A Breath of Frost (41 page)

She’d used the Fith-Fath spell to turn herself into a deer. She was beautiful, a palpable kind of joy shining in her dark eyes. Emma didn’t know if her mother could remember who she really was now that she was in the deer body, or it she was only able to think deer thoughts. It didn’t seem to matter. Because she’d never known her mother to be more present in herself than she was in that moment, as a deer full of wildness and beauty and love.

The doe bounded away, leaping high over the grass, her white tail flashing. Emma ran after her into the complicated shadows of Windsor Forest. She followed her through the bluebell wood, racing until her legs ached. She might have the antlers of a deer, but she was still just a girl running in the woods. Branches slapped at her and the ground was uneven and unforgiving.

She finally found the deer, nibbling the leaves growing through the remains of a wooden hut built between two trees. A faded, crumbling gargoyle watched from a branch above her head.

Her mother was well and truly gone now.

But she was happy in the woods where she’d met her true love.

When Cormac found the whirlwind
of snow and rain in the middle of an otherwise fine spring morning, he knew he’d found Emma.

He bent his head down, his black hat torn away by the force of the wind, and tried to plow through the unnatural storm. It pelted him with hail and the wild foxgloves under his boots crackled with a thin coating of ice. Emma stumbled out of the woods, the weather raging around her.

Whatever invisible machinery had kept it going fell apart when Emma turned to look at him. The air was so still he could hear the crackling of the ice as it melted. Her reddish-brown hair gleamed like copper and snowflakes rested on her delicate antlers. He almost couldn’t imagine her without them now. They were a part of her, made the world see her for how unique she truly was.

He crossed the field, closing the distance between them.
There was blood on her dress and an acorn tangled in a knotted lock of hair. “Are you hurt?”

Emma shook her head mutely. He gathered her in his arms because she looked ready to shatter. Water dripped from the trees and glistened in the tall grass. She finally shifted slightly.

“Don’t you know hugging girls with antlers is a dangerous sport? You could lose an eye.” She sniffled.

He pulled back. “What happened?”

“I broke the spell.”

He sucked in a breath. “You freed your mother?”

“I freed her familiar but she’s only half-cured. And now she’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“She turned herself into a deer and ran off into the woods.”

He blinked at her. “She did what?” He shook his head. “Never mind. We’ll find her.”

“She doesn’t want to be found. At least not by us. I think she’s finally happy.” She smiled sadly, stepping out of the circle of his arms. “There’s more.”

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “You can tell me in the carriage.”

“It can’t wait.”

“It has to,” he said grimly. “The Order is searching for you. It won’t be long before Keepers descend on the manor house, just in case you’ve taken up with your mother.” He took her hand, tugging her firmly until she followed him. “I have a hired hack waiting in the lane. The coachman owes me a favor.”

Emma stumbled after him. “Cormac—”

He broke into a run and she was too busy keeping up to say anything else. They were panting when he yanked open the carriage door and she clambered inside. He hadn’t even sat down yet before the horses were breaking into a brisk trot, bouncing them down to the road.

“I didn’t kill Strawberry.”

He shot her an insulted glance. “I know that.”

“It’s important,” she insisted.

“And it goes without saying.”

Her eyes glistened dangerously. “Thank you,” she said, her voice wobbling. She exhaled slowly, as if preparing herself for something unpleasant. “There was another memory in my mother’s witch bottle. Ewan Greenwood isn’t just my father. He’s also a
Greymalkin
.”

He sat back, stunned. “I beg your pardon?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “My father called himself Ewan Greenwood but he was a Greymalkin, stolen away from his Greymalkin mother by his woodcutter father for his protection. His father didn’t even know the woman he’d married was a Greymalkin, not until it was too late. So he took his son away and they lived in the forest, hiding away until the day Ewan met my mother. The Order didn’t just kill Ewan, they banished him to the Underworld with a spelled arrow.”

“How is it possible no one knew about this?” The Order wouldn’t just bind her for this, they’d do so much worse. Fear made his veins icy.

“My mother’s spell,” she explained miserably. “And the fact
that Ewan’s father raised him secretly and he wasn’t from one of the aristocratic families.”

“
That’s
why your blood activated the gate when we tried to close it,” he realized. “And why the Greymalkin warlock and the Sisters seek you out.”

“Exactly,” she said. “So you see? The Order will never believe I’m innocent.”

“They can’t ever find out,” he said roughly.

“You may not want to help me now,” she said softly.

He crouched in front of her, his hands closing over her shoulders. “Do you think me so cowardly?” His hands tightened. “If you were a man I’d call you out for that.”

Her smile was fleeting. “Now you sound like Gretchen.” She leaned forward slightly. “Why would you help me, Cormac?”

“Because you matter,” he replied quietly. Her eyes were green as leaves, the shadow of her antlers like the shadow of bare branches on her face. “I let the Order come between us once. Never again. You matter more than the Order, more than anything. And I won’t let them take you.” He rose out of his crouch in one fluid motion, settling back onto the bench and dragging her with him. His mouth closed on hers. She kissed him back, fingers digging into his arms.

“I can’t let you risk yourself for me,” she murmured.

He narrowed his eyes. “And if I said those words to you?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’d kick you,” she admitted.

“And as I can’t kick
you
,” he returned, brushing his mouth along the side of her neck until she shivered, “I’ll have to get my vengeance another way.”

The kiss deepened, went wild and dark. Her wet dress clung to her waist and he followed the curves with his palm. Her tongue touched his and the kiss turned desperate. He was half-surprised steam didn’t lift off them, and it might have if there’d been enough room between their bodies. When Emma pulled away slightly, gasping for breath, her lips were swollen and pink. He felt drunk on her. He could almost forget they had no idea how to prove her innocence. He could forget everything but the feel of her in his arms, the smell of rain on her skin.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “We’ll find our way through this,” he murmured.

She wished she felt as confident as he sounded. She sat back and tried to marshal her whirling thoughts. “Where can I possibly hide that the Order won’t find me?” she asked.

“Moira’s the one who told me you ran off, even before that coachman found a Keeper to tell about Strawberry. And I don’t know anyone better suited to keep you hidden from the Order than a Madcap.”

“Do you think she’ll help me?”

His grin was crooked. “Will Moira help you thumb your nose at the Order? In fact, I think she’ll insist.”

“There is that.” Her moment of smug triumph wilted. “What about Gretchen and Penelope? Are they in danger? Will the Order come for them as well?”

“Not yet,” he said. “They may ask them questions, but they won’t go before the magisters or the inquisitors. Not yet anyway.”

“Can we send them a message? With your tabula perhaps, the way Olwen did when Moira needed you?”

“It’s too risky.” He shook his head. “Why do you think we’re in a carriage instead of using the doorknob spell I gave your cousins that day in the goblin markets? Magic leaves a trace.”

“How am I ever going to manage this without magic?”

“The same way I do,” Cormac replied, with more than a hint of self-deprecation. His expression was mocking, that sardonic charm he used as a shield against the Order. “Creatively.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” She took his hand. “You’re stronger than they give you credit for,” she said, feeling badly that he might have taken her comment in the wrong way. He was helping her at considerable cost to himself and she’d just added insult to injury. “They underestimate you. And they’ll underestimate me.” She lifted her chin, her smile decidedly savage. “And that’s going to be our greatest weapon against them.”

It was nearly dark
when they found Moira in the goblin markets. She was inside a striped tent cluttered with cameos and charms. A man in a worn hat puffed on a pipe whose bowl looked like it was stuffed with raspberries. The pink smoke took the shape of deer. The blue eye embroidered on his eye patch watched her.

“Emma?” Moira’s eyebrows rose. “You’re keeping bad company,” she said, smirking at Cormac.

“We’ve come for your help.”

She snorted. “Like I’d help a Greybeard.”

“You’d help me if it meant crossing the Order, wouldn’t you?” He was using that soft tone that made the back of Emma’s knees weak.

Moira didn’t seem impervious either. She cleared her throat. “Come again?”

“I need a place to hide,” Emma explained, keeping to the
shadows, even inside the tent. “Will you lend me one of your rooftops?”

“The Order’s after you, my pretty?” One-Eyed Joe shifted in his chair, the cameos on his hat tinkling together. “Bad luck to have you in my tent, inn’t?” He plucked a cameo off the collar of his patched greatcoat. It was the soft blue of a lake at dawn but utterly blank. “Cover yourself up before they find ye.”

“It’s a glamour,” Moira explained. “Joe’s a dream-bringer. He works illusions,” she elaborated when Emma just blinked. “That there will keep you hidden. For a while, anyway.”

When Emma reached for it, Cormac stopped her. His fingers were firm around her wrist. “What’s the cost?” he asked bluntly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I have money.” Unless her father found out the truth and disowned her and then she’d be tossed out without a penny, without even a rooftop to her name like Moira.

“He doesn’t want money,” Cormac said darkly. “Do you, old man?”

One-Eyed Joe didn’t lose his pleasant smile, but the smoke from his pipe turned to a creature with ridges and talons. “A lock of your hair,” he said finally.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Emma, don’t,” Cormac advised. He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. “You don’t know what he’ll use it for.”

She smiled wanly. “What else can happen to me today?” She disengaged herself gently from his hold and took the small brass scissors Moira gave her. She snipped off a lock of hair and handed
it to One-Eyed Joe. He tossed her the cameo and she pinned it to her neckline.

“There now, such a fuss.” He wrapped her hair lovingly in a square of white silk, slipping it into one of the hidden pockets inside his coat. Cormac’s jaw clenched. “I can make you a proper cameo,” he added, staring at her so intently she was half-sure he could see right into her secrets. “To hide the antlers, but I’ll have to carve it in your likeness. Take some time, that will.”

“Thank you,” she said with a polite curtsy.

“Oh, I like her,” he said to Moira. “What are they after you for?”

Emma swallowed. “Murder.”

“She’s the one they blamed for Strawberry,” Moira explained quietly. “But Emma was on the ground. She didn’t do it.”

“I know that,” he scoffed. “What do you take me for? An old man?” Though he had dark wrinkled skin and few teeth left, Moira wisely refrained from commenting. “Help her out, Moira. We don’t often get fine ladies this side of the bridge.”

“I need to tell my cousins I’m safe,” Emma said. “Before Gretchen does something rash.”

“I’ll send word to Cedric,” Moira promised. She cast a suspicious glance down the bridge. “Now come on, before the Greybeards infest this place like rats.” She tilted her head at Cormac. “No offense.”