Frozen Reign

by Kathryn Purdie

  “Of course.” I turned and found her staring at Nadia as if she’d seen a ghost. “I’m sorry,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair back into my braid. “I don’t know your name.” I’d never learned it during her fleeting time at the palace.

  She forced her hunched shoulders back, but her posture remained stooped. “Genevie.”

  “Genevie, these are my friends, Tosya and Nadia.” Friend was a generous word for Nadia.

  Genevie fidgeted and gave them a small nod of greeting.

  Nadia didn’t seem to notice her unease. Instead, she bit the corner of her lip and took a step toward Tosya. “Let me help you stable your horse.”

  He flinched away and grabbed his stallion’s bridle. “I’ve got it. See you in a little while, Sonya. Nice to meet you, Genevie.”

  Nadia’s crestfallen face almost made me pity her. I touched Genevie’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  We ambled back to the convent, walking in silence. Nadia eventually fell into step behind us. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Genevie unnerved me too much. She kept staring at me, then back at Nadia, her brow twisted in confusion. My cheeks burned hot. I knew what she felt when she gazed into my hazel eyes. Nothingness. A pitch-dark void.

  She wrapped her arms tightly across her stomach. “What has happened to both of you?” she finally asked. “Your auras . . . elles ont disparu. They are gone.”

  I shut my eyes. Stopped short. Her words shouldn’t have hurt so much. She only spoke the truth. But it was the first time since I’d lost my ability that I’d been in the presence of anyone who could actually sense aura.

  It made me feel dead inside.

  I spun around to Nadia. “Sestra Mirna needs my help in the hospital tent,” I blurted. “Could you help Genevie get settled?”

  Before she could answer, I rushed away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HOLD HIM STILL, SONYA!”

  “I’m trying!” I pinned one of the soldier’s flailing arms beneath my knee on his cot. Sestra Mirna held his other arm while I braced his head as he convulsed. Sitting on his legs to quell his kicking, the sestra brought a cup of warm water seeped with garlic, salt, and cloves to his mouth. It tasted terrible. I knew, not because I sensed the bitterness on the tongues of the other sick men, but because I’d sampled it for myself in the convent kitchen. At least in that small way I understood some of what they were suffering. I felt nothing from their auras. Or anyone else’s. I hadn’t since Valko had shot me.

  I pried the soldier’s jaw open. Sestra Mirna tipped in the drink. He coughed and gagged, but we didn’t relent. The herb water dribbled down his chin. He hadn’t swallowed anything.

  “Pinch his nose and hold his mouth shut,” the sestra commanded.

  I turned exasperated eyes on her. How many hands did she think I had? Nevertheless, I managed to stretch my fingers to clasp the bulb of the soldier’s nose while wrapping my other hand beneath his jaw and across his wet lips. His convulsing worsened. My muscles cramped as I struggled to restrain him.

  He was so dehydrated that his body had fallen into a severe state of shock and confusion. He mumbled of giant spiders crawling on the canvas walls of the hospital tent and called Sestra Mirna and me demons with red eyes and clawed hands.

  “Swallow!” Sestra Mirna shouted, her wrinkles cutting deeper into harsh lines. The soldier’s gaunt face flushed a muted red, all the color his deathly pallor could muster. Unable to breathe, he finally gulped down the drink.

  “One more sip,” I said, leaning to his ear and speaking quiet and low. “You need every last drop.”

  He gagged down the rest. A few moments later, the last of his seizing stopped.

  I fell back on my knees and inhaled a shaky breath. Around us, the coherent soldiers among the sick helplessly watched their comrade. Eleven men were in here. They stared with wide and feeble eyes. Perhaps they felt grief for their comrade or shock at his seizure or fear that death might also be coming for them. Whatever their emotions, I could only guess. Had I felt them, I would have been able to help each of them better. Know what they needed. Bridge a connection to their auras and give them hope. I would be able to do something—something more than feel utterly useless and incapable.

  I swallowed a sting of threatening tears. My power will return. It has to.

  That was my mantra. I’d physically recovered from the trauma of being shot, so it could only be a matter of time before my gift for sensing aura would recover, too.

  “Let’s get him a new blanket,” Sestra Mirna said, her voice rattling on a thin breath. She seemed to have aged another year in the last hour. Exhaustion was taking its toll on all of us.

  I took another moment to compose myself, then stood and pulled off the sheet draped over the soldier. Blood spotted the cloth from his coughing. I threw it in the basket with the dirty linens, and Sestra Mirna helped me spread another blanket over him. When we finished, she smoothed a lock of gray hair off her brow. “You should leave now. You’ve been in here all last night and most of today.”

  “As have you. I’ll rest after you do.”

  She shook her head. “The soldiers are stable for the time being. I’ll lie down on a spare cot. Go wash up and put something in your belly. Make sure Nadia hasn’t scared off the new girl while you’re at it.”

  I shifted on my feet. While I wanted to see Tosya, I wasn’t anxious to face Genevie again. Or to feel even more hollow inside. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, rubbing the base of her throat with one hand and making a shooing motion with the other.

  She must be thirsty. I poured a cup of water and handed it to her. “What are we going to do about the bounty hunter?”

  “I’ll speak to the lieutenant.” The sestra took a sip and glanced across the tent to the middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper mustache. He lay fitfully sleeping. When he’d taken ill, the soldiers who were well—only eight men—had slacked off even more. Although Anton had left over fifty soldiers to guard the convent, Feliks, who had become the major general of Free Riaznin since the onset of the civil war, ordered thirty back to Torchev two months ago. “We’ll make sure guards stand watch at the gate at all times and keep a patrol around the grounds. The bounty hunter should stay away, but if he doesn’t, Genevie will be able to warn us.”

  How I wished I could have, too. I had no ability to protect anyone here.

  I walked to a basin of fresh water and scrubbed my hands with tallow soap. Its mutton fat lathered without any burning from the slaughtered sheep’s lingering aura. My hands felt numb without that sting of death.

  A cot creaked as Sestra Mirna sat down. A hanging lantern shone over her. Even under its warmth, her skin looked pale. I couldn’t tell whether from weariness or concern. I hoped she’d rest like she said she would. “Did the courier ever come by?” she asked. “We should have received another letter by now. How long has it been since—?”

  “Nineteen days.” A tremor ran through the length of my fingers.

  After a spell of hesitation, Sestra Mirna said, “Sonya?”

  “Yes?” I noted the protective way she folded her arms across her waist. Even though the courier never brought letters from Anton, she knew I clung to my foolish hope. It was just as futile as our attempts to locate Dasha. Who knew where Valko had taken his little sister and what things he was manipulating her to do with her power?

  “Be careful with your heart, child.” Sestra Mirna’s eyes tightened gently, the way they did when her scolding softened to an affectionate reprimanding. It was a look she’d often given to Dasha and Kira, back when the little girls lived here and were safe. “This civil war could last for years. Driving out the Shenglin could take longer. Anton is governor of the largest city in Riaznin. Don’t expect what he can’t give.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE MOON CAST THE CONVENT’S WHITEWASHED WALLS IN wolf gray. I quickened my steps away from the hospital tent, glancing over my shoulder at every small noise. The bounty hun
ter could be near, and I’d have no warning. I reached the door, wiped my shoes on a bristled mat, and hurried inside.

  Nadia’s and Genevie’s voices wafted down the stone corridors, along with the clang of pots and clink of dishes. They must be preparing a late dinner in the kitchen. I moved in that direction when a shadow stirred on my left. I startled, instinctively feeling out for an aura, only to be met by my frustrating inability.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim light of one candle and focused on a pair of long legs in patched-up trousers near the bottom of the narrow staircase. “Tosya?” I came nearer, touching the banister.

  He sat on the lower steps, his sleeves rolled up, his elbows on his knees as he picked dirt from his fingernails. “Oh, hello,” he said. The wood beneath him creaked as he looked up at me.

  “What are you doing over there?”

  “Just waiting for my best friend.” He winked, though his smile was delayed.

  “Anton is your best friend.”

  “That’s debatable. He’s not as pretty.”

  I couldn’t laugh, not with the thought of Anton pinching my breath. I sat down beside Tosya. “Have you seen him?” I asked, twisting my fingers in my lap.

  “We parted ways a few weeks ago so I could join the Romska Greater Council.” The nomadic tribes convened annually, and this year’s meeting place was near Ormina. “Motshan sent me with herbs to help you treat the consumption.”

  “He knew we had an outbreak?”

  “He keeps a closer eye on you than you think.”

  Warmth flooded my limbs at the thought of the Romska chief and my distant blood tie to the tribes. “I didn’t know Motshan kept any kind of watch on me,” I confessed. The idea of nomads lurking about the woods wasn’t bothersome—being remembered felt nice—I was only disappointed I hadn’t sensed their presence myself. “What did the elders decide during the Council?” I asked. “Will they allow a tribesman to represent them on the Duma?”

  Tosya preened, straightening his vest. “You’re looking at the first Romska governor.”

  “They elected you?” My mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Tosya, that’s wonderful!”

  “It’s not official yet. Anton still needs to gain the approval of the Duma.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Anton had been pressing the issue with the other governors on the ruling council of Riaznin since last spring. “So is Anton in Torchev?”

  “Last I heard, yes.”

  My stomach fluttered. “He . . . didn’t give you a letter for me, did he?”

  “You know he can’t write you any letters.” Tosya bumped my knee with his.

  “I know.” My shoulders wilted.

  “Letters can be intercepted, and if the emperor found out you were alive—”

  “Former emperor,” I corrected. I’d never call Valko my sovereign again. The brief thought of him surfaced the dregs of his aura, though they were only memory. His hatred, sorrow, obsession, and fear—echoes of what I’d felt in the moment he’d shot me—still rattled inside the drum of my chest. I hated to think of Dasha with Valko now, exposed to his poisonous emotions.

  “Doesn’t feel so former anymore,” Tosya muttered.

  At his resentful tone, my insides folded. I never felt this distraught around my oldest friend. Tosya was my escape from the harshness of the world. He made me smile and relax and forget my worries. But I could no longer feel his easing energy, and, for the first time, that made Tosya seem like a stranger. “I miss your aura,” I murmured, my throat aching, my words more for myself than for him. I didn’t realize my slip until he drew back to study my eyes. Could he see how empty I was inside?

  “What do you mean?” he asked, the long planes of his face stretching as he lifted his brows.

  I shook my head and stood to leave, but he caught my hand. Reluctantly, I turned to him, but I couldn’t make myself admit to my lost gift.

  “She’s like me now,” Nadia interjected. We spun around to find her a few feet away, at the entrance of the corridor leading to the kitchen. She lifted her chin.

  Shame burned my cheeks and stung my eyes. Accept your fate, Nadia had told me just yesterday. You’re broken, just like you broke me.

  “You’ve lost your power?” Tosya asked, breathless. I fidgeted under the pressure of his unblinking gaze, desperate to escape the weight of what I couldn’t feel from him, whether it was overwhelming pity or staggering repulsion.

  I couldn’t answer. I felt like a moth caught in a jar under Tosya’s scrutiny, his emotions out of reach on the other side of the glass.

  “Is dinner ready?” I asked Nadia abruptly. When she nodded, I managed a smile that opposed Tosya’s downturned mouth. “Wonderful. Shall we?”

  “But—? Are you—?” He made vague gestures at me. “Will you be—?”

  “All right?” I supplied. “Of course. My gift will return soon enough.”

  “Yes, just like mine has.” Nadia snapped her fingers. “Poof! So simple.” Tosya narrowed his eyes at her, and her smirk fell.

  “I’ll wait for you in the kitchen, Sonya,” he said, brushing past Nadia as he advanced down the corridor.

  She lowered her head and rubbed a stain on her apron. “He hasn’t forgiven me,” she said once he was out of earshot. “He’s been hiding in this foyer for over an hour, no doubt waiting for you. Genevie sensed him enter.”

  Without knowing if Nadia was hurt or jealous or confused, I was at a loss for how to comfort her, or even if I would have done so despite the constant barbs between us. “Apologies go a long way,” I said, walking past her. “Maybe you could start by telling him you’re sorry.”

  “You should teach me how,” she murmured. I paused to look at her face, dim in the corridor. Her expression was unreadable. “You’ve had to beg forgiveness for so many things.”

  Her voice came quietly, only cutting with a dull knife rather than her usual sharp steel. I couldn’t tell whether she was mocking me or sincerely pleading for my help, so I walked on.

  In the kitchen, I found Tosya sitting at the table. He awkwardly sipped at his soup while Genevie stood in the farthest corner, wiping already clean bowls with a dish towel.

  I crossed the kitchen, and she shrank back, pressing herself against the slab. When I halted, she released a shaky exhale. “Pardonne-moi,” she said. “I cannot feel your aura—yours or the other girl’s. I am still taken by surprise.”

  “That’s all right.” I offered a smile, trying not to feel like the aberration I was, and started stacking the bowls she’d pretended to dry. “Have you eaten yet?”

  She reached for a tumbler of water with trembling hands. “I am only thirsty.”

  It took me a moment to understand why. “You sense the sick soldiers?” When she nodded, jealousy scalded the lining of my stomach. Ridiculous, but I couldn’t rationalize it away. I would have taken upon myself the infirmities of those scores of men just to feel any aura again.

  “They need so much water.” Genevie rubbed her throat. “Nothing satiates them.”

  “I know.” But not like she does. “They’ll be sick for weeks. You should eat. All I found in your knapsack was a few berries.”

  She nodded, but her gaze drifted to Tosya.

  “He won’t do you any harm. We grew up together. I trust him with my life.”

  Genevie swallowed and slowly unhitched herself from the wooden slab where she’d been working. We ladled soup from the pot hanging over the hearth, and then sat at the table across from Tosya. He passed Genevie the black bread with a nonchalant smile and minimal eye contact, which seemed just the right balance between kindness and disinterest. Her shoulders relaxed. I gave Tosya’s foot a little nudge of thanks, and the side of his mouth lifted.

  As I took my first taste of soup, I didn’t cringe from the ham hock flavoring the broth. The auras from slaughtered animals no longer plagued me. Still, my throat constricted, and I offered a silent prayer to Morva, acknowledging the beast’s death. “How did you escape Floquart de B
onpré?” I asked Genevie, searching for something to talk about.

  She blanched and gave a small laugh. “How did you escape Emperor Valko?” she countered.

  Fair enough. If I was going to bring up her past abuser in our first real conversation together, she had every right to bring up mine. “I convinced him to relinquish his throne and left Torchev before he declared it was his again.”

  Tosya snorted, choking on his drink. “It wasn’t that simple, but I do like your version, Sonya.”

  Genevie glanced between us, and though we didn’t elaborate, she must have sensed the marrow of my history with Valko. She couldn’t feel my shame for briefly being infatuated with the emperor before he turned vicious, my hatred because he’d killed my friend Pia and later shot me, my regret for never defeating him—at least not in any sustainable way—and my infuriation because, without my power, I couldn’t. But Tosya knew me and my story well; his emotions would at least echo a dim recollection of what I’d endured.

  Genevie swallowed a small bite of bread. “I was never bound to Floquart with chains,” she explained, finally answering my question. “But he owned me, according to Esten law. He had bought me when I was fifteen. He made me feel worse than his property. I felt . . . épouvantable.” Her eyes roamed the kitchen as she searched for a word we’d understand. “Tarnished. Worthless. I never dared to leave him, not until after we visited the palace in Torchev. On the night of the ball, I felt your pain, Sonya, when the emperor hurt you. It was so like my own each time Floquart . . .”

  Her lips quivered. She mashed them together and picked at the end of her fraying sleeve. Even without sensing her aura, I understood a small part of what she’d suffered. Still, I’d only been Valko’s servant for four months, not four years, if I’d guessed Genevie’s age correctly.

  “I finally gained the courage to run away,” she continued. “I planned my escape for months after I returned to Estengarde. Until the bounty hunter found me, I believed I was free.”