Edan took off his scarf and wrapped it around the one already on my neck. When I tried to protest, he said, “It’ll get colder the higher you go.” He tied it so it wouldn’t fall off. “The full moon will rise over the mountains, illuminating a pool somewhere on the peak. When you find it, dive in and capture the light in a walnut. You can swim, yes?”
“Of course I can swim. Can you?”
There was a long pause.
“That sounds like a no.”
“I grew up near a desert,” said Edan defensively. “Never had time to learn.” He puffed out his chest. “Besides, I can walk on water. And fly.”
I rolled my eyes. “You should learn. What if you’re flying over a lake one day and dawn comes? It isn’t hard. You start by putting your face underwater and blowing bubbles…like this.” I began to show him but stopped. What did I care if he couldn’t swim? Edan was my guide, nothing more. And I was the one who’d be in the pool, not him.
Turning away from him, I pressed my palm against Rainmaker Peak’s pale, coarse granite wall and took a hesitant first step up. As my shoe pressed against the mountain, I craned my neck and stared at what awaited me. A dangerously steep climb, with few fissures or crevices to latch on to, and a nose-shaped overhang at the top. One misstep, and I’d slide down to my death.
This was where Edan’s enchantment came into play.
The shoes stuck to the rock, as if made of glue. On my belt, I had two sharp climbing picks—compliments of Edan’s foresight and bartering skills—which I staked into the granite when necessary. Step by step, I hauled myself up the mountain, feeling like an ant crawling up the edge of a sword. My balance wobbled, for at first I did not trust the shoes to stay in place. But it got a little easier once I did. A little.
I swallowed and staked one of my picks higher into the wall. Repeat. One foot at a time. One foot at a time.
I wasn’t far up before Edan shouted, “Remember not to get the shoes wet! There’s snow when you get higher!”
“I know!” I yelled back. Then I continued my ascent. It wasn’t long before Edan was too far below me for us to continue shouting at each other. That was when the loneliness set in, and the worry. Edan was weaker than he let on. I hated leaving him, especially so soon after I’d thought he’d died fighting Vachir’s men.
But the window for collecting moonlight was narrow—I’d have to wait a month for another full moon. I had no choice but to go on.
Rain clouds drifted toward me, but they were still far away. My concern was the snow. Patches of it coated the peak, and snowmelt dribbled down the rock. The thin rivulets sparkled in the sunlight, deceptively beautiful. But I knew better. Getting any part of my shoes wet would counteract their enchantment. My heart stopped every time I made the mistake of looking down, and I imagined stepping into the water, slipping, and falling to my death.
Fear of falling kept me attentive, even as I climbed for hours—almost all day. My palms became raw from clutching the picks, my nails blackened, and my back sore. But I was starting to see how this was the trial of the mind, not the body.
The higher I rose, the colder and icier it became. Choosing my route to the peak became a series of calculated gambles. Should I go around that glistening patch of ice, or did I dare step over it? Was that a shadow on the rock, or a stripe of snow? Grappling with the fear that every next step could be my last made my head spin and my breath come short.
Stay calm, I reminded myself as a blast of wind tore at me. Stay tough.
I trained my tailor’s eyes on the mountain, focusing on the light and colors to avoid ice and snow.
This isn’t so different from sewing, I said to myself. Pretend you’re a needle stitching up the mountain, trying to find the way to make a perfect seam. One wrong stitch, and the fabric of the mountain will be torn.
Sometimes finding the way is tricky, but you always do. As long as you don’t give up.
My courage swelling, I moved doggedly. One hold after another. While I searched for the next, I leaned against the rock, digging my picks as deep as I could. I’d been gripping them so tightly, their wooden ridges had imprinted themselves on my palms.
Eventually, the sun began to set. I left one pick jammed in a fissure and reached into my pocket for my tinderbox. Carefully, I lit the lantern hanging from my belt.
I was at the Rainmaker’s overhang when I felt Edan’s wings rippling behind me. A gust of wind followed, breezing through my hair and lifting my spirits.
I shouldn’t have let him distract me. It was dark now, and in my hurry to reach the peak, I didn’t watch where I was climbing. Just as I pulled one pick from the rock, my left shoe grazed a patch of ice. Panic shot through my nerves; my heart jumped madly in my chest. I tried desperately to regain my balance. But the shoe wouldn’t hold anymore.
I screamed.
My lantern plummeted, leaving me in darkness. I held on to my right pick, left arm flailing as my shoe slipped uselessly against rock. As I dangled from the precipice, I could feel the muscles in my arm tearing, my grip on the pick slipping. The seconds collided into what felt like an eternity.
Wind roared in my ears. I’m going to fall. I’m going to fail.
No. Not here. Not now.
I slammed my left pick into a crevice and slowly, trying to keep my fragile control, pulled myself up.
Only after I hauled myself onto the summit and rolled away from the edge of the precipice did I dare exhale, the vapor of my breath dispersing into the cold air. Then I lay on my back, panting, looking up at the moon, my arms throbbing like they were about to fall off. I’d never been this close to the sky—close enough to feel the power of its light humming in my bones.
Edan was perched on a rock, chirping and whistling as he did in his human form. I rose and lifted one tired arm, beckoning him to approach me.
His wings lifted, and he swooped onto my shoulder. Together, we walked, exploring the summit of Rainmaker’s Peak. It was quiet here. Even the wind was gentler than it had been on the ascent. The moon was enormous. It hung in the night, a massive round lantern, its watery light so bright I almost reached out to touch it.
Edan flew off toward the shadow of the overhang. I followed him, mindful of my footing. Veins of ice snaked across the rocky summit, so brittle they crunched under my shoes. All was still but for the flap of Edan’s wings—and the rattle of grit and tiny pebbles cascading down. My ears perked. Where was that sound coming from?
I broke from Edan and trailed the falling debris to the north side of the summit, watching the pebbles spill into a rocky opening just wider than my hips.
“I found a cave!” I shouted, beckoning Edan to me. I crouched to begin lowering myself. Its mouth was narrow, so I inched inside slowly. I had the unnerving feeling that I was entering some great beast’s jaws. Toothlike stalactites pricked me, and dripping water kissed the top of my head.
Bats fluttered, their wings beating so powerfully I staggered forward.
Edan bit my hair and pulled back hard.
I froze. Let out a sharp breath. Moonlight filtering through the ceiling cracks revealed a silvery carpet of ice. One more step forward and I would have fallen through the ice into the pool beneath it.
I peered down. A city of crystal glimmered beneath the ice, illuminated by slivers of moonlight.
You’ll have to swim for the moonlight, Edan had told me when he handed me the second walnut. And carry this with you, he added, also giving me the walnut now filled with sunlight. Its shell glowed ever so slightly, a warm, bright bulb of light.
Keep it near your heart, Edan had said as I tucked the walnut into my tunic. It’ll give you warmth.
I knelt by the pool, Edan the hawk on my shoulder.
“There?” I pointed to the center of the still water, where moonlight glistened brightest. “That’s what I have to get, isn’t it?”
The hawk’s neck jerked. Yes, I assumed. It was impossible to tell how deep the pool was.
My body shook as I removed my cloak, pants, and shoes. I folded them into a neat stack on a rock. Then, as I’d done before with the sun, I put on my spider-silk gloves and grasped my scissors.
The cold numbed my fear. Sucking in the biggest breath I could hold, I jumped.
Nothing could have prepared me for the shock of the cold water. Without the walnut of sunlight spreading warmth through my blood, I would have frozen within seconds.
I dove down, away from the dim light of the surface. It was so quiet all I could hear was the sound of my pulse slowing.
The pool was bottomless. The air stored in my lungs grew thin. Pinching, pinching. Tight.
Go back! My mind screamed at me. Go back now!
But I kicked on. After nearly dying on the climb, I couldn’t give up now. I tried to think of Baba and Keton, that I couldn’t fail them. But this trial wasn’t about my heart.
Stop kicking, stop swimming. Relax.
I let go. Released everything. My body began to float back toward the surface, and my throat burned, nearly out of air. No…Had I made a terrible mistake?
Then a strong current caught me, pulling me down so fast and deep into the pool that my stomach surged into my throat. There below, a soft, silvery light penetrated the water, illuminating the city of stone and crystal surrounding me. At first, the light was gauzy, thin and faint. But as I was carried deeper, it separated into thick, bright beams that blinked like eyes—tears of the moon! Around me they shimmered, long whorls of melting silver. All I needed to do was catch one.
The moonlight was slippery. Even with my spider-silk gloves, it curled and twisted out of my grasp. The next beam I caught, I quickly tied into a bow, as if it were not light but a ribbon. The beam flickered and glowed, becoming so bright I had to look away. I cut the end, clamping my scissors over the light before it could flee.
I coiled the ribbon of light over the blades and forced it into Edan’s walnut. Underwater, the task was harder than with the sunlight. My breath leaked out of me, the bubbles gurgling to the surface.
No one can rescue you, Maia.
Above, I saw Edan’s hawk form fluttering over the water.
At last, I sealed the nut and swam up. As I broke the surface, my lungs exploded with a gasp. Each breath was like inhaling ice. If I didn’t get out, I would be dead.
I kicked the water. It felt thick, and every kick wearied me, the ice lacing into my bloodstream. I stretched out my arms, reaching for something to hold. A rock, an icicle—anything.
Frost bloomed over my lashes, forcing my eyes shut. I was so cold I couldn’t see and I couldn’t feel. But at last something blocked my way. The edge of the pool, surrounded by rocks. I gripped one as tightly as I could, dragging my legs up onto the stony bank.
I had never been so cold. My skin was blue-gray, the moisture in the corners of my eyes hard as ice.
Edan wrapped his wings around my chest, which helped, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the cold in me. With trembling fingers, I reached into my tunic for the sunlight, and I clutched it to my heart.
* * *
• • •
I didn’t know how long I languished on the cave floor. When my eyes fluttered open again, it was snowing outside. My body was cocooned in warmth, hot tea steaming by my side.
And Edan was human.
He lay beside me, his arms bare and wrapped tightly around me, his powerful shoulders casting shadows behind him. Both our cloaks were draped over me, and I was wearing his tunic—a realization that made me draw in a sharp breath, even though I was too cold to care.
He let go of me quickly, but I wished he hadn’t. The warmth of his touch washed away and I shivered uncontrollably.
“You fell asleep,” he said, sounding stern yet worried.
I sat up, poking my hands out of the coverings to reach for the tea. “Y-you m-m-make it—it sound…like a—a c-c-crime.”
A fire burned, my clothes and enchanted shoes drying next to the flames. Edan’s magic tablecloth was out, a small square anchored by a steaming pot of stew. The aroma of garlic, star anise, and mutton sharpened my hunger.
Edan was already scooping some into a bowl for me. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk in your sleep?” he said. “It’s adorable.”
My cheeks warmed, and I peeled off his cloak. “What did I say?”
“Mostly you babbled nonsense, but there were a couple of outbursts of ‘Edan, Edan, Edan.’ ” He passed me the bowl and grinned. “I take it you were dreaming about me.”
“Y-y-you wish,” I retorted between bites. “I didn’t dream about anything.”
He clutched his heart. “Oh, well, that’s devastating to hear.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was used to his teasing by now. “Ar-ar-aren’t you c-c-cold?”
“Not while I’m near you.” When I blushed, Edan drew back, as if remembering my earlier outburst. He kept a small distance between us and cocked his head at the modest fire he’d made. “The fire helps. And I can bear it easier than you. I am an enchanter, after all.”
Still, there were goose bumps on his bare arms, the dark hairs standing on end. I scuttled closer to him and wrapped his cloak over his shoulder. Our arms touched, and he didn’t move away. “I—I think I like you better when y-y-you’re a bird,” I joked. I inhaled, taking in his scent. “Your enchanter form is obnoxious.”
“Don’t get too used to it,” Edan returned, but I heard the anxiety in his voice. “I look forward to my full powers returning once we’re back.”
We sat in comfortable silence, me sipping my tea, Edan observing the snowfall outside. “We’ll have to wait out the snow before we descend the peak,” he said. “Some rest will be good for you.”
“I’m not tired,” I lied in protest. The air stung my throat even before the words formed. My teeth chattered once more, and I folded my body inward and scooted closer to the flames. I tried again: “I j-just slept. I’m n-not t-t-tired.”
Edan took my cold hands. He rubbed them, transferring back some of that heat I’d already begun to miss. Then he breathed into my palms. It felt nice, the warmth of his lips on my skin.
“Liar,” he whispered. “Of course you’re tired. You were swimming in a freezing pool. Your body’s in shock.”
He drew me to him, enveloping me with his warmth. I wanted to push him away, but my body drank in his heat, my arm instinctively hooking under his. When I noticed what I’d done, I tried to pull back. But he tilted my chin and kissed me. Heat flooded me from my lips to my toes, and my heart hammered, its beat rushing and skipping to my head.
I opened my mouth, only for Edan to stifle my words by kissing me again. I didn’t stop him, but I tried to get a word in. “I told you I’m not—”
“Shhh,” he said, brushing my lips with his. “Sleep.”
I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His pulse skipped, a sound that sent a shock wave of thrills jolting through me. He wrapped a warm arm over my waist and pulled me closer.
He fell asleep first. I listened to him breathing, in and out, in and out. A rhythm I matched even without knowing it.
A strange, wonderful contentment filled me.
Edan had been right—this journey had changed me irrevocably.
And for the first time, I stopped counting the days until it was over. Now I didn’t want it to end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When I woke and saw that the world outside the cave was white, my first thought was that the clouds had fallen, so soft and satiny was the snow.
I began my descent. The climb down Rainmaker’s Peak was easier than the ascent. My enchanted shoes had dried, and with Edan’s help on the summit, I used a rope to rappel down the other side. But still it took me the be
tter part of the day. At nightfall, Edan joined me in his hawk form. He made a glorious sight, his night-black feathers and milky-white wings gliding down. He landed neatly on my shoulder, his talons curving gently against my collarbone. I smiled at him. “Show-off.”
In his beak was a knot of wildflowers, which he dropped onto my lap.
“For me?” I asked.
Edan the hawk merely blinked. With a laugh, I put the flowers in my hair and kissed his beak. Then I readied our mounts, me riding Opal with Edan perched on my shoulder, and Rook pacing behind.
Moonlight lit our path through the mountains, so we had no difficulty traveling by night. Sometimes Edan disappeared for an hour or two. He was a predatory bird, after all, so I didn’t wonder about him. He always found his way back to me, sometimes with a spider or a snake trapped in his beak.
I touched his throat, rubbing it with my finger. “Wonder if that’ll give you indigestion tomorrow, Edan.”
It was so easy talking to his bird form that I found myself telling him about my brothers, about Finlei wanting to explore the world, and Sendo writing poems about the sea. About Baba and Keton, and my dream to become the best tailor in A’landi.
It made the time fly, and it helped me stay awake. When sunrise came, Edan flew off my shoulder and onto Rook’s back. And as the first rays of sun shone upon us, I was no longer traveling with a bird.
“Tired?” was Edan’s first word to me.
I shook my head.
He smiled, seeing the flowers tucked behind my ear; then he cleared his throat. “You accepted them.”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“A man who wishes to court a woman brings her flowers.”
I blushed. “You were a hawk. Besides, there’s no such tradition in A’landi.”
“I’m not from A’landi,” he reminded me. He cleared his throat again. “But I once served in a land where it was customary to make one’s intentions known to the object of one’s affections. I like the idea very much. And,” he said, leaning closer, “if a woman accepts a man’s flowers, it means she’s willing to be courted by him.”
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