Followed by Frost

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  That night I treated myself to another bath to relax and prepare myself for the next day’s journey. Come morning, I would be leaving for the Unclaimed Lands with three soldiers, including Eyan. My things were already packed in saddlebags arranged at the foot of my bed. After drying my short hair on a towel, I slipped into the simple nightdress Aamina had given me: plain off-white cotton with loose sleeves meant to keep off the heat, for I could finally feel the hot, dry climate of Zareed. Outside, in the afternoon, it was almost blistering. Despite that, I loved the heat. I even loved sweating, for I had not been able to sweat for so long.

  I ran a comb through my hair and pulled aside the curtain over my window, revealing a city half-asleep, with a few sparkling lights from houses brightening the mountains. My last night in Mac’Hliah. But I planned to return. Aamina had offered me a room in her home, and perhaps I could bring my family along, show them where I had been for the past year. I think Marrine would like it once she adjusted to the culture. And Ashlen, if she were not married and tending to children of her own. Ashlen with children . . . How strange that would be. Then again, Marrine could very well be married, too. A lot could happen in four years.

  I knit my fingers together and pressed them to my mouth. In a matter of weeks I would see them all again. See Euwan again. See the Hutcheses . . . Such a debt I owed them. I would understand if my presence pained them, and I would not stay in Euwan long if I caused any grief. I did have a home and many new opportunities in Zareed. What would it be like to live in this city?

  These thoughts had wound their way around my consciousness, capturing all my attention, so when a knock sounded on my door, I jumped.

  “Come—” I began, then stopped. I knew that knock.

  The door opened and Lo appeared in the doorway, still wearing his commoner’s clothes.

  “—in,” I whispered.

  He smiled at me and shut the door behind him. “I did not recognize you earlier. I did not think . . . such a thing was possible.”

  I softened and returned his smile. “Neither did I. Had I known, I would have shot myself a long time ago.”

  He chuckled. “I heard about that. I’m glad you are all right.”

  “I was unconscious for most of it,” I admitted, though the moment the arrow pierced my skin lived fresh in my memory. A red-hot pain like that was hard to forget. “They drugged me with Oki-leaf.”

  His lips twisted. “I cannot think of a worse thing to put into a person’s mouth.”

  I laughed. “So you’ve tried it?”

  “Once, when I was in the militia,” he said, lingering by the door. “I don’t know if it was the taste or an allergy, but . . . I did not react well to it.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Not badly.” He touched his side. “Knife wound, but not deep.”

  “Scar?”

  He nodded.

  I reached back and touched my own puckered scar. The stitches had been removed the night before. “We have something in common, then.”

  Lo smirked. “I would hope you do not have so many.”

  I pulled away from the window, letting the curtain fall back in place. I searched for somewhere to look besides at him, something to focus on that would keep tremors from my hands and those sharp twinges from my chest. I moved to my trunk, tucked my skirt under my legs, and sat. I focused on the folds in my skirt. “How is Faida?” I asked. If I did return to Zareed, I would have to learn to love her as much as I loved him. I wouldn’t be able to bear it otherwise. “Did she return with you to the city, or will you live in Djmal?”

  He shook his head. “She is not here.”

  “When will she arrive?”

  “She will not.”

  I tilted my head. “Are you here to retrieve your things, then? Surely you’re not retiring as captain of the guard! Imad would be—”

  “I am not married, Misa.”

  My next words caught in my throat, stuck into the flesh like cattle wire. Had I heard him correctly? My pulse beat in my ears.

  Lo stepped away from the door and paced over to the adjoining bathroom, his calloused hands clasped behind his back. “I went back to Djmal to break off the engagement—a very dishonorable thing, for us. That is why it took so long for me to return. I had a lot of arguing to do and promises to make to smooth things over between my family and Faida’s. I am not sure I’ll be welcomed back any time soon. My mother is especially upset with me.”

  I listened, my mind blank, staring so hard at my skirt it should have ignited. I shook my head as he talked, and long after he finished, unable to digest the news.

  “But . . . why?” I croaked.

  “Because it would not be fair to Faida,” he murmured, “to trap her in a marriage when I have such feelings for another. It would not be fair to either of us.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “I love you, Misa.”

  “No!” I shouted, jumping to my feet, finally looking at him. Tears rimmed my eyes. “You couldn’t have known . . . You didn’t know I had broken the curse!”

  “I did not,” he said, strangely calm. “But that changes nothing.”

  “But it makes no sense!” I cried. “I thought you were happy. I wanted you to be happy! Faida . . . How could anyone not love Faida? And me, a cursed woman who couldn’t even touch you!”

  He smirked—smirked!

  I shook my head. “The bracelet. What about . . . ?” I pointed to his wrist.

  He lifted the hand with the gold band. “It only means that I have been spoken for.” He smiled. “Did you read the book? The passage I underlined?”

  I gaped at him, wild-eyed. For happiness has wings, and when burdened by the things a man should want, Garen could not reach it.

  I took in a shaky breath. “M-Me?” He had meant me? But how could a cursed woman be the one with wings?

  “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, stepping toward me. “You have no obligation to me, Misa. If you do not feel—”

  “H-How I feel,” I stuttered, sobs choking my voice. “If only you knew how I feel about you.”

  He smiled. How beautiful his smile was.

  I could not stop the tears. “It’s not fair, you coming to me now,” I whispered, my back hitting the wall. I had not realized I had been moving away from him. “I gave you up. I broke the curse because I gave you up!”

  That froze him in his steps.

  Another sob shook me, and I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my gown, for all the good it did me. “It was everything. I had to be selfless. I didn’t know—I had to give it all up. My hair . . . my life . . . you. It was the only way to warm a cold heart.”

  “You do not have a cold heart, Misa.”

  “But I did!” I cried. “I did, and I-I don’t know . . . I don’t know . . .”

  He looked at me with glossy, forlorn eyes, his shoulders slumping. “You don’t know if accepting me will bring the curse back.”

  I pressed my lips together in a futile effort to keep from crying and nodded.

  I couldn’t bear the agony on his face. I slid down the wall to the floor and covered my face with my hands, tears pouring over my fingers. My face grew hot and swollen, and my breaths came in short chokes, but I could not stop.

  Then he knelt in front of me, gently pulling my hand away from my face.

  Liquid thunder raced from each of his fingertips through my skin, boiling my blood and turning my pounding heart inside out. My breath caught in my throat. My tears stopped. The lightest touch . . . but it engulfed me.

  Hesitant, I closed my trembling fingers around his. How did I think I knew what warmth truly felt like before this moment?

  “Misa,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” I said, those three words bringing tears anew.

  His lips pulled into a sad smile, and he touched my cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. His skin burned against mine. How dearly I wanted to lunge into his arms, to cry into his neck, to kiss his full lips and forget I had ever e
xisted before that moment.

  But I had been cold for so long.

  “The last thing I want is to hurt you,” he said, lowering his head so he could look directly into my eyes. “Take whatever time you need to consider; I don’t need an answer now. Whatever you decide, I will be content. Nothing you can say will change my heart.”

  I lifted my hand to touch his, but fear urged me to drop it. “Tomorrow—”

  “They will wait for you, if you wish it.”

  I swallowed, my throat sore and tight. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  But he shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, for once, consider yourself before me or anyone else.” He pulled his hand away, and I grew cold without it—a different kind of cold than what had plagued me for four years. A hollow, winding cold. “Take your time. I will be waiting.”

  He stood and moved for the door. I reached for him but not before he had vanished from my sight, the door closing between us. A door only I could open. I stared at it a long time, empty and lost, tears running steady rivers down my cheeks.

  My crying and the sludge of emotions fatigued me greatly, but I did not sleep that night. I felt a heavy scale hanging from either arm. I only needed to lean one way or another, but which way was right?

  I questioned if my conversation with Lo had actually happened, or if I were in some cruel torrent of a dream. Loved me. He loved me. The most remarkable, kind, generous, and beautiful man I had ever known loved me. I could not have mistranslated his words, for he had spoken them in Northlander.

  Yet the shadow of the curse haunted me, and even with my windows open and the night’s warm breeze filtering into the room, it only took closing my eyes to feel my blood turn to ice, to feel the unyielding sting of winter on my skin, to see the gloom of that perpetual storm over my head. I feared that, should my curse return, I would never be rid of it again. I would never feel the sun on my face or the warmth of a bed. I would never enjoy a meal or a bath. I would never see my family or Euwan. And I would never savor the touch of Lo’s hand on my cheek, for he would be unable to touch me without a shield.

  But the love I held for him defied everything I knew. I had fancied men before, but never had I experienced a sentiment like this, a passion that could rip me in two if I breathed too quickly.

  I stood and paced the room by starlight, the thick fibers of the carpeting brushing my feet, nearly healed of their cold-caused cracks. Healed. I hugged myself, warm arms against a warm chest with a lively, if vexed, heart. Could I risk losing that now that I was whole?

  Yet Lo had shamed himself and broken a centuries-long tradition for the sake of being with a woman whom he believed had no chance of being normal again. But no matter how strong his feelings for me, no man could be happy with a woman followed by frost, who could not be intimate with him or bear him children, who could not so much as sit down for tea without summoning the sharp winds and frigid snows of a deep-winter tempest.

  I considered my curse and recited Mordan’s wording of it over and over again to a dark room lit by a single candle, but I found nothing within it to help me. When a curse broke, was it gone? Or could the breaking be undone, just as the curse had been undone? Did a curse last forever, lingering in remission like a lifelong disease, or could it be cured for good? Did my curse have a treatment, or an antidote?

  I dressed and left my room with the first light of dawn, the sun still well hidden behind Zareed’s sandy hills and jagged mountains. I passed several guards on duty, none of which were Lo. Fortunately the guards did not ask me to explain myself—I had proven my loyalty to Imad—and let me outside without question.

  A cooler breeze caressed my face as I descended the steps into a dim and empty city. I adjusted my head scarf. I had no specific destination in mind; I merely walked east, keeping the jagged mountains behind the palace close to my right as my guide.

  My thoughts ran rampant. I had already given up Lo once. I should be content with that and return to my home. But hadn’t I already given up that, too? My home, my family, my life before Mordan? My winter had given water to Zareed. What if Imad had miscalculated, and the drought lasted through next year, and the next, and the next?

  I looked out over the brick homes and canvas tents of the city, large and small, lit by a growing, rosy light. If my curse returned, I could continue to help Zareed and its people. They would never go hungry or thirsty again. Lo, Imad, Aamina, Eyan . . . all of them. I could care for them until death claimed me.

  My steps slowed. The pain and the cold would be with me forever, and with them, Sadriel. I owed Sadriel a great debt, in the end, but could I knowingly invite Death back into my life, and into Lo’s? Could I balance those two men, one who could kill me and one whom I could kill? I thought of the hunter from the mountains and grimaced.

  Pausing in my walk, I found myself near a natural alcove in the rocks, a camel stable not far to my left. One of the great animals regarded me briefly. No fear in its eyes. I peered toward the eastern horizon, red and pink and gold. The sunrises here were so beautiful. So full of color. As I watched, the first sliver of sunlight slipped over the horizon, washing away shadows and fighting back the deep blue of night. It touched me, and I closed my eyes, savoring its warmth. The sun on my face. That had been Lo’s wish for me.

  I returned to the palace as the city awakened, my body weary and begging me for rest. After slipping through the entrance, I started up the grand stairs to the second floor just as the new shift of guards came to replace the ones at the door. I turned back and spied Lo among them. My stomach fluttered. He looked tired, older. He must not have slept, either.

  He glanced my way, unsurprised to see me. Our eyes met, and in his I saw a strange depth, as though I stared into a black and stormy sea. Pressing my lips together, I turned away and hurried up the stairs, a hard lump rising in my throat.

  When Aamina came to my chambers, I told her I was ill, and I surely looked it. She brought me water and broth and left me to sleep, which I did—in and out, hardly able to tell dream from reality. Waking or sleeping, I thought of Lo. And Mordan, Sadriel, my parents, my sister, Ashlen, and Euwan. I thought of Imad and Zareed, and the weights on my arms continued to tug me back and forth, cracking the foundation that held me.

  Hours passed this way. Aamina brought me more food, but I had little appetite and could barely stomach a mouthful. I closed my eyes and saw Lo crouching before me, felt his fingers on my jaw. I traced the touch. I saw him at the front doors of the palace, meeting my gaze with such . . . pain. How I loved him. How it hurt.

  After some time I stood at my window, looking out onto Mac’Hliah, which glowed with the late afternoon. I opened the window and reached out my hand as far as I could, past the short eaves so that sunlight could dance on my fingers. Hot air crept over the windowsill and into my room. Again I thought of Lo’s wish.

  Retracting my hand, I turned back to my room and spied my saddlebags at the edge of my bed, packed and ready for the trip to Euwan. I knelt beside them and searched their contents until I found the last book Lo had given me: Garen’s Wish. I opened its worn spine and turned its aged pages, then read through the story again, lingering once more on the passage Lo had highlighted.

  Garen had wanted to know the wish of his heart so badly he’d asked the genie for the answer, knowing very well it could be something unobtainable. He had risked everything for the chance of happiness.

  Lo had given up so much for me. Could I not take this one chance—this one risk—for him?

  After shutting the book, I changed into my mauve dress and brushed my hair, not bothering with the head scarf. I looked at myself in the small mirror over the empty dresser. I looked tired but healthy, peach colored and golden haired, green eyes free of violet bags, pink lips instead of blue. I looked at myself and committed the image to memory, for I knew it might be the last time I saw myself this way. I planned to do one last, selfish thing, even if it cost me everything else.

  This, I did
for me.

  I walked through the hallways, my steps in beat with my pounding heart. I stopped a young serving boy once to ask where the captain of the guard was, but he did not know. Still, he gave me directions to Lo’s quarters, and after some searching I found them in the basement of the palace, about as far from my own room as one could get without stepping outside.

  Narrow windows close to the ceiling illuminated the long hallway carpeted in red, doors lining either side of it. I passed one guard whom I recognized and nodded to him briefly, then began counting doors.

  Seven, eight, nine. Lo’s room.

  I lifted my hand to knock, but bit my lip, hesitant. How to say what I felt inside? How did one put the fear of winter and the hope of music into words? How could I possibly explain the torrent of desperation and love eddying in my soul? The absolute adoration that blinded me?

  I twisted the doorknob slowly, pushed the door open, and peered into the room.

  Like the hallway, the room was dark save for the evening sunlight that filtered through narrow windows against the ceiling, these ones silhouetted by the plants that lined the palace’s base. For a moment I thought the room unoccupied, but my eyes made out the form sleeping on the bed on top of the covers. I recognized Lo’s earrings.

  After shutting the door behind me, I tiptoed to his bedside. He didn’t wear a shirt, and in the dim lighting I found the long scar on his ribs he had described to me. It certainly didn’t look like a shallow cut. He had others as well—a faint line to the right of his navel, puckered tissue almost hidden by an arm that looked like a poorly treated arrow wound. There were other, smaller marks almost too faint to see, crisscrossing this way and that like cat scratches.

  I sat on the edge of his mattress, soft and slow, but Lo was a trained soldier and captain of the guard, and he awoke easily. Startled, because he shot upright and almost knocked heads with me.

  He blinked several times. “Misa?”

  I pursed my lips, but the smile came anyway. Hesitantly I reached toward him and touched his shoulder, the skin smooth and warm. I ran three fingertips down his arm, over firm muscle and into the crook of his elbow.