a paintbrush.”

  Zai’s face took on a warm, ruddy glow.

  “My Addi ancestors told each other stories to explain the celestial bodies they saw above. They believed the sun was a vengeful god and the stars were his children. He scattered them through the sky once he grew tired of them.”

  “You never hear stories of jolly gods, do you?” said Mia. “It’s all rage and revenge. If these beings created the world, you’d think they might slug back an ethereal ale every once in a while. Pat themselves on the back and celebrate.”

  “It’s easier to dwell on the mistakes you’ve made than the good things you’ve created.”

  He shot her a sideways glance. Was he talking about her?

  “I’m sorry, Zai. About Ville. I really am.”

  Zai shook his head. “Ville asked you to do magic. He’s always tempting fate.”

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  His eyes met hers. Soft, inscrutable.

  “I do.”

  When he beckoned, she took a full step in his direction, then stopped. She could see hints of lines around his eyes, perhaps from all his hours in the sun. They lent his face an air of wisdom, as if he knew things Mia hadn’t yet discovered.

  Zai was beautiful. She couldn’t deny it. His hair had come loose from its leather band, a few black wisps framing his face. She had a fierce urge to smooth them.

  Instead, she stayed rooted in place. Nell’s words haunted her. You don’t care who gets hurt.

  Zai peered up into the darkness. “They say the sun god’s children were lonely all spread out across the sky.”

  Mia nodded. She knew what that was like.

  “So they called out, seeking comfort. The Ribbons are how they speak to one another.”

  Silence. Then Zai touched the railing by his side.

  “It’s all right, Raven. You won’t hurt me. I’m not afraid of your magic, even if you are.”

  The cloak tightened its grip around Mia’s shoulders. She was desperate to feel something—anything—besides the endless numb.

  Slowly, carefully, Mia walked to the space he’d made for her.

  They stood side by side. Mia checked the sky for Ribbons. It was still dark. Still purple.

  “I don’t know what I’m—”

  “Look,” he said.

  The sky rippled with light.

  In an instant, the Ribbons unfurled. They appeared out of nowhere, long jagged strips of lime green and blushing pink. They snaked into lines, curving one way, then the other, some bursting into wider swaths of color. The Ribbons moved like liquid, flowing and flickering, gleaming streams of brightness poured out onto the night.

  Mia’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. She had felt alone for such a long time. Shipwrecked and broken on an empty shore, no one to comfort her, no one to whisper
she would be all right. How strange that green light ribboning through a night sky could make her feel less alone.

  The guilt and sadness roiling inside her were replaced by something else: wonder. Mia had never believed in myths. She found no comfort in the idea of all-seeing, all-knowing creatures rolling the dice of destiny. But as she stood beneath the moving, breathing sky, she wondered if there were a divine being, a wry old woman in a rocking chair, throwing the Ribbons with a flick of her wrist, like a ball of celestial yarn.

  The sky was whispering, speaking. Speaking to her.

  Deep in her chest, something frozen began to thaw.

  For the first time in months, she was grateful to be alive.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Zai’s voice was a quiet hush as he slid his hand closer to hers on the railing.

  “Yes,” she said, terrified by his closeness—and wanting so much to feel his skin against hers.

  “Zai,” she whispered. “May I touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  She reached out and laid her fingers over his, lacing them between the cracks.

  Then his arms were around her, one hand on the scoop of her lower back, the other cradling the nape of her neck as he pressed her against the railing. His lips found hers, his mouth on her mouth, a kiss that was both question and exclamation mark.

  “Raven,” he whispered into her hair. He kissed the corner of her mouth.

  She wanted to inhale him, breathe him in. She imagined the scent of wood dust on his skin, the tang of tart apple on his lips.

  But he was scentless, tasteless.

  We shouldn’t do this.

  The words echoed through her mind. Unsayable.

  Something was wrong. Or rather, something wasn’t right. Her breath locked up, lodged in her throat. His mouth moved against hers like wet sand.

  His caresses, his touch—she wanted desperately to want them. Hadn’t she been admiring him quietly ever since they’d met? The soft swell of his biceps; the smooth, easy rhythm of his hands. He was here, and he wanted her, and he was beautiful.

  But her body was numb. Rigid.

  She didn’t know what she wanted. But she didn’t want this.

  He brushed the hair off her neck.

  “Zai,” she whispered. “This isn’t the right time.”

  Immediately she felt him slacken. He pulled back, his eyes seeking hers.

  “Oh no,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . I didn’t realize . . .” He fumbled for the words. “I’m sorry, Raven. I misunderstood, I misread everything.”

  He stepped back. She was relieved she could breathe again, but then the air clotted in the space he’d left behind. An acrid shame coiled down her throat. She heard Ville’s words: If you write messages on your body, you should know boys are going to read them.

  What about the messages she’d written with her body? Holding Zai’s hand? Wanting to be near him? And perhaps most of all: kissing him back?

  Had he misread, or had she miswritten?

  What did she even want?

  Mia saw the stricken look on Zai’s face. She hadn’t told him about the cloak, her broken body, the emptiness yawning inside her. How was he supposed to know she was not a normal girl?

  “It isn’t you,” she said, the words tumbling out. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just I’m . . . I can’t . . .” She choked back tears. “There’s something wrong with me.”

  She wanted to make herself disappear. For a moment she thought of pitching herself overboard. The wall of salt water pressing at her eyes might drown her anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”

  She fled into the galley, where she stayed until Valavïk Bay.

  Chapter 28

  Plunged

  THE PORT WAS LIKE any other. Filthy. Swarming. Alive.

  As Mia stepped onto the dock, her patellae trembled, her knees unaccustomed to the solidity of land.

  To Zai’s credit, he had respected her need for solitude. They’d spent the last few days in silence, moving around each other the way the wind parted around the boat. She sensed him being careful with her, delicate.

  “Have you ever seen a glacier?”

  Zai’s voice was hoarse after days of silence. As he secured the boat to the quay, he nodded toward the snowy mass in the distance. The glacier reminded Mia of a giant iced cake nestled between mountains. Deep fissures snaked down the front side, splitting the ice into long jagged fingers.

  “No,” she said. “I haven’t.”

  “It melts a little more each year. That’s what glaciers do. But they say one of these days it’ll melt entirely, and then all hells will break loose.”

  Zai hoisted a coil of rope onto his shoulders. Once again she found herself admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles in his neck.

  Mia was embarrassed and confused. But mostly angry.

  Not at Zai. Angry at herself.

  If there was one thing magic had given her, it was the ability to trust her own instincts. But this, too, had been stripped away. She could no longer trust her eyes: she had seen her mother when her mother wasn’t there. She could no longer trust her hands: her magic had hurt innocent people. She could no longer trust her heart: she’d thought she wanted Zai, but the moment she had him, her desire warped into something she didn’t recognize.

  She couldn’t feel her body. She couldn’t know her mind. And without these things, without the ability to trust the most basic aspects of herself, what was left?

  “I have to do one thing,” Zai said. “Will you wait here?”

  She nodded, careful to step aside as he brushed past. He disappeared down the pier.

  The memory of Zai’s kiss stung. Mia tried to banish it to the far corners of her mind, but it kept oozing back. She closed her eyes. The second she did, she was back in the wooden box. Her eyes flew open.

  For the first time she understood something. The cloak was just the box in another form. It was always there, siphoning off every modicum of life and joy and happiness, pulling her back into the darkness. She carried the box with her, around her, always.

  After what happened on the boat, first with Nell and Ville, then with Zai, Mia felt emptier than ever. At least, once she found her mother, she would no longer be alone. Wynna had stopped her own heart and awoken from the dead. If she had managed to resurrect herself—to find a path back to a life worth living—then maybe she could help her eldest daughter do the same.

  Nell was right. Beneath all her clamoring efforts to destroy the moonstone and save Quin, she had come to the queen’s palace for a selfish reason.

  She wanted to feel again.

  Mia stared out at the smooth silver waters of Valavïk Bay. One of the queen’s ships had just left the wharf, its sail draped in Jyöltide mauve and silver. If Mia squinted, she could make out a short dark-haired boy on deck, leaning over the railing. The weak sunlight kissed his head and turned his hair a bluish gold. Even from a distance, she could tell he was the sort of boy who wore his confidence like a second skin.

  When the seaman lifted his chin, Mia recognized something in the gesture. It wasn’t a boy at all. She was staring at a girl—proud shoulders, black hair cropped short at the chin. Addi, or maybe Fojuen. Not much older than Mia and out to sail the seas. Why not? Anything was possible in a queendom, where a woman sat on the throne.

  Jealousy flamed in Mia’s chest. There was the life she’d wanted, an explorer charting a course between the four kingdoms. Tasting new foods and inhaling new scents, meeting people from different cultures, reveling in the beauty of a rich and vibrant world.

  As the boat slipped out of the harbor, she felt her dream slip away with it. Every taste, every scent, every moment of that wild and wondrous freedom had vanished.

  “Good news,” Zai called, hurrying down the dock. “I asked around to see if anyone remembers your mother. Turns out, everyone does.”

  Mia willed her bones quiet, even as the blood gl
ittered in her veins.

  “Where is she?”

  “The palace. They say she’s with the queen.” Zai straightened. “I’d like to take you there, Raven. If you’ll let me. After that you can be rid of me for good.”

  She hadn’t looked him in the eye since the night of the Ribbons. The memory was too painful. She harbored no anger toward him—he’d done nothing wrong, and he’d stopped when she asked him to. It was her own shame that festered inside her, like a wound she did not know how to treat.

  “Very well,” she said. “To the queen.”

  They didn’t wait long to be admitted. Mia couldn’t believe how easily she and Zai were ushered in to the palace. They could have been spies, poisoners, foes—though she supposed it helped that they carried no weapons. When the blond guardswomen asked them to shake out their boots, all that clattered onto the ground were nubs of gravel.

  Mia hardly noticed her surroundings as the two guards accompanied them through the spacious corridors, other than a fleeting observation that the dazzling marble was whiter than a bone scrubbed clean. Her excitement mingled with her disbelief. After all this time, she was finally about to see her mother. Her mother, who for unknown reasons had travelled to Valavïk to visit the Snow Queen.

  “You’re sure my mother is here?” she murmured to Zai.

  “She’s here,” answered the bigger guardswoman. “You’ll wait on the balcony at her request.”

  Mia felt a flash of irritation and a flush of hope—irritation at the guard for eavesdropping, hope that her mother was just a few winding corridors away.

  Her mother, who had been dead for three years.

  Her mother, who was alive.

  Her mother, who had lied, enthralled, betrayed, and abandoned—and who had loved Mia with her whole heart, protected both her daughters, and tried to teach them compassion and gentleness in a world carved of bigotry and hate.

  “This way,” said the guard, ushering them up a spiral staircase and through two glass doors onto a balcony. In the sky overhead, the sun cowered beneath a dark blue veil.

  “Stay,” the other guard commanded, turning on her heel.