There are no rules, Cleo said,except survive. If he wants me dead ...I might have to kill him first, I think, dread spiking through me.
Not yet. Right now, he’s my salvation, as we work to cut the curved trees into logs. We work diligently, quietly, my muscles too frozen to hurt, until we have our small structure built.
Calder stacks a few smaller pieces, then points to the pile he’s made. “Make a fire.”
I blink at him. “I can’t.”
He frowns. He looks at my hair, then at me, like I might have forgotten my entire lineage. His voice is flat. “You can’t?”
Shame heats my face the slightest degree. “I mean—the cold. It makes it harder.”
Calder just blinks at me, and I see the meaning in his eyes. He has cleared the path for me this entire journey. He saved us from the storm. He did most of the work in creating this shelter.
The least I can do is make a damned fire.
“I’ll try,” I bite out, and he grunts, nodding.
Then, he leaves our small shelter.
“I thought you said there was a storm,” I yell, sticking my head out, tensing as I’m met with endless flurries.
All I see is his hulking form walking slowly away, into the forest, disappearing into the wave of white.
I realize he had every opportunity to kill me thus far. He must be waiting for something. No time to worry about it now.
Fire. We will both need it.
And though fire clearly isn’t allowed in other exercises, or inside the dormitories ... Cleo said there were no rules right now.
I can use my flames. If only I can find them.
I close my eyes. I remember my years and years of training. My fire is in my heart. Always. I focus on my breathing. I clear my mind.
I outstretch my hand.
Nothing. It’s as if the years of training and mastery have been wiped away by this cold. As if my flames are also numb.
Annoyance flares through me. Sharp as this cold. What did I spend so many years training for? I am no master in fire. If I was, this wouldn’t be so difficult. If I was, I could actually form even a damnedember—
I growl, and my hand heats. My eyes widen—but the feeling sinks back into my skin, my anger forgotten. A single cinder falls onto the wooden pieces, like a taunt.
My hands curl into fists, just as the makeshift door to our shelter opens.
And Calder walks through, with a deer on his back.
Food. He was getting food.
His eyes find the unlit wood, and then me. He scowls. He doesn’t say anything, but again, I can almost read the word in his face.
Really?
My father’s words are sharp in my mind.Worthless. Weak.
“I’m going to get it,” I bite out. Calder only shakes his head. He leaves the shelter, and I hear hacks of his blade, over and over, cutting and skinning.
I don’tget it. Calder finishes, and walks into the shelter, and the wood is still cold and dry.
He doesn’t say a word, but I can almost feel his disdain. All he does is grunt, turn, and then fall asleep.
