Ice Country (30 page)

“Why?” I growl, pushing him to get to the
point.

THUD!
I’m vaguely
aware of voices shouting behind me, where a crack’s opened up in
the door.

“Let’s just say she caught my eye,” he says,
licking his lips.

“Liar!” I roar. “That’s not what your captain
of the guard told me.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“That she’s a special trade item. That I’m
the insurance to keep her in line,” I say.

The king raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t
authorize him to say that. I’d have needed to punish him if he
weren’t already dead,” he muses. “No matter. What you know now is
of no consequence to me. In a short while you’ll be dragged across
the border with your sister. And she
will
obey her new
masters, because if she doesn’t it’ll be
you
that pays for
it with pain.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Dazz,” Jolie
says.

“I know, Joles,” I say. “So you can’t hurt
her, Goff. If she’s so special, surely you can’t just kill her here
and now.”

“Tsk tsk, Dazz,” the king clucks. “I thought
I warned you about being foolish. If she dies, I’ll find another
little girl to replace her in an instant. And another brother or
sister or friend to force her obedience.”

Something doesn’t make sense. The Heater
children were both boys and girls. “Why a
girl
?” I ask

The king smirks. “Now you’re asking the right
things. Because she’ll be betrothed to a young man, of course,” he
says.

“Betrothed?” I say, the word sounding foreign
because it was so unexpected. “The Stormers want my sister to marry
one of their boys?”

“Yes.” One word. The king may have lied about
a lot of things, but this one word rings true. “But not just any
boy. I suspect it’s a boy of some importance to them. A son of a
king or the equivalent.”

“Why? Why an Icer?”

“Like I said, they want to ensure her
cooperation and subservience to her master, her husband. Perhaps
the young women of their lands are not as…easy to control. And the
brown-skinned Heater children are their servants, so it wouldn’t be
appropriate to use one of them.” I remember the unchained wildness
of the dark riders, many of whom were women.

There’s a series of sharp cracks against the
door. Goff glances at the door, then back at me, smiling wider than
ever. “Don’t make me out to be such a bad guy,” Goff says. “She’s
only one girl, no one will even notice she’s gone.”

“You stupid, stupid man!” I shout, taking a
step forward even as there’s a massive
THUD!
behind me.

“Not another step or I’ll—”

But I’m not listening, not to the pathetic
icin’ King who’s got my sister, nor to the incessant pounding at my
back. Not anymore. “She’s a
child
,” I say. “Someone’s
daughter, someone’s
sister
. My sister. You didn’t think
anyone would notice? You’re insane.”

I step forward, spurred on by another massive
THUD!

“Not one more step, kid,” Goff warns.

I hesitate, not because I’m scared of the
king, but because it’s still my sister he’s got, still Jolie,
biting at her lip and trying not to cry.

“Dazz?” she says, her question full of a
thousand other questions, none of which I can answer without
lying.

Men’s voices pummel the door, even as a
series of vicious pounds erupt behind me.

THUD, THUD,
THUD,
THUD!

I glance back at the door. The bar is fully
bent now, the crack in the door widening with each hammer of the
battering ram. “It’s okay, Joles, everything’s okay,” I say,
wondering how it will be, how I can speak something I don’t believe
myself.

Now is the moment. My moment. My one chance
to make up for everything, for all the mistakes, for all the pain
and hurt and anguish of the last few days, weeks, months,
years
.

I step forward and Goff lifts the knife from
Jolie’s throat, pulling it back in a slashing motion, as if he
wants to shove it all the way through her neck, not content to
simply slit her throat.

I have no choice but to act.

T
his is it. This is
it. My final failure, the ultimate mistake that will leave my
family broken into a million pieces, so many that my drugged-out
mother and me will never be able to pick them all up, fit them back
together again.

I charge forward, shouting something at the
top of my lungs, something familiar, something powerful—a name—

Jolieeeeee!

—feeling time and distance and life slowing
down, stopping, freezing more solidly than the ice-coated peaks of
the mountain—

Jolieeeee!

—urging my muscles to go, go, go, faster,
faster—

Jolieeeee!

—watching with dread as the knife starts its
downward arc, gleaming brighter than the eyes of the wicked, wicked
man wielding it—

—hearing the loudest pound on the door yet,
but knowing it doesn’t matter, not now, not ever, prepared to face
death if I don’t save her.

No time, no time, no freezin’ time, the knife
right there, right there, and she’ll be, she’ll be…

Two small hands flash up, grab at the king’s
arm, hold it off, barely, barely, but it’s still moving as Goff’s
look of surprise changes back to determination, but I’m still
running, getting closer, even as the knife gets closer, but he’s
winning the battle—the king is winning the battle—pushing the knife
to within inches of my sister’s fragile skin, and then, and
then—

—Jolie bites him, sinks her little teeth into
the flesh of his arm and he cries out,
yowls
so loudly it
momentarily drowns out the pounding on the door.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t drop the knife.

I’m close now, close enough to

(stop him.)

Close enough to

(save her.)

The thoughts are there but I can’t think them
with the full extent of my mind, just let them slip around the
edges, not letting myself believe that we could, that we could

(win.)

I swing hard, putting everything I have left
into the punch, aimed well over Jolie’s head, at his face, at the
malicious eyes of the demon who holds her, even now still trying to
stab her, and—

My fist connects, crushing Goff’s temple,
just on the edge of his eye, snapping his head to the side and
back.

He releases Jolie, falls away, his arm
stabbing wildly at the air behind her as he crumples to the stone
floor.

Jolie’s left standing there, tears in her
eyes, a stream of blood running down her neck.

“Dazz?” she says.

There’s something in her eyes—

“Dazz?” she says again.

Something’s not right—

“Dazz?” she says, once more, and I step
toward her, ready to take her in my arms, to tell her everything
really is okay, that I’m here, that the king won’t hurt her
anymore, that—

She falls to her knees, her head slumping
forward, right into my arms as I dive down to catch her, to stop
her from hitting the floor.

That’s when I see it.

That’s when I see it.

Jolie?
Nay, Jolie. Nay.

The blood down her back. The knife embedded
in her skin, gleaming, always gleaming, laughing at me with the
voice of the broken king beyond it.

“Jolie!” I scream, grabbing her, clutching
her to me.

“Dazz, I’m cold,” she says into my chest,
which should be a funny statement, because we’re in ice country so
we’re always cold, but people don’t say stuff like that here,
because it’s a given, like trees have leaves or winter has
avalanches.

Jolie doesn’t speak like that.

“Dazz?” Her voice again, so innocent and
sweet, sounding weaker than before, less vibrant, my sister’s voice
but not, changed somehow.

I kiss her cheeks, wetting them with the
tears that are streaming down my own face, over my lips, salty and
fresh.

She’s
not
dying. She’s not. Not on my
watch.

A surge of strength and determination and
anger
, red hot and fiery, courses through me, but I ignore
the anger. Revenge will come later. Now I have to stop the
bleeding.

I lay Jolie down gently, resting her head in
my lap. There’s so much blood—so much I can’t think, can’t
speak—but I know I have to stop it, have to stop the life from
draining out of her.

I’ve got nothing to use but myself. I clamp
my hands around the handle of the knife—the king’s knife—and put
pressure around it, try to keep the red liquid from spilling out
past the wound, being careful not to push the blade in farther.
Jolie cries out but I have to ignore it, although I’m sobbing and
shaking and wanting nothing more than to hold her and kiss her.

“Help!” I scream, but I know no one will
answer. The pounding on the door has stopped, but the men outside
are still yelling, still shouting meaningless words, full of rage
and murder. But the murder’s already happened and Heart of the
Mountain save them if they make it through that door.

“Help, please,” I sob, my tears falling on
the backs of my hands, which are white with effort and strain. The
blood’s not coming out as fast anymore, but Jolie’s stopped
speaking, her back barely rising and falling with each exhalation.
No matter how much pressure I put on her wound, without help
she’s

(dead.)

“Help…” The word dies on my lips, but I won’t
give up, won’t stop sealing the wound with my own flesh.

The king groans nearby.

Rolls over.

Starts to get up.

“You shouldn’t have done that, kid,” he says,
rising up, bigger and taller this close, when I’m slumped to the
floor like an animal. There’s a nasty gash on his forehead where I
hit him, spilling blood down his cheek, some of it getting onto his
lips, into his mouth, coating his teeth with a red sheen. His eye
is puffy and turning purple. His other eye is full of crazy.

I don’t stop the pressure on Jolie’s back,
try to ignore Goff, pretend he’s not there. If I take my hands away
from her back, she dies.

Goff raises a boot in the air, hovers it over
Jolie as if he might step on her, but then levels it out so it’s
even with my head. I close my eyes and brace myself for a kick to
the face, determined not to let go of Jolie.

No matter what.

The blow never comes.

I open my eyes.

Goff’s boot is lowered and he’s fumbling at
his belt, searching for something, for…

Another knife.

He holds it up, lets its sharp edges catch
the light, shows it to me.

“I’ll kill you,” I say.

“If you let go of her, you’ll kill her,” he
says.

“And then I’ll kill you.”

He shrugs. “Maybe so, but I’m the one holding
the knife.”

An impossible decision. If I let go of Jolie,
she might die, but if I don’t, Goff will kill us both anyway. I
have to fight.

It has to be a quick one, or I might be too
late to save her.

“I love you,” I whisper to Jolie, but I don’t
know if she hears me.

Then, weaponless, I stand.

~~~

King Goff slashes at my throat, leaping over
Jolie’s small body.

I jump back, surprised at the suddenness and
intensity of his attack.

But I’m not on my heels for long, not with
the rage that’s been roiling beneath the surface of my skin since
this day began, since Wes died. Finally—finally!—I can let it out,
all of it, the fear for Jolie’s life, the anger over Wes’s death,
the burning need to take revenge on the wicked man who threatens my
whole world, who’s done unspeakable things.

He feints left, feints right, and then comes
up the center, flicking his blade across my abdomen. I’m fast and
full of energy, but he’s faster, a man possessed, and he slices my
skin, sending a fierce burn into my gut.

The blood pours out but it’s nothing, a flesh
wound, nothing compared to the knife embedded in my sister’s back.
The knife that’s killing her while I continue to waste time with
the king.

I leap back, hardening my jaw at the smile on
Goff’s face. He moves in, still smiling, gaining confidence.

But when he slashes again, I’m ready, letting
the knife slide past me even as I grab his arm, twist it, wrench it
in an unnatural way that leaves the king screaming out as his bones
snap.

Following through, I crush a forearm into his
skull, aiming for the same spot I hit him before, feeling him rock
back under the force of the blow. I land on top of him, punching
with all my might, swinging and swinging, blood misting in my face
as his nose explodes, his lips crack open, still swinging, fists
hitting the face of pure evil, not ready to stop, not wanting to
stop, but remembering, remembering…

Jolie.

It can’t wait any longer. I have to get back
to her, but first Goff has to die.

His knife lies discarded on the floor. I
reach for it, grab it.

I’ve never killed before, but this is a good
place to start.

I raise the knife just as there’s a final,
stone-crushing
THUD!
and the door crashes
open.

~~~

I whirl around, knife still raised, ready, so
ready, to fight them all. A hundred men couldn’t stop me when I’m
this close to saving her.

My arm drops when I see her.

Skye.

Blood-spattered and fierce-eyed and
here
. The bodies of dozens of guards are scattered and
broken on the floor behind her. She came. She came for me—for us.
For Jolie and me.

She looks at me, at the king, at Jolie’s
body, taking it all in.

The king groans and I turn back. One of his
eyes is slitted open and he’s staring at me. His hand lifts, slides
toward me as if beckoning for help. Instead I raise the knife once
more.