Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1)

by Davis, Kaitlyn

  I blink rapidly, clearing my eyes as we reach the landing and step into the small room. The walls are lined with books, the only ones I've seen in the castle. Curtains are draped all around, blocking out the walls, removing any windows except for the singular skylight overhead. Through the break in the stone, I see a deep purple sky and the barest outline of a luminescent moon. Full, completely round.

  In the center of the room, Asher wrestles with the commander as he is strapped into a chair, chained there. He meets my stare. I try to look away, to remain unaffected by his presence, but I don't miss the hint of failure in his eyes. He really thought he could break free, that he might stop me from completing my plan.

  I tear my eyes away.

  "Jade, listen to me," Asher shouts, "there's another way. I found another way."

  Pain pricks my heart but I refuse to give in, to listen. Asher would say anything to stop me, anything, but his protests will only make all of this harder. I tune him out as my gaze finds the woman standing a few feet behind him, dressed almost the same as me except for the metal crown resting on her head.

  "Gag him," she orders and Asher's shouts muffle, drowning in his throat because they cannot penetrate the cloth shoved into his mouth. The queen pays no attention, walking gracefully around him, skirt sashaying toward me as she takes my hand.

  "Jade," she says, voice warm, affectionate.

  "Mother." I squeeze her fingers, relieved when my voice comes out completely smooth, almost natural. Asher's eyes go wide with shock. I fight not to meet his questioning glance. "I've been eagerly waiting for this day to come."

  "And it's finally here, after what feels like a lifetime."

  You have no idea, I want to say, to sneer. But my lips remain in a tight smile. I nod my head in Asher's direction, nose upturned. "Does he have to be here?"

  The queen pats my hands, as though I am her pet. "I'm afraid yes, for the ceremony. But afterward I will be done with my son, and you may do with him what you may."

  "Good," I say, infusing as much disdain as I can into my voice. But in reality, my chest feels light, and I breathe easily for the first time in hours. The ceremony will not kill him and that is all I needed to hear to carry on.

  "Just sit down." The queen leads me to the empty chair resting opposite Asher. I carefully spread my dress, hoping to give an air of actually caring that it does not wrinkle as I ease down. Forced to look at him, I do not miss the pleading waves Asher sends my way. He is shaking his head, no longer at his mother, but at me. The tendons in his neck pull taught against his restraints, bulging as he tries to find the air to speak, to fill his voice. The words come out dull, muted, unclear.

  For once, I'm glad he has been quieted.

  I look over his shoulder at the commander as he tightens Asher's binds and steps away, back to his queen. We have not spoken since I left his house, and I doubt he will say anything now. What will he do when I kill the queen? When I become the one with the power? Will he be the one who kills me, or will the transfer be so quick that I will gain his instant loyalty?

  I'm not sure I like either option, so I look away, at the floor in front of my toes, gold slippers barely visible under my skirt. Asher's eyes are like lasers on my skin, burning so that it almost feels as though he sees past the clothes to my skin below. I wonder if he thinks I look beautiful, or if I look like a clone of the woman he has hated and loved for his entire life.

  "I have not told you very much about the ceremony," the queen says, walking to the shelves on the wall and pulling a small pouch free. "But I will explain a little bit now. Under the light of the full moon, I will mix your blood with my son's and through that bond, the magic will transfer, sinking under your skin until it bleeds free of his. There is nothing you need to do except sit and remain calm while I work."

  My stomach flips, rocketing into my throat before tumbling back down. I nod, unable to find words.

  Her cold fingers find my skin, brushing over my forehead, then my bare shoulder, trying to soothe. "It will all be over soon," she whispers.

  Yes.

  It will.

  Resting the pouch on a small table, the queen removes a sharp needle and a vial of silvery powder. I swallow.

  "Your hand," she asks, and I offer it willingly. I do not flinch as the metal pierces my skin, bringing a line of ruby red blood to the surface. As it continues to run, the queen sprinkles a small dusting of the powder overtop and the blood on my hand thickens, turning to a paste, no longer about to drip off of my palm.

  "Asher," she says, looking at him as though he were vermin. But Asher shakes his head, mumbling through the gag, muscles clenching to disobey. The commander steps forward, grasping his forearm and flipping it over. With his biceps bound to the back of the chair, Asher has no chance to stop him, so he watches, protests growing louder as the needle punctures his skin and the powder solidifies his blood.

  Knowing what I must do without being told, I instinctually reach forward, resting my palm over his, connecting the wounds. Our blood bonds so our fingers are glued together, stuck. There is no turning back now. I don't think there ever was.

  Asher squeezes my hand tight, trying to get me to look at him, to listen, to stop. But my head is clear. I welcome the ending to my story. I'm ready.

  The commander steps back and the queen circles us, dropping the powder in a ring around our chairs as she goes. In the moonlight, it glows, a faint luminescence that rises from the floor, sparkling.

  The queen begins to murmur words I can't quite hear, too soft to understand, but the radiance around us grows, rising higher, pulsing brighter. The light blinds my eyes, encasing Asher and me, surrounding us and blocking out the room, the castle, the village below, as though the moon has fallen free of the sky and swallowed us inside of it.

  I see nothing except him, eyes just like the sky we left behind. The corners are crinkled, furious and sad at the same time.

  Asher.

  The word haunts my lips, but I do not speak it just in case the queen can still hear. Just in case our solitude is an illusion, another magic spell meant to trick us. My thumb traces the curve of his palm, gently brushing his skin, doing what my lips cannot. His gaze softens.

  The bond between our palms tightens, pulled by an invisible force that stretches up my arm, straining underneath my muscles, spreading ever further. The power tugs on my heart, yanking, using the beat to pulse through the rest of my body. Down to the tops of my toes, the magnet stretches, suctioning until my whole body is alert, on edge, taut. The veins in my limbs go empty as my blood is sucked away and I begin to grow cold.

  I go blind.

  My heart stops beating.

  My fingers turn numb.

  My breath dissolves in my lungs.

  I can no longer feel Asher's warmth, his touch. I am floating in the emptiness.

  Then all at once my eyes go wide, and I am thrown back against my chair as heat fills my skin, runs up my arm and into my heart, pumping, spreading, filling my empty corpse and bringing life back to my body. Blood surges up my arm, foreign and familiar, laced with a fire I have never felt before. I gulp in a breath, reborn.

  The force of the transfer presses against my body, tugging Asher and me apart. The chair beneath me moves, an inch, and then two, then three. I am bent in half, hand still connected to Asher, but my waist is flying in the opposite direction so that I might split down the middle at any second.

  I scream as pain rips my shoulder. My eyes go white. I'm worried my arm is gone, lost, but as I blink clear, I realize I am still intact. Barely. The tendons in my bicep start to tear. The nerves blaze. Tears spring to my eyes.

  And then we snap.

  My back slams into a bookcase as I am hurled across the room and then drop to the floor. Eyes snapping up, I find Asher. His chair is broken in bits around him, and the chains binding him have loosened. But he does not move, does not fight to free his limbs.

  Asher is still.

  Immobile.

  E
yes closed. I am not even sure if he is breathing.

  I yearn to slink across the room, to run to him, but a second awareness pulls at my mind, distracting me, blossoming and pushing all other thoughts aside. A tether springs to life in my chest, a little string growing stronger by the second. I follow the invisible line. My eyes do not need to see the connection to know where it leads. I sense it, hovering before me, stretching across the small room, ending not with Asher, but with the queen.

  An aura surrounds her body, bright, like the glow that surrounded Asher and me.

  The magic.

  I can see it. Swirls of sparkles pulsing around her body, waves stretching from her skin and crashing against me, connecting us.

  The ceremony worked.

  I'm the heir.

  I know it as well as I know my own name.

  Jade.

  Heir.

  Two become one as the magic crawls inside of me, grounding itself, finally home. The cut on my hand has healed, sealed shut in the shape of a circle, a wheel spinning beneath my skin. Even that redness begins to fade as the magic swells, leaving no sign that nature has been altered.

  "Jade."

  I look up at the sound of my name.

  The queen approaches, smiling wide, eyes warm as her hand stretches for mine. Half of my fingers itch to grasp her, to hold her, to call her Mother. But my right hand, not yet touched by the magic, dips below my skirts, following the line of my leg until it hits cool metal.

  The gun.

  I grip the handle, pulling it out of the strap as my pointer finger finds the trigger. Unsteady, I lift the weapon free of hiding. The safety is clicked off as I cock the gun, aiming, getting ready to fire.

  "Don't come any closer," I growl, voice shaking just like my arm.

  The queen stops.

  The smile on her lips falters, twitches, sinking slowly into a frown. Her pale face drains of all color, becoming ghostly white as though a phantom stands before me. The hand she outstretched for an embrace recoils, fingers bending inward, cupped against her chest as her brow knots in confusion.

  "Jade?"

  In that question, I no longer hear the queen. I no longer see her. Instead, a little girl sprouts before my eyes, blond, sad—lonely just like the prince I have learned to love. Her mother held no love, just like her mother before her, and her mother before her, a long line of lonely royals all using magic to fill the void, not realizing that all it did was push people farther away.

  The queen was human once, I know in that moment, in the shake of her voice, the vulnerability of confusion, the hurt of betrayal. And a small part of her still is. Behind the frozen façade rests a woman who wishes for a daughter, who thought perhaps she had finally found one in me. It's the woman Asher believed in, the one capable of hope, maybe even of love. The one he wanted beyond all things to redeem.

  Shoot!

  I scream, yelling at my finger to dip a little lower, to pull just a little tighter, to end the queen who stole so much from me. But her blue eyes no longer seem icy. The shade seems sad, isolated, completely alone. An empty sky without even a cloud to call a friend.

  My muscles tense.

  My entire body begins to shake.

  I can do this.

  I must do this.

  But I hesitate. I wait just one second too long and a knife slashes my wrist, cutting deep, drawing blood. The gun clangs uselessly to the ground as I hiss in pain, turning to see the commander draw his sword back for another swing.

  The world comes rushing back full force, color imploding in my eyes as my chest rips bare, exposed.

  I failed.

  The silver sword gleams as the commander raises it high overhead. I'm going to die.

  No.

  I step back as memories flood my mind. Every tactic I know, I learned from this man. The tower fades from my eyes. The queen and Asher are gone. The commander and I are alone, surrounded by soft grass, and he looms at least two feet overhead. I'm a girl once more, training in our backyard, learning the art of escape. Over and over, we would play. The commander always approached me the same way, blade high overhead, waiting to snap down, letting gravity add to his strength.

  Back then, the weapon was made from wood, but right now, his blade shines with a deadly metal edge. He stops before me. My back has hit the wall, so I have nowhere else to run.

  Steady, I hold my breath. Each move must be perfectly timed if I'm to beat him at his own game. So I wait for the secret I discovered as a girl, the little signal the commander never realized he sent out.

  There.

  His arms hitch, inching back just a little farther, bringing the sword as far back as it will go, and he holds his breath.

  I lunge to the side in the same second the commander brings his sword down, wincing as the metal slashes through the air right beside my ear, hissing with anger.

  Stumbling in my skirts, I fall, yearning for the freedom of pants as I land hard against the ground. My torso twists as my hands search desperately for the gun.

  My fingers clutch the handle and I snap up, meeting the commander's eyes. His face is as recognizable as my own, clearer in my mind than even my mother's. I've looked upon it for ten years and have never seen it so furious, so determined. He creeps forward, raising the sword once more, and two thoughts filter through my brain.

  This man raised me. He trained me.

  I don't hesitate as I put a bullet in his kneecap.

  The commander falls to the ground with a howl. Perhaps in his old world swords were enough, but not in this world. Watching him hold a bloody hand to his wound, I cringe. I always told him to carry a gun, but he never believed he would need one. I'm not sure he really understood how deadly they could be.

  I hold my finger over the trigger, unsure, and then drop the weapon.

  I came here to kill, but not to kill him.

  I can't.

  Instead, I kick his sword away and slam the butt of the gun into his head, knocking him out. The commander will live. He'll hate me, but that is a consequence I will happily endure.

  Five bullets left.

  I stand, turning to the queen, determined to follow through on my fate.

  The lonely little girl is gone.

  In her place, the haughty queen I promised myself I would kill. Her lips are upturned, her hands clap in the silence, but anger seethes to life, ice blue flames in her eyes.

  I raise the gun.

  "Well done, Jade," the queen drawls, voice bitter, sharp. "I am not so easily fooled, but it seems you found my weakness."

  I remain silent.

  I know I should shoot, but I have the irrational desire to hear her out, to see if maybe, just maybe she will say the words I desperately want to hear, the one I promised myself I would forget as soon as Asher whispered them.

  But a flame sparks to life in my chest, whispering that maybe somehow, someway, the two of us might be together. That maybe there is another way.

  Hope.

  That cruel fire.

  That weapon no one can fight.

  I pause.

  "I'm impressed. You are more ruthless than I even guessed—a perfect trait for a queen."

  "You would know," I spit. My finger inches tighter on the metal, trigger straining to be set free.

  "Yet you can't shoot." The queen shrugs. No fear tightens her face. She is perfectly calm, collected. "I know why."

  I swallow, throat dry, as her eyes shift to the side, to her sleeping son. He has not awoken from the spell, has not moved. But his cheeks are alive with color, peach, not the ashen gray of death.

  My hope billows, swells wider.

  "There is only one reason you would do what you've done, the same silly emotion I wanted to free you from, the most dangerous of them all." The queen sneers, unable to say it, as though the very thought creates a blockage in her throat. "Love."

  I release a bullet.

  It ricochets off the stone, falling uselessly to the ground.

  The queen do
es not even flinch.

  "Love is what freed me from you," I whisper, pulling the trigger tight again. This time I won't miss.

  "But it won't be enough to free him," she says softly, eyes still on Asher.

  My head explodes with shock. I drop the gun a hint. "What do you mean?"

  "Magic has sent my son into a deep sleep, and only magic can wake him."

  "How?"

  The queen just laughs, looking at me with pity. "My dear Jade, do you really think I would tell you?"

  I wave the gun, threatening, but her expression does not change. Mine morphs, falls, tightens.

  "Put that gun down before you do something you might regret," she urges, voice silky as it sinks under my skin, forcing my hand to sink further, to let go of the trigger, to give in.

  There is no magic in her words. I am immune. Good old fashion coercion moves me, it is the same method I've been using, the sort that takes a person's hope and twists it into steel.

  I glance at Asher.

  "I'm sorry," I whisper. And I am. Sorry that though I tried, I could not save him. That despite my efforts, Asher will die. But at least now, he will not do it alone.

  The queen misunderstands me, grinning wide, clasping her hands in triumph. Her expression freezes that way as the bullet strikes her temple, sinking in, clearing the life from her eyes. The force throws her backward, into a curtain that crumples, exposing a hidden window.

  Queen Deirdre's lifeless body tumbles through, disappearing into the night sky that looks so much like the eyes I will never see again, eyes that I will recognize for the rest of my short life.

  I raise the gun to my head.

  But before I can shoot, a different bullet strikes, plunging from the inside out. A bomb explodes in my chest, seizing my body, freezing it solid.

  The magic.

  And I am helpless against it.

  An avalanche pulls me under until I am drowning in snow. So cold. I fall knees first to the ground, utterly silent, unable to release the scream trapped in my chest. Pain explodes down my arms and legs. My ribs snap apart, as though opening wide, welcoming, and lightning strikes my heart, zapping my veins. I shake, seizing as pinpricks spread through my body, numbing it, disconnecting my brain.