Frozen Reign

by Kathryn Purdie

  She grinned and tugged on the coat of the tall person standing behind her. “You see, Tosya?” she said. “I told you I sensed Sonya’s aura.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AS THE ESTEN ROMSKA LED US TO THEIR SETTLEMENT, TOSYA explained how they’d found our regiment. He’d told the nomads we’d be returning soon, so they had been watching for us. Two tribesmen had seen our tracks in the snow, but the blizzard blew away most of the evidence. When Kira found out, she’d insisted on helping the rescue party find us by searching for our auras.

  “I wish you could have seen her,” Tosya said. Fat snowflakes fell between us as he placed his fisted hands on his hips. “I’m the only one who can sense the soldiers!” he squeaked in a voice pitched three times higher than Kira’s. “I’m coming!”

  I winced. “What a terrible impression.” I looked down at Kira, where she walked beside me. “If I were you, I’d be deeply offended.”

  She giggled. “I liked it.”

  “Why, thank you.” Tosya preened and flourished a bow for her. “Would you like to hear my impression of Sonya?” Kira nodded and clapped, already applauding him. I braced myself as Tosya cleared his throat. After a dramatic pause, he tossed his head back and threw his arms wide. “I have aura!” he exclaimed in a breathy voice and twirled around twice. “I have feelings that pulse feelings!”

  I made a valiant effort to scowl at him, but when he started leaping through the snow like a drunken ballerina, I snorted despite myself. “You’re the cruelest of friends.”

  He chuckled. “I’m just trying to keep you warm. Laughter is better than a campfire, I always say.”

  I rolled my eyes and blew on my frigid hands. “I’ll take the campfire, thanks.”

  He clomped back to me and mussed my hair like we were children again. “I really am happy for you, you know. I didn’t believe Kira at first.”

  “I sensed your aura before anyone else’s,” she added, a skip in her step.

  “We were within a hundred yards of the ravine,” Tosya continued, “but we couldn’t see it past the blizzard. Without Kira, we never would have gone in that direction.”

  I grinned and kissed the top of the girl’s head. “I’m very grateful to you.”

  She tucked her mittened hand inside mine. “And I’m happy you feel like you again.”

  We came to another ravine, even narrower than the one we’d been camping in. My breath frosted on the air as I told Tosya all that had happened in King Léopold’s castle, ending with Floquart’s death, Genevie’s arrest, the Esten Auraseers’ banishment, as well as Anton’s decision to forge a marriage-based alliance with Estengarde.

  “But you never talked with him before you left?” Tosya asked. “Even if Anton was despondent, it’s out of character for him to not say good-bye. What if he’s being detained against his will?”

  I shrugged away the suggestion, also trying to dismiss the ever-present ache in my chest. “Anton came to Estengarde for an alliance. He chose to stay behind to see its terms through.” He chose to marry Delphine. “I’m sure he’ll explain more when we meet him in Torchev.” At least to Tosya he would. I didn’t know how I’d manage to be near Anton and his new bride without my heart breaking. “He’s bound to travel there in haste with Estengarde’s army.” And face Valko. And probably die if my power remained dormant. I shivered with a bone-deep coldness, a fear I couldn’t shake.

  The ravine opened to a network of caves, one designated as a stable for the horses. As some of the Romska tended to them, we walked onward through a wending tunnel until it reached a vast cavern. Snow sprinkled through a few open spaces in the ceiling and shimmered in beams of wintry light. Other holes pocked the far wall and served as natural windows. Campfires flickered in the more ventilated areas, wafting only the faintest smoke.

  A tall woman with wise, hooded eyes and bow-shaped lips came to meet us. Thick braids dangled to her waist, and fine wrinkles branched from the corners of her eyes. I recognized her as Ula, the chieftain of the mountain tribes. We’d never met, but Motshan, who was chieftain over Tosya’s tribe, had told me stories about his cousin.

  Ula was a fierce nomad who had saved her people from slaughter a few years ago when King Léopold turned a blind eye to anyone who decided to kill the Romska in Estengarde—a necessary measure, some claimed, to thin out their growing numbers. While other Esten tribes perished, Ula’s tribe found places to hide and thrive in the Bayacs. She was revered like a queen among the Romska.

  I dipped into a bow, and Ula removed one of her many beaded necklaces, placing it over my head. “Tosya tells me you are our kin, an Auraseer, rare and blessed among your kind.”

  I nodded humbly, knowing the tribespeople believed powerful Auraseers descended from the Romska. Dasha was evidence of that truth. While the dowager empress was Dasha’s mother, Motshan, not Emperor Izia, was her father.

  “Then I welcome you and your company to take rest here from your journey.”

  I sat between Tosya and Kira that evening as we warmed ourselves by the glorious heat of a campfire. “I think it began when she taught the children to play Bear in the Cave,” Tosya said, telling me how Kira had won over the hearts of the tribespeople these past few weeks. “Then she started asking the grown-ups to take turns being the bear. I was the first bear—and the best bear.” He bared his teeth and swiped clawed fingers at her.

  Kira laughed and knocked his hand away. “You had the best growl, but you weren’t very fast. It took you forever to tag us.”

  As they chatted merrily, my attention wavered to where some of the Esten Auraseers were sitting at another campfire, twenty feet away. With their bellies full, clothes dry, and bodies warm, every girl and woman seemed to be in a congenial mood. Some rested their heads on one another’s shoulders. Others combed knots from their friends’ hair. I kneaded the folds of my skirt, desperate to feel what they did, that deeper kinship, the way Auraseers’ auras reverberated in and out of one another in synchronized energy.

  “I think we can agree that Enzo was the worst bear,” Tosya went on. “Remember when his—”

  “Why do they make you so sad?” Kira asked me, cutting Tosya off.

  My cheeks warmed, and I glanced away from the other Auraseers. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just miss sensing aura. It’s hard that all of you can feel it except me.”

  “Or me.” Tosya raised a finger. “I haven’t sprouted any aura feelers in your absence.”

  I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful shove. He chuckled, drawing an arm around me. “Tell me again about what happened with this Madame Perle.”

  I took a deep breath and described the memories she’d helped me recall.

  “And you think they were the catalyst for your aura to start emitting?”

  “Well, it didn’t happen right away, or else Genevie would have told me.” My throat tightened at the mention of her name. I prayed she hadn’t been executed already. “But I don’t know what else would have sparked the change in me.”

  “All right, let’s analyze the memories, then. If we can figure out how they helped you, maybe we can nudge you along in that direction and your abilities will wake up.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I’m interested in the part when the voices of your mother and Sestra Mirna blended and their faces interchanged. What do you make of that?”

  I thought back to the biggest revelation I’d had since meeting with Madame Perle. “My mother and Sestra Mirna loved me. I hadn’t really known that when each of them was alive.”

  Tosya nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else they have in common?”

  The three of us fell into silent contemplation as we gazed into the popping embers. Then Kira sat up taller. “They’re both mothers. Well, kind of.” She tucked her chestnut hair behind her protruding ears. “Sestra Mirna was a better mother than mine, anyway.”

  Tosya wagged his finger at her. “Have I told you what a brilliant girl you are?” She smiled and ducked her head. “I think Kira has nailed why your two
memories wove together, Sonya. You’ve lost other people in your life, but your mother and Sestra Mirna were both mother figures to you. Their deaths must have left a deeper print—something you haven’t been able to cope with yet.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked. I’d never sustained any false hope that my mother was still alive, and Sestra Mirna had died before my very eyes.

  “Well, you blocked the last memory of your mother for over eleven years, so it stands to reason that you haven’t emotionally come to terms with the loss of her.”

  My brows wrinkled. Of course I hadn’t come to terms with it. Any child of a dead parent might say the same. “I’m not sure I’m following your epiphany.”

  Tosya patted my knee. “You never properly grieved for your mother, Sonya.”

  I blinked at him. He was right. My mother had died while I’d lived with the Riaznian Romska. When the authorities had discovered my parents hid their Auraseer child from the empire, they were both executed. “I was told she and my father were buried in Bovallen, but I never got to see their graves. The caravans I traveled with didn’t journey that far.”

  “You mean you never got to go to your mother’s funeral?” Kira asked. I nodded sadly. Her eyes shimmered and she rested her head against my arm. “I didn’t get to go to Sestra Mirna’s funeral, either.”

  Tosya scratched his chin. “Perhaps there’s something else you can do to honor your mother’s memory. Sestra Mirna’s, too, since she’s tangled up in all of this.”

  “But we gave Sestra Mirna her burial rites before we left for Estengarde,” I replied.

  “You and Nadia prepared her body and prayed to Feya for her soul, but you never shared any stories about her or gave any sort of tribute to her life. And you haven’t spoken of her much since then—at least when I’ve been around.”

  As I considered him, my gaze idly strayed to one of the openings in the ceiling. A steady stream of snow sifted inside from the raging blizzard. It wouldn’t be letting up any time soon, which meant we could spare a little time to give my mother and Sestra Mirna the memorials they deserved.

  I turned to Kira and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you think Sestra Mirna would have liked us to pay a special tribute to her?”

  She thought about it for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “If Sestra Mirna were here, she’d be mad and embarrassed. She’d tell us to stop. But I think she’d also secretly like it. I’d feel her aura smiling inside.”

  “Would you like to help me?”

  Her grin revealed the little gap between her front teeth. “Yes.”

  The next morning, the Romska wore white to honor the dead and also dressed me and Kira in that color of purity and protection. Many of them wanted to attend the memorial, so Ula let us use the main cavern. There weren’t enough white clothes to share for the Esten Auraseers, who also desired to take part in our mourning, so the Romska lent them white beads and scarves.

  Kira and I painted Mirna Sorokina and Alena Petrova on large stones to stand in place of our loved ones’ graves. I set smaller rocks by my mother’s to represent my father and brother, whom I still didn’t remember, but also wanted to acknowledge.

  We spoke little during our preparations, but never separated in the hours leading up to the memorial. The peace I felt around Kira was an almost like aura, a nearly palpable comfort. I hoped she felt some of my strength in return. All my energy focused on holding my emotions together so I wouldn’t fall apart. Though maybe the point of this day was to let myself fall apart. To break the shell around the wounded child in me. To properly grieve, as Tosya had said.

  Kira didn’t wish to be the first to speak, so at midday I stood in front of the gathered people. I brushed my thumb against the sprigs of two holly berry bouquets in my hands and tried to find words to express what Sestra Mirna and my mother meant to me. Tosya gave me a nod of encouragement, and I inhaled a deep breath.

  “I knew Sestra Mirna for only a year before she passed away,” I began, “but in that time I witnessed her fierce dedication to the Auraseers at the convent in Ormina. Each woman and girl was precious to her.”

  My gaze fell to my wrist, where I’d worn a black ribbon of mourning after the Auraseers had died in the convent fire. “For a long time I was sure Sestra Mirna hated me because of the poor choices I’d made. I was blinded by my own self-loathing, so I couldn’t sense the genuine concern she had for me.” I swallowed, remembering the feel of Sestra Mirna’s strong but weathered hand on my cheek. “It wasn’t until I was at the brink of death that I finally allowed myself to receive her love. Once I did, the convent became a home to me.”

  Looking up, I found several Esten Auraseers were sniffing and wiping the corners of their eyes. How strange it felt to be among so many grieving people and not feel like I was going to buckle under the weight of their emotions. I gave them each a little smile like they were helping me bear my sorrow. I hadn’t yet admitted to them that I’d lost my ability. I wanted to be the person who could still give them hope.

  “When she was younger, Sestra Mirna lost the love of her life.” My voice broke as thoughts of Anton overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes, and I was back in the secluded dining room of the convent, dancing in his arms to music of the breeze against the windowpanes. “That could have filled the sestra with bitter resentment, but she chose to channel her heartbreak into serving others.” I blew out a shaky breath and squared my shoulders. “I want to do the same.” I touched two fingers to my forehead then my heart. “Feya bless you in Paradise, Sestra Mirna.”

  I placed her bouquet of holly on her memorial stone, then looked up at Kira. Her tears fell in time with mine. She rose from where she sat on the cavern floor by Tosya and walked over to my side, her head lowered. “Can you stand by me?” she whispered. More tears slipped down her cheeks, coming faster now. I wished I could alleviate her suffering. While she was forced to feel everyone’s emotions here, I only had to contend with my own.

  “Of course.” I took her small hand. In her other one, she held another bouquet.

  Behind the Romska and Esten Auraseers, the soldiers from our regiment, who had also come to know Kira, gave her supportive smiles from the back of our gathering.

  “Sestra Mirna tucked me into bed every night,” Kira said, her tears now relentless and collecting under her chin. “She told me it was fine that I cried more than the other girls.” Her voice strained higher as she fought to keep speaking. “She didn’t throw away my favorite blanket, even when it started to fall apart. She told me I was a good girl. She said Dasha needed me . . . but I needed her, too.” Kira hiccupped and tried to breathe through her weeping.

  I brought her closer and leaned her head against my torso, my heart aching for her. This was as much a memorial to Dasha as it was for Sestra Mirna. Kira had lost them both.

  “On Feya’s Holy Day, I wanted to help Sestra Mirna bake a cake,” she continued. “I accidentally poured in salt instead of sugar. I thought she would scold me—her aura burned so hot—but when she tasted the batter, she started laughing.” Kira released the smallest giggle and wiped her nose. “We baked the cake anyway, and Sestra Mirna let me spread on the glaze. She said it would please Feya.” Kira’s trembling smile faltered with a sob. “I love you, Sestra Mirna. I miss you.”

  She wept for another moment, her face bright red. Then she let go of my hand and set her bouquet next to mine by Sestra Mirna’s memorial stone. Once she finished, she rushed over to Tosya, who took her into his lap.

  One last bouquet remained in my hand. I lingered at the front of the gathering and scrubbed tears from my cheeks. How could I follow Kira’s pure and heartfelt words? I wished I had stories to tell about my mother. I wished I had a treasure trove of memories to choose from. All I could say was everything I knew about her, even though it was little.

  “My mother was beautiful,” I said. “She had a gentle voice. She was brave, too. She could have given me to the empire the moment she learned I was an Auraseer, but instead she kept
me for as long as possible, seven years, then placed me in the care of the Riaznian Romska. Because of her sacrifice—because of her love for me—she died.” My voice quavered, and I inhaled deeply through my nose and forced myself to stand tall. “I want to make Riaznin a place where injustices like that don’t happen, where Auraseers and their families have safety and liberty and peace.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured my mother in her rocking chair. I felt the tendrils of her deep affection enshrouded by her sorrow, fear, and shame. “I’m sorry you suffered for me, Mama”—I crouched and laid down the final bouquet—“but I thank you for giving me my life.”

  Some emotion in me must have conveyed that the memorial was over, because a moment later, the Esten Auraseers rose and came to where I stood, taking turns giving me embraces. As I held each of them tightly, flickers of a new kind of grief stole inside me. All I wanted was to be a child again in my mother’s arms, to tell her I’d never forget her. I wanted to turn back time and tend Sestra Mirna back to health with the same selfless devotion she’d given me.

  I glanced at Kira a few feet away, also surrounded by loving friends. She must have also ached to be with the woman who had raised her like her own daughter—the woman she had paid such a tender tribute to today. Now Kira was motherless like I had been most of my life. Like Dasha now was, too.

  Poor Dasha. She probably didn’t even know Sestra Mirna was gone. She’d be heartbroken when she found out.

  And dangerous.

  I knew firsthand what volatile emotions could do with her level of power.

  Dasha needed constancy in her life. Someone who understood her. Unconditional love and female companionship. Valko could give her none of that. He’d only twist her mind and teach her hatred.

  As the last few Auraseers and tribes people offered their condolences, Kira smiled feebly, her gaze straying to the cavern like she was searching for someone. I felt for her so deeply I could almost sense the aura she was remembering, the other person who wasn’t here. I grieved for Dasha, too.