Breakfire's Glass

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Breakfire's Glass Page 8

by A. M. Valenza


  They ate in silence, then donned the rest of their gear and prepared themselves to resume trekking up the mountain. Katerini did not mention the new route she had planned for them, knowing he would follow behind her engrossed in his frantic spinning, nor did she mention she would go slower for his sake.

  She looked at him through the mask as she reached the entrance of the cave. His head moved up, a muffled, "Katerini?" reaching her ears as the wind howled outside. She gulped, tightening her hands into fists.

  "You—" She swallowed again. "Next time you feel ill, Nikolai, you must tell me." He nodded obediently. Her courage about to fail, glad he could not see the flush in her cheeks, she said quickly, "And as your friend, I'll say this—I think the crystals in your eyes are beautiful. You shouldn't hide them."

  She didn't wait for a reply, her black cloak whipping wildly in the frigid winds as she plunged into the snow. She felt nothing, she told herself over and over. She felt nothing because she had to. If they were to live, she had to feel nothing.

  But she did not feel nothing.

  Chapter Five

  They were close. The magic splatters were thinner, more desperate. They streaked up the side of the Svarinard's last leg in great strokes of panic. Throwing his magic out like a mad artist, Bravka would have run out quickly. Katerini knew what she would find in the area Bravka's marker had disappeared. The little glowing dot had vanished for a reason. She kept her silence, unwilling to share her thoughts with Nikolai, who struggled to keep pace with her.

  The magic he wasted on the fleece, for whatever foolish reason, was sapping his strength rapidly. She did not know from where the fleece came, but his distaffs were always full. She could no longer keep her silence on the subject. She had tried to make him stop, barely avoided a screaming match equal to that of her and Porfiry's argument, yet he continued to spin anyway, damn him. Adamantly, like his life depended on it. Which left her with a difficult choice—either she could increase their pace to try and finish the mission faster, force him to stay behind and wait for her, or siphon off her magic to him.

  She opted for the last, pouring her boiling magic discreetly onto Nikolai's tangles of power. His head snapped up, his hands completely still, the spindle swinging uselessly in the wind. He approached her, his whole body radiating with cold fury. His eyes glittered through the slits in his mask as he grabbed her chin. "No," he said coldly, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow louder than the screeching winds. "Do not."

  She blinked, unconsciously recoiling. He let go, and she was forced to increase their pace. He said nothing. She cursed him ten different ways as she plowed through the snow day after day, skinny legs aching with effort. What that foolish idiot damned bastard of a Blue Prince hoped to accomplish with all those spindles—well, if it was anything less than a miracle cure for his raging stupidity, she would strangle him with her bare hands. She could not imagine him surviving this journey with anyone else but her. No one else would have the patience. She ignored the knowledge that she was possibly the most impatient, ill-tempered person in all of Zhakieve.

  This was why she didn't have friends, she thought for the thousandth time as they toiled past a jagged peak. She had to worry about them. And Nikolai really was selfish. Her creamy blonde hair would very well be white by the time they finished. Friends. Disgusting. She should just incapacitate him and toss him in a cave until she confirmed Bravka's location. Then she wouldn't have to worry about anyone but herself. Bah.

  She sighed. He would never forgive her and—damn him!—now she cared that he would never forgive her. She felt worn thin, ragged with frustration. Only the magic splashed on the serrated rocks and peaks jutting out from the ground kept her from using her own recklessly. It was undeniably becoming harder and harder for them to find shelter. They had a tent, of course, reinforced by spells sewn in the fabric, but it was useless. The winds were fearsome, the snow more cutting ice than soft powder, and the tent offered no warmth or space for a fire. Not that she had any wood left. She had burned the last of it a few days back.

  She stopped abruptly, gaping beneath her black mask. A huge swath of magic carpeted the mountainside. Nikolai slammed into her, nearly toppling them into the snow. He hurriedly grabbed her cloak to steady them and they stood huddled together. She knew he could see the magic swath. He was a wandering Darkrow too, trained to track just as she was, though he wasn't of her caliber. Not that caliber was needed for this assignment; Bravka's trail had been achingly clear the whole journey.

  And they had just found its end.

  "Katerini," Nikolai said.

  "Yes," she replied. She was silent for a moment, Nikolai pressed against her. Like Vasiliy did to Porfiry, and she quashed the thought with a quiet snarl. "Let's turn back and report Bravka's fate to Ilya." She detached herself and started to backtrack, no small amount of relief flooding through her.

  "Wait."

  Katerini stopped. Turned around slowly. Nikolai's head was tilted back as he stared at a crevice between two jagged rocks. The summit. This close, the rocks looked like blistering black horns, the wind ripping the air so strongly no snow clung to their craggy peaks. There was a sinking feeling in her gut as she stared at Nikolai's back.

  "There is no body," Nikolai said. "We must find him. He may still be alive."

  "No," she said. "No, he is dead, Nikolai. His marker is gone, the extent of his magic is scattered like paint across the entirety of the Svarinard—" She trudged back to him and stood level with him, her hunch gone, the slits in their masks aligning. "No. He is dead. You are a Darkrow and this is not the time for weakness."

  "Then I will go alone!" he snapped. With that, he turned and began to carve a path up the mountainside towards the twin rocks. She watched him go, stunned.

  Then she was furious.

  "You blithering idiot!" she shouted, plowing after him and shoving him out of the way. He stumbled and fell into the snow. "What will I tell Ilya when I haul your lifeless corpse back with me? I cannot leave you here alone to die because that is exactly what will happen if you climb that—that insanity!" She threw up her hands and jabbed a finger at him. "If you want to brave this, you have to stop the thrice-damned spinning! On this I will not budge. And if you defy me, you will not have the strength to fight me. Unlike you, I have conserved my magic—like we originally agreed!"

  He stared at her, sprawled in the snow. She panted, trembling with anger. Then he nodded wordlessly and struggled to sit up. She grabbed him by the front of his cloak and hauled him out of the snow, snatching the spindle from his fingers. Shaking it in front of his face as a warning, she stuffed it into her cloak with a snarl. She turned and used her fury to motivate her burning legs to walk, walk, walk. She repeated the mantra in her head as she fought through the snow, the climb becoming steeper and steeper until it felt like she walked up the side of the Palace of Pale Stars. Despair pricked at her edges. Why was Nikolai so insistent? She didn't understand. The further they went, the more desperate he became, a strange frenzy chasing him across the Svarinard.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she nearly pitched onto her face, the ground leveling out beneath her feet. The summit. For a moment she stood and breathed. The masks protected them, yes, but they also made it harder to get air. Nikolai came to stand beside her and, as if she would bite him, pressed against her carefully. She let him and he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

  "Thank you," he murmured.

  She leaned against him, too exhausted to be bothered by his affection, her chin resting on his shoulder. She flicked her eyes to the side—and saw it. A strange dark blot flickering in the distance, half-obscured by snow and ice. Her gut twisted into a knot and she hunched into herself. Nikolai gave a shout, thinking she had fainted. She grabbed his chin and turned his head in the direction of the blot. He stiffened.

  Katerini knew. The second she saw the strange shape, she knew and it was horrible. The mask prevented her from seeing the expression on Nikolai's
face, but the brief droop in his shoulders was enough. He knew as well. She separated from him and tiredly began to make her way towards the blot. Her legs felt like wood. Nikolai followed behind her, then next to her when she wobbled, his hand wrapped around her arm for support. They trudged through the snow until the shape was barely a step away. Nikolai hesitated. Sighing, Katerini took a step forward and placed a heavy hand on the shoulder of Darkrow Bravka.

  He was dead.

  His whole body was curled forward, stiff and frozen in place, coated in dense frost and snow. Katerini withdrew her hand as Nikolai dropped to his knees next to Bravka, hands covering his face. With gloves and mask in place, it was a vision oddly devoid of emotion. He was crying, and he couldn't take off the mask to do it. Not unless he was willing to have the tears freeze painfully to his face. So he cried into the mask, and Katerini hurriedly grabbed him, hauling him up once again. He clung to her, his arms wrapping around her waist. She slid gloved fingers underneath his tightly fastened hood to rub his head, her other hand rubbing where she thought the nape of his neck was, until she could wait no longer. His mask would be wet inside. They had to move, to find shelter, and then they could mourn.

  She tangled their fingers together and tugged Nikolai into a halting walk, pulling until her fingers felt stretched and painful. He did not want to move, so she made him. She made them both. Bravka's face was bright in her mind, his calm expression seared into her eyes. Like he had fallen asleep, his lips creased slightly, his hands clutched together against his chest. The image followed her as she tracked all over the summit in search of shelter. There had to be something, some nook or fissure where they could squeeze themselves.

  Nikolai continued to drag behind her and Katerini wanted to scream in frustration. He stumbled and tripped over his cloak, he fell and wouldn't stand even when Katerini kicked him, and finally she shouldered his weight. Something was wrong. Nikolai certainly couldn't be so grief-stricken as to want to die? No. He had barely spoken about Bravka. So what was it? Was he buckling under the fatigue? She was too agitated to think. Gritting her teeth, her breath hot and heady in the confines of the mask, she stomped through the deep snow.

  Her thighs burned with effort. Every time she fell, it became harder to stagger up. Nikolai was a dead weight on her back. He was also very still. Worry gnawed through her bones, or was it cold? She didn't know. She didn't dare use more magic until she was sure no shelter could be found. Rocks splintered into the sky, but not a single one offered a place for them. Her lungs gulped for air the confines of her mask didn't provide. Lurching, she collapsed in the snow, chest heaving. Her vision went blurry for a moment, Nikolai's body on top of her, pressing the breath out of her overtaxed lungs. Then he shifted, sitting up. She blinked blearily, unable to move. In the foggiest parts of her mind, she wished she could yell at him.

  Nikolai stayed sitting for a moment, then he stood and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder like she was fluff. She felt threads of magic burst out from him like spider webs. Jerking into wakefulness, she kicked her legs and pummeled his back with her fists. Stupid! He was stupid! To use his magic like this, when he had already wasted so much on the way here—he'd never have enough for the return journey. She kicked and pummeled him some more. He walked like she was only a fly knocking on his body. His path was straight and sure and his threads clung to an opening hidden in a large crag.

  She ripped off her mask the second they entered the dank little cave, tumbling from Nikolai's grip. "You screaming idiot!" she shouted. "You blithering, heinous fool of a Darkrow! We are on the brink of death!"

  Nikolai sagged against the wall, tiredly pulling off his mask, which slipped from his fingers to clatter on the rocky ground. "Katerini," he sighed. Tear tracks marred his cheeks like scratches. They turned red and raw in the cold of the cave, and Katerini hurriedly stood, huddling close to him to blow hot breath on his cheeks. He closed his eyes. "Katerini," he said again. "You will not like what I am about to say."

  "I do not like you very much right now, so you might as well say it," she groused, puffing her breath.

  "A relief," he replied, and opened his eyes. This was the closest Katerini had ever been to him and she saw clearly the strangeness of his eyes. They glittered even in the dark of the cave, filled with what looked like tiny crystals. His lips pulled into a small smile as he reached up to brush her cheek with his fingers. "We must continue Bravka's journey," he said, barely above a whisper.

  Katerini blinked.

  Then she growled and pushed away from him. "What?!"

  The smile held on his face. "You are the fiercest of the Darkrow, my lovely Katerini." His head tilted, hair falling to the side as he gazed at her. The smile faded. "I cannot do this alone. Bravka was my gamble, and he failed. Perhaps I should have trusted someone else—" He shook his head. "I cannot undo my choices. This task is precious." He lowered his eyelids. "I knew Bravka. I knew he was dedicated not only to the Empire, but to Ilya. I knew he wouldn't betray me." Tears dripped down his face. "I didn't think he would die for it. He was wise and hale, an elder Darkrow. He was a wanderer too, once. I did not think he would make such—such amateur mistakes."

  Katerini was incredulous. "Nikolai. You sent Bravka here?"

  "Yes. Bravka was searching for something. I asked him to, in the letters. Now that he is dead, we must continue in his place." His eyebrows snapped together. "Do not doubt my sincerity, Katerini," he said, ice and steel in his voice. "These tears are real."

  It wasn't his sincerity she doubted. This mission had been so straightforward until a moment ago. Find Bravka and return to Zhakieva. Now she was chest deep in subterfuge—and, bah, she hated these things!—and being asked to partake in it. She sighed tiredly, running a hand through her hair. "Nikolai—"

  "Katerini, do you trust me? After the weeks we have traveled together, after I requested your aid from Ilya—"

  "What?!"

  "—insisted when he denied me, begged when he denied me again, until I knew I had you—when Bravka went missing, I threw aside caution, I was afraid, I—I knew you would be the only one strong enough to make the journey with me." He was babbling. Katerini was stiff with outrage. She had needed rest, bah! "Ilya didn't tell you because I asked him not to—he had planned for Darkrow Yars to accompany me, that bear of a man who haunts—"

  "I know damn well who Yars is, you ass!"

  "—yes, yes, sorry, except Yars is terrifying in a way you are not. You are terrifying, of course, don't worry, but he's like an animal. I didn't trust him to aide me—and you are Ilya's friend, and—and even though I didn't know you, I didn't care!" He gripped his hair. "It took so long to convince Ilya and hide the reason at the same time."

  "Perhaps you should have just told him," she said sourly.

  He ignored her, continuing, "You are the foremost of the wandering Darkrow, you have demons for siblings, you have glass magic—I should have asked you in the first place, damn me—" He shook his head again. "Ilya trusts me wholly, and I have betrayed that trust. But you have not. So I beg you to trust me because Ilya may never trust me again."

  "Why would you think I am the best when I have demons for brothers?! Why not ask them to aid in your deception?! I want none of it!" She sliced her hand through the air angrily. "I hate lies!"

  Nikolai flung himself forward, fell to his knees before her and wrapped his arms around her legs. He laid his head against her thighs, saying furiously, "The demons would stop me. What I want is from one of their own. A mirror called Breakfire's Glass. For Ilya. Which is why I could not say a word to Ilya—you know as well as I do he is dying. And completely selfless, which is infuriating, and I couldn't stand by—"

  Katerini inhaled sharply. She knew where this was going. She slapped his head to shut him up as she thought. Ilya was dying. He had grown frailer as the years passed. Slept more and longer, fell ill more severely, could barely make it through a day without exhaustion taking him. Magic had only prolonged his death. It was why
he worked so hard. He knew, even though he didn't dare say it aloud, he would not live to see the Empire's borders open to the world. But—

  "One. Of. Their. Own?" she ground out. Her voice crackled like broken glass. Nikolai had the sense to scramble up and away from her. She could barely see through her fury. Quietly, she asked, "Does my life not offer you a warning about dealing with demons?" She advanced on him. He backed against the cave wall. "Why am I surrounded by idiots? Why did you ever think this was a good idea? Why did you drag me into this? Why does this continue to happen to me?"

  "You don't know the rest—" He flinched when she punched the rocky wall next to him, a fissure cracking open. Her eyes bored into his. "He would have forbidden me from this, Katerini—and I am bound doubly to obey Ilya, as his heir apparent, the Blue Prince, and as a Darkrow. I am never to endanger myself—it took me years to convince him to let me be a wandering Darkrow, did you know? Which is why I sent Bravka—but now I do not care!" he hissed, cutting her off when she opened her mouth. He grabbed her shoulders. "Ilya must live. Please, help me."

  She tightened her fists, unexpected rage washing through her.

  "You idiot!" she bawled. He jerked back as she threw up her hands. "This is why I don't want friends! Look at you! You're insane! And because I care about you, I'm going to say yes or you'll get yourself killed otherwise!" His eyes widened. "You manipulative bastard—you made me like you—"

  "—I am very likeable," he offered, and she punched the wall again.

  "Shut up! Just be quiet! Bah!" She whipped around and stalked to the other side of the cave, blinking and rubbing her face. If he had the nerve to tease her, he was fine. He'd given her a fright earlier, when she had to haul him through the snow after finding the body. He had given into a brief moment of despair, thinking he had failed, trying to find another solution. She calmed herself, rubbing her temples, and commanded, "Tell me everything."

 

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