Fugitive (7 page)

I stared at him. How could he know these things about the Thorns, about Lia’s parents’ death and their specific connection within the Thorns? If this was a lie, it was a cunning one indeed.

“I’ll need proof,” I said. It was a whisper.

“The agent I spoke to was a woman, working as a soldier in Astralux. I helped her obtain the transfer to the prison wagon so she could free you.”

My mouth dried. It had been a woman soldier who had helped me. Female soldiers were rare, but not unheard of, in Aeralis. How could he have known?

“I cannot believe you, not yet.”

He nodded once. “You should be able to obtain all the proof you need by speaking to the Thorns agents in Astralux. They will confirm what I’m telling you.”

“I will speak to them,” I said.

His eyes were unreadable. “Does that mean you’ll return to Aeralis with me?”

Something in my chest knotted like a rope pulled too tight and too fast. Lia. Her face filled my mind, with her sharp, flashing eyes and fierce mouth. Her confidence, her strength, her unacknowledged gentleness, her loyalty.

I would ask her to go with me, and hope with every hair, bone, and sinew of my body that she would tell me yes.

Either way, though, I needed to see to my family.

“I will go with you,” I told him. “I’ll confirm what you’re saying, and I’ll see if you are telling me the truth. And if you are, I will join your cause.”

Korr dipped his head, an indication of assent. After a moment’s hesitation, he yanked something from his finger and extended it to me. The ring he’d taken so many months ago.

“I kept it for you,” he said. “I feared it would be taken if you were arrested. It’s yours again now.”

I accepted the ring numbly as Korr turned to go. “Meet me at the river in an hour,” he said over his shoulder. “We leave for Astralux immediately.”

“So soon?”

Half of his mouth curled in a grim smile.

“We have a dictator to depose.”

With that, he vanished into the darkness.

~

I JOINED KORR at the river at the agreed-upon time with Clara at my side. Korr scanned us both, taking in our number without comment. I was glad he didn’t speak of the fact that Lia was not with me. I did not want it discussed yet. Leaving her left me too raw.

“Let’s get going,” he said, and turned toward the river.

The water splashed around our boots as we crossed the shallowest part, taking the same path as the Farther soldiers had earlier when they’d been driven away from the Frost for good. With each step, part of me grew heavier, but another part of me lifted. I was leaving her, but it would not be forever. I swore it to myself.

I simply had other things that had to be done, and part of me would not rest until I’d accomplished them.

We moved swiftly once we reached the opposite bank. Korr scrambled up first, the edge of his cloak slapping wetly against his boots as he climbed. Clara followed him, and I carried up the rear. We reached the top of the bank, and I exhaled.

Aeralis.

The border was edged with train tracks that bit into the frozen earth and left an ugly metal scar upon the land. We crossed them like fugitives, scuttling into the field beyond and dropping to our knees to scan the horizon.

Nothing moved.

“The soldiers are ahead of us,” Korr murmured. “By at least an hour, I estimate. We need to take care that we avoid them.” He looked at Clara and me in turn.

We nodded.

He hesitated. “Rub mud on your face, brother. You need to disguise your features. We look too much alike.”

I did as instructed.

The frozen stalks of grass crunched beneath our feet as we headed toward the black line that was the horizon. Above, stars glittered, reminding me of another night months ago, when I’d made a journey into the unknown, my heart pounding and my mouth dry with fear and hope and the agonizing pain of leaving someone I loved.

Tonight, I felt the same.

Clara slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. I looked at her, grateful, and she gave me a tentative smile.

Something snapped to our left. A branch? We froze.

A shape rose from the darkness. My mind bled confusion as I caught a glimpse of a gun, a soldier’s uniform.

We were discovered. We were unarmed.

“Halt,” the soldier barked. Fear and fury mingled in his voice in equal parts. Was he one of the newly exiled soldiers that had been expelled from the Frost? Part of a patrol?

Korr wheeled on us. His eyes burned into mine. “Trust me,” he said, and he was begging me. “Don’t say a word.”

Clara and I didn’t move.

“I am Lord Korr,” Korr said, stepping toward the soldier. “I am taking these two to Aeralis. They were part of the revolution.”

“Lord Korr,” the soldier stammered. “You are alive. We thought—”

“I am alive,” he said crisply. “And I need an escort. Do you have wagons? Chains?”

The soldier nodded. “There are wagons to the south. You can find an escort.”

The pit of my stomach coiled tightly. Was this all an elaborate trick? Was Korr betraying me again?

Korr nodded. He did not look at me once. “Bring them, and give me the gun.”

The soldier’s eyes darted from Korr to me. His expression turned mistrustful. “That one looks familiar.”

Korr said nothing. He held out his hand for the gun.

The soldier stepped forward to relinquish it. Then he shifted and brought his hand up, and a knife flashed in the moonlight as he swiped at my chest.

I didn’t have time to move or think. Korr was a blur of black cloak as he threw himself in front of me and pointed the gun at the man’s face. The barrel clicked; it was empty. He struck the soldier across the face with the butt of the gun, and the other man fell into the snow. Korr bent over, wheezing.

“Are you all right?” he asked, without straightening.

“Yes,” I managed, still stunned. “Clara?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

Korr turned to us. “It seems some of the soldiers have not forgiven you people for throwing them out of the Frost,” he said. His face was pale and drawn, and that was when I saw the blood dripping from his shoulder onto the snow.

“Korr!”

“It’s nothing.” He winced as he moved his arm. “It was a clean hit, I think. We’ll find a doctor before we reach Astralux.”

“You’ll bleed out—”

“I know how to tend to it,” he said firmly. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t worry, brother.”

His gaze found mine and held it. We didn’t speak, but something passed between us anyway. He stared at me, and for the first time in my life, I considered him family.

Together, we looked toward Aeralis, and home.

The story continues with
AERALIS
, book #5 in The Frost Chronicles!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kate Avery Ellison lives with her husband and two cats in Atlanta, Georgia. She loves dark chocolate and zombies. She can be found on Facebook and Twitter. Learn more on her blog at http://thesouthernscrawl.blogspot.com/ or at her Amazon author page at http://www.amazon.com/Kate-Avery-Ellison/e/B005166V8S.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Scott, for encouraging me, listening to me, and loving me. I love you.

My family, for supporting and believing in me, for reading all my books, and for trying to talk every person they meet into reading them, too.

Dani, for being accommodating and flexible regarding my crazy schedule. You’re the best editor.

Charles, for proofing and giving good feedback. You are such a great friend.

Natalie Cleary, for being a fan of the Frost.

All my readers, for enthusiastically loving this series and the characters in it. The Frost exists in your imaginations. Thank you for giving “life” to my stories!

Read the first chapter of
The Curse Girl
, available now in paperback and ebook format!

ONE

My father drove me through the woods in his truck, the wheels shuddering over the dirt road while the air hummed with all the unspoken words between us. The tears wriggled down his wrinkled cheeks only to get lost in his beard. The mark on his wrist burned at the edge of my peripheral vision, as if it were glowing.

I sat silent and immobile, a statue, a paper doll, a frozen thing of stone.

When we reached the gate I drew one shuddering breath and let it out, and my father put his hand on my shoulder. His fingers dug into my skin.

“He promised he wouldn’t hurt you, Bee. He
promised
.”

I shifted. His hand fell limply on the seat between us. He didn’t try to touch me again.

Dad turned off the engine and we sat wrapped in the silence. I heard him swallow hard. I slid my fingers up and down the strap of my backpack. My mouth tasted like dust. The car smelled like old leather and fresh terror.

Nobody knew if the legends were lies, myth, or truth. But they all talked about the Beast that lived in the house. Some said he ate human children, some said he turned into a vicious creature in the night, some said he looked like a demon, with flames for eyes.

A trickle of sweat slipped down my spine.

“You don’t—” My father started to say, but he hesitated. Maybe he’d been hoping I would cut him off, but I didn’t. I just sat, holding my backpack, feeling the crush of responsibility slip over my shoulders and twine around my neck like a noose.

Through the gate I could see the house, watching us with windows like dead eyes. Trees pressed close to the bone-white walls like huddled hags with flowing green hair, and everything was covered with a mist of grayish moss. I’d heard the stories my whole life—we all had—but I’d never been close enough to see the cracks in the windowsills, the dead vines clinging to the roof.

Magic hung in the air like the lingering traces of a memory. I could almost taste it. Voices whispered faintly in the wind, or was that just the trees? The knot in my stomach stirred in response.

My father tried again, and this time he got the whole sentence out. “You don’t have to do this.”

Of course I did. Of course I must. I wasn’t doing this for him. I was doing it because I had no choice. With the mark on his wrist, he was a dead man. Our whole family was doomed. He knew it and I knew it, and he was playing a game of lame pretend because he wanted to sooth his own guilt. Because he wanted to be able to look back at this moment every time it crossed his mind in the future and feel that he had offered me a way out. That he’d been willing to rescue me, but I’d refused.

Instead of responding, I opened the door and climbed out. The gravel crunched under my shoes as I stepped to the ground. I shouldered my backpack and took a deep breath.

The gate squeaked beneath my hand. I crossed the lawn and climbed the steps to the house, feeling the stone shudder beneath my shoes like the house lived and breathed. The door didn’t open on its own, which I had half-expected, but when I put my hand on the knob I could feel the energy humming inside it like a heartbeat.

My father waited at the car. I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing with one hand on the door, his shoulders pulled tight like a slingshot.

All I had to do was step inside. One step inside and the mark would disappear. And I could run home. I could outsmart this house. Couldn't I? I sucked in a deep breath and rolled my shoulders.

Maybe I believed that. Maybe I didn’t. Why else had I brought a backpack full of clothes, toiletries?

“Bee,” my father called out, and his voice cracked. I paused, waiting for more. Maybe he really was sorry. Maybe he really didn’t want me to do this...

“Bee, I just wanted to tell you how thankful your stepmother and I—”

My throat tightened. He wasn't going to stop me, was he? I shook my head, and he rubbed a hand over his face and fell silent.

When he’d come home two weeks ago at three in the morning, the sleeve of his work uniform torn, his lip bleeding, and his eyes full of fear, my stepmother had cried. Really cried—wrenching sobs that made her double over and clutch at her sides. She almost looked as if she were laughing. I’d looked at him, and I could smell the magic on him. I’d known exactly where he’d been.

And there was a tiny part of me that knew then too that I’d be the one who would pay the price for his foolishness.

All I had to do now was step across the threshold. Then the mark on his wrist would vanish, and he would be free. Everything would be okay. That was all we’d promised, right?

I pushed open the door and stepped into the house. I held my breath.

Across the lawn, my father made a sound like a sob.

Was that it? Was the mark gone?

“Daddy?” I choked out, not daring to move. “Is it—?”

“It’s gone, honey!”

I started to turn, but I wasn’t fast enough. The door snapped shut like the jaws of a hungry animal. I grabbed the handle and twisted, throwing my shoulder against the heavy wood. I shrieked, wrenching the handle harder.

It was locked.

I clawed at the wood with my fingernails until they bled. I pounded with my fists.

The door didn’t budge. It was strong as stone.

Through the slip of glass, I saw the headlights of my father’s car flick on, and the engine revved.

He was leaving me.

I slid to the floor. My sneakers squeaked against the shiny marble, my fingers slipped down the polished mahogany of the door. I didn’t want to look behind me into the mouth of the house, into the darkness that was going to be my home. Or my tomb. I didn’t want to think of how my father would go home and my absence would be like a ripple in the house, felt for a moment and then gone from their minds. I didn’t want to think about who would miss me at school. Violet. Livia. Drew.

Drew.

Grief stuck like cement behind my eyes. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears. I never had tears. My eyes burned and my throat squeezed shut, making it hard to breathe. I crouched on the floor and put my hand over my mouth and thought of Drew’s hair, his eyes, his smile.