The more I think of her, of that beach, ofher on that beach, the more the snow melts away. The more the fire in me grows, blazing through the storm. I think of heat, and sand, and salt, and green eyes, staring back at me.
I feel myself thawing, I feel the emotions washing over me against my will, against my oaths, against my frozen disposition.
Fear. Curiosity.
Hope.
My eyes open as I break free from this glass cage. I straighten, back in the hall, and catch a flash of green from across the room.Her. For a moment I’m frozen again, just as I was in the mirror. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Then, the claps begin, and I snap out of the moment. It’s done.
I made good time.
The demonstration continues, but I’m barely watching. All I can see is green, filling my mind, filling my soul. Before I know it, everyone has conquered their fears and the trial is over. Cleo wins. She was just slightly faster.
These feelings ... they’re rushing back. I’m thawing. I’m not the statue in the mirror.
And I’m not sure I like it.
I suspect the Wildling won’t try to go to Moon Isle until the full moon, when no guards are present. But I’m willing to bet it’s not the only place she wants to go.
I sit on top of the castle, overlooking the front stairs, waiting to see where she sneaks off to next. Far past midnight, I see a flash of movement and blue hair. Blue?
She’s disguised, but I’d know her anywhere. In any color. In any clothing. The way she moves is seared into my very soul. I’ve memorized her like she’s a map, and I’m a traveler. I’ve studied her like she’s a text, and I’m a scholar.
I’m becoming a damnedexpertin her.
And yet ... I get the sense that I could study her forever and never tire.
I am losing my mind. I am well aware. But I can’t get that image out of my head. Her, in my favorite place. Her eyes full of fire, the same way they were when she knocked the crown from my head.
The fire in her has lit a fire in me. And I’m not sure whether I’m going to ignite—or burn.
I can’t trust her. She has so many secrets. She could be working with Grim. Tonight, she’s disguising herself as a Skyling, and I’m going to find out why.
I follow from above as she makes her way across the Mainland, determination plain on her face. Several times, I want to land right in front of her and ask what she’s doing—I want to see what she’ll say.
If I’m honest with myself, I just want to hear her voice.
Even if it’s when she’s lying to me.
That voice. It’s a curse. It’s a gift. I need to know how her Wildling temptress abilities have pierced me, when I can’t seem to sense any other powers on her. She’s cloaking them ... but how?
Everything about her is a mystery.
She finally reaches Sky Isle and promptly crashes into a Skyling. I frown. She’s far too clumsy, for how good she is at fighting. Does she not look in front of her? Or does she get lost in her mind sometimes, the way I do?
I watch, entranced, wondering if the Skyling will detect she’s a fraud ... and what she’ll do if he does.
WhatI’lldo if he does ...
But he doesn’t. And, as she steps across the precarious bridge, I don’t miss the uneven rise and fall of her chest.
She’s afraid. Just like I was, the first time I crossed one.
Still, she takes each step. Her spine is straight. Her chin is high. No one would even know she felt fear unless they knew her. She masks it well. Pride surges within me when she finishes crossing, and I bury it down, scowling. She’slying to me. I am notproud of her. I don’t even know her.
That becomes abundantly clear as I follow her, careful to stay out of view until she enters the Skyling castle. Why the castle? I contemplate landing and following on foot, but my presence would attracttoo much attention. I wait. Not long after, she strolls out of the front door, angry.
I can see it in the set of her shoulders. In the curl of her fingers. She’s upset. She must have been looking for something, I reason, and she didn’t find it. I rack my mind for what could possibly be hidden in the Skyling castle. Their realm is a democracy. Everything, including knowledge, is shared freely ...
