The Ruin of Snow

by Lacy Sheridan

  Time to play the part. Mother had taught me to be an excellent actress. I crouched to their level, smiling. “Hello. My name is Neyva. What are yours?”

  “Robin,” the little boy piped up from behind her. “And that’s Penelope.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “She’s mean, don’t make her mad.”

  Penelope hit his arm and he yelped. “I’m not! You’re a rat.”

  “I’ll tell Mama!”

  “Oh, neither of you need to be like that,” I said. “I need your help. Will you help me?”

  “Help you with what?” Penelope asked, eyeing me.

  “I need to find someone. Did either of you know a girl named Dariah?”

  Both shifted. Robin’s eyes widened but Penelope cut him off with a look. “Something bad happened to Dariah,” she said. “She isn’t here anymore.”

  “She’s with the Lady,” Robin added. “That’s what Mama said.”

  “I know, and learning that made me very sad. I’m looking for her mama. Do you know where she is?”

  “What do you want with Morgana, girl?” I snapped my head up to the woman standing in the doorway, arms full with a woven basket of cloth. “She’s been through enough without having strangers at her door.”

  I straightened, smoothing my skirt. I knew I was far from fresh and clean, but I prayed I didn’t look too terribly worn through. At least like someone respectable enough not to be a danger. “I need to speak with her.”

  “About?”

  “That’s business between us.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “The last time strangers showed up here asking questions some not very nice things happened.”

  My chest twisted. “I know. I’m here to help, I promise you.”

  She pursed her lips, torn, but nodded down the street. “Four houses around the corner. There’s a garden out front. And girl,” she added, “you’d do well not to talk to children in this place. It might land you into trouble.”

  “I’m already in trouble,” I said with a smile. “I just want to keep that trouble from hurting anybody else.”

  I moved on. Around the corner. Four houses. She was right; there was a little patch of frosty earth, cleared of snow, with the stiff stalks of winter vegetables. I was careful not to tread on them as I made my way up the little walk. I didn’t let myself hesitate, though my fingers wanted to shake. I curled them into fists and stepped to the slanted front door. Thin, old wood with a few scars around the edges, fitted not quite perfectly into the stone around it. I pounded on it and the sound echoed through the air.

  A quick, light pattering of footsteps from the other side, and it popped open partway. Enough to reveal a young woman’s face—hardly older than I was. Twenty-two, perhaps, twenty-three. When she saw me, she unlatched the chain and pulled the door open, brow furrowed.

  She was pretty. Round cheeks and thistledown hair tumbling around her shoulders. A plain, simple dress. Eyes as black as a starless night sky. They sent a chill sweeping through me, but I fought it and met them.

  “Are you Morgana?”

  “Yes. Can I help you?” she asked, but I knew the taste rising on my tongue. Magic feeling me out, probing for who I was and why I was here. Whether or not I was a danger. The slightest widening of her eyes told me what she’d found.

  “My name is Neyva Morningspell,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “I need to speak with you about a blood curse.”

  She glanced one way and then the other, then ushered me inside. “You’ve lost your mind, speaking like that where anybody could hear you,” she hissed as she slammed the door behind me.

  I faced her, folding my arms. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I told you, I need to speak with you about a blood curse. The curse you cast after the death of your daughter.”

  She flinched the slightest amount, but otherwise showed no sign of emotion at the comment. She lifted her chin a fraction. “I don’t know what you mean about a blood curse, but I know who sent you. I know what you are to one of them—the barbarian, of all of them,” she added in disgust. “If you know as much as you pretend you do, they deserve every second of that curse.”

  I took a step toward her. She had the courage to hold her ground, though a part of her confidence wilted. She was facing a Morningspell, and we both knew what that meant. Whether or not I sided with my family on any matter, I was twice the witch she’d ever be. “I know what happened,” I said. “I know it was a terrible thing done to you and your daughter. I know you mourn her loss deeply, even today. I know no child deserves to die for having magic in their blood. But I also know that those are good people who made a mistake. I know the suffering you’ve caused them, and I know they’ve served their punishment. Taking their humanity is one thing. That is another.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  My magic tensed, fury lancing through it. Through me. Kye doubled over, tensed in pain, flashed through my mind and colored my vision red. I took another step. She stumbled back. “There’s a blood curse on them,” I growled. “A vicious one ready to kill. One brought on by your daughter’s death. And unless you mean to tell me another witch had incentive to do that—”

  “A blood curse?” Her eyes darkened and then she blinked. “I didn’t cast a blood curse. But whoever did, I’ll thank them for the rest of my days, and I wouldn’t lift any curse from them if you put another on me,” she spat.

  Whoever did.

  That wasn’t possible. I was tempted to search her for the lie, but I didn’t. Not yet. Get her out of here, away from prying eyes and listening ears, to where we could do business like the witches we were, then I could deal with finding the truth. For now there was no room for anger, only logic and negotiation. “I don’t need you to lift it.” She shifted her weight. No more time for thinking through my plan; whether it was sound or not I needed to start. “I can break it myself. I need you to put one on me.”

  There was silence and then she blinked and looked me over again. “I—what?”

  “A temporary one, of course. A false one true enough to fool my family.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was steady. “I need you to curse me, well enough for my mother and sister to believe it for a night. Then I need you to help me kill them.”

  “Do you believe I’m stupid enough to try to kill a Morningspell?”

  The exact response I’d expected, and the one I’d prepared for. “Well, that is your choice,” I replied, lifting one shoulder and starting for the door. “Though you should know that I’m not above sending some revenge of my own on my friends’ behalves. We aren’t trained to play nicely in Acalta.”

  I made it two steps when she spoke, hovering in the doorway. My palms itched with sweat. “Wait! Come in, please.” I turned and quirked one brow, waiting. “I’ll unbind them. And help you.”

  “I thought you might.” I added in a low snarl as I passed her, rage pounding in my veins, “And do remember, if you ever consider calling the friend of a Morningspell a barbarian again, I won’t bother with curses. I’ll rip your throat out where you stand.”

  Her face paled and she nodded, then mumbled something about making us tea so we could speak.

  Twenty-Eight

  It took hours to convince Morgana to leave with me. Hours of negotiation and bargaining, tossing offers back and forth. She may have looked soft enough to be squished flat beneath my boot, but she was a witch through and through, and the longer I spoke to her the more I saw it. Minute by minute it became clear in the set of her brows, the cool tone she slipped into. She was a country witch, far from knowing the grace and cunning Acalta had required of me, but a witch. And to survive all her life in a village so small, she was worth something.

  So was her magic. I could feel it the longer I prodded at her. It was strong and wild, like mine. And that was dangerous. It meant
it was as unpredictable, and as mine was, I'd never dare cast a real curse. There were too many variables, too many things that could go horribly, fatally wrong.

  Options, I reminded myself as I stood in the cold morning beside her.

  Neither of us spoke. Aside from what had been necessary to get us to this point, agreed on our shaky deal, we hadn't spoken a word. No getting to know each other. No bonding. This was business—strict, ugly business neither of us wanted a part of, but that we had to do. I needed her, and she couldn't decline what I'd offered. I tried not to let the silence remind me of what I needed her for. It was insane to ask to be cursed. It was deadly. But with Tulia dead, my mother had to be growing desperate. I'd proven myself better than her, and the one piece she had left was Sarafine. I needed every advantage I could get to win, if it was possible. Morgana was the biggest advantage there was. This curse was. Even if it killed me.

  If it did, at least I would die on my terms and not theirs. At least Kye and the others would be free.

  “You're not a very talkative companion, are you?” Morgana asked after an hour of walking. She'd been shocked to find that I had no gilded carriage waiting, but hadn't done more than make a displeased face.

  “No,” I replied.

  “I thought Morningspells were trained in the art of conversation.”

  “We are. This isn't a time where it's required.”

  Silence but for the crunch of our footsteps and the pounding of my heart. She said, “They killed my daughter.”

  My spine stiffened, but I compelled the tension from my voice. Cool and controlled, the noble I'd once been. “I know.”

  “And yet you're...friends with them?” Friends and more. I nodded. “Why?”

  I stopped myself from sighing. “This isn't the time for debating morality or the nature of friendship, Morgana.” I had too many other things to think about. I didn't know what we would be walking back to. What if their time had run out since I'd left? What if the blood curse had struck again and I hadn't been there to stop it? What if there was nothing and nobody left?

  I suppressed a shudder and analyzed Morgana. She may have been older than me, but she looked young and fragile. Like a pretty portrait. Not threatening at all, yet I knew what lurked beneath her skin. “You're a witch,” I said. “You understand as well as I do that nothing and nobody is entirely good or bad. The world is nothing but shades of gray. To believe differently is...childish.”

  She winced. “They're thieves and liars and murderers. Your...” She stopped herself.

  “Kye,” I supplied when she remained quiet. “Their name is Kye.”

  “Your Kye is from the North. Surely you know what it's like there.”

  “They've told me plenty, yes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like things that aren't mine to spread.”

  Before she could respond, the rattle of a cart’s wheels came, and we both twisted to look down the road behind us. A tiny little thing pulled by a lone, thin horse. Rough bags were piled in the end, a ruddy-faced man driving who eyed us as he slowed to a stop. Half of me was tempted to keep walking, to ignore him. I didn't like the set of his shoulders. The other remembered Kye braced against the wall, face drained of color, eyes glazed with pain. Tamsin's panicked growling and scrabbling when he couldn't shift. Tulia's merciless eyes. I plastered a smile onto my face as the horse halted.

  “What are two girls like you doing out here?” the man asked in a voice like sharp rocks. Morgana's eyes narrowed, but I put a hand on her arm. Like old friends.

  “We're on our way to Acalta,” I said sweetly. “Such opportunity there, we've heard. For girls like us.”

  His gaze bounced between us and his smile widened. My stomach churned at the look in his eyes, but I'd seen it plenty in the noble squares. Dress a young woman up in silk and jewels and half the men in the world would struggle to keep their thoughts off their faces. Put two of them in front of him and he'd be powerless—or dangerous.

  It was a good thing we were both twice as fatal as he could ever hope to be. I caught Morgana's sidelong glance from the corner of my eye, the barest hint of a smile curling her lips.

  The man straightened his dirty shirt. “You two are in luck. I'm headed right there. I could give you a ride.”

  “Oh, we couldn't possibly—” I started, waving one hand, but he laughed.

  “No, no, I insist. You never know what might happen walking alone out here. Especially when night falls.”

  Morgana tucked a stray hair behind her ear and his eyes followed the movement. “You're very kind, sir, but we couldn't impose.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He leaned toward us, holding one hand out. I made a show of looking to Morgana, who tilted her head, as if judging the risk, before I took his hand. It was sweaty despite the cold. He pulled me onto the seat beside him, smiling, and I put on the pretty little one I’d reserved for the wealthy young noblemen I’d needed to charm in Acalta. I prayed—prayed to the Lady and to every one of her gods that might be listening—that there weren’t drawings of my face plastered all over the country asking for my safe return, because if he recognized me, I was going to have to make one more kill I didn’t want. I couldn’t have anybody spreading that the missing Neyva Morningspell had been spotted by the side of the road with some village girl. Not when my mother would seek out every witch in the northern half of Selliira if she suspected I was allying with one.

  Morgana settled into place behind the bench, and he snapped the reins to send the horse into a trot. It wasn’t a smooth ride, but it was faster than walking, and for that I had to be grateful.

  “My name is Serril,” he said, and twisted to look at Morgana and me.

  “Iona,” she replied.

  His attention moved to me and I answered with the first name that popped into my head. “Penelope.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Are you sisters?”

  As if anybody who had seen us standing side-by-side would believe that; Morgana’s skin was darker than mine, a warm golden shade versus my ivory-fair one, and her curls tighter and paler, her face round and innocent where I’d inherited my mother’s severe features. “Just friends,” Morgana said before I could answer, and he nodded in understanding.

  “Close friends, to run off to the city together,” he commented. He held the reins steady with one hand and the other found my knee. I swallowed the urge to yank away and let my disgust feed my magic instead. It stretched and crawled its way to attention.

  “Very close,” I lied.

  Morgana shifted closer. “We have some very special things in common.”

  “What are those?” he asked, turning to look at her again. His hand stayed planted on my knee.

  She lowered her voice, watching him from beneath long lashes. “We need a horse, and we’re not interested.”

  He frowned, a furrow of confusion cementing itself between his brows, and then her magic struck. A gust of wind rattled the cart and made the horse falter, its ears swiveling. My own reacted, like it was itching to jump in and join, but I reigned it in for now, watching Morgana instead. Judging what she could do. Serril looked at us, eyes widened as he met Morgana's charcoal gaze and understanding took root.

  "You're witches," he breathed. I gave him a sweet smile. “I—I’ll call the guards—" He cut off as the wind wrapped around him like an unseen gag.

  “I'm afraid you won't, dear,” Morgana said, patting his shoulder. “Or at least not for us. How's your glamour work?” she asked me.

  I snorted. “Child's play.”

  “I suppose an education in the noble squares included only the finest of magic tutors,” she rolled her eyes, standing and pulling Serril by the arm. He stumbled and tripped out of the cart, eyes flicking between the two of us.

  I followed. “No tutor was good enough for Mother.”

  I saw the beginnings of a shiver that swept through her, but she said nothing, just pushed Serril against a tree off the side of the road. “Now, d
ear, I believe you'll think twice about leering at pretty girls on their own from now on, won't you?” she asked him, her voice like honey. He nodded frantically. “Good. Don't let him forget that little lesson, Penelope.”

  I slid a vial from my pack, a cheap, cloudy glass thing we'd brought from Morgana's supplies along with what we'd need to make my plan work. A few drops of the liquid inside—a mixture that lent itself easily to glamours she retained a store of——splashed onto the man's sweaty forehead, and he winced with each one like they burned. The magic was cool and familiar, pliable and simple, as I crouched in front of him and met his eyes. “You ran across some thieves, didn't you?” I asked him. His wide eyes were dazed and his nod slow. I could see the image forming: a band of dirty, desperate men come for his coin and horse, brandishing blades. “You surrendered rather than risk your life—the wise choice, of course, wasn't it?” Another nod, his eyes clearing. “Someone will be along soon and find you, I'm sure. You'll be alright.”

  Morgana whipped a cloth from her own bag and bound his hands, then replaced the rope of taut air with another cloth and slipped a pouch of coins from his pocket. He didn't fight, just stared, half caught in the glamour settling over his memories. Once we were gone, it would solidify itself and give him a reasonable story. I didn't want to hurt a stranger, and I didn't have time to bother anyway. But the feeling of his hand on me made my skin squirm, so I didn't protest.

  When he looked for all the world like a man robbed on the perilous road to the city, I loosened the reins of the horse and we cut into the forest with the cart. Out of sight for as much of our journey as possible. Every second I spent in the open made the odds of being found better, and I didn't want to spare the magic for an extended glamour over myself. Not when I was going to need every scrap of it in me to survive.

  “How do you control it so easily?” I asked, surprising myself. My magic would never have stayed in place so long. Anything but sudden, violent bursts seemed to make it rage.