LOGINAmaraIt came back four nights later, and I knew the second the coin on my neck went cold that it had changed its mind about what it wanted.The other nights it had reached for me. I'd feel the pull aimed at the center of myself, the hand cupping the back of my skull, come here, come to me. Not this time. This time the cold came up off the river and went past me. I stood on the wall in the middle of it and felt the dead pour into the lower town and felt nothing reaching for me at all."It's not coming for me," I said. Aldric was beside me, blade out. "Aldric. It's not coming for me.""Then who..."The dead answered him. They came up the ramp in a wedge, ignoring the fires, ignoring the people screaming and stabbing at their flanks, walking through wounds that should have stopped them, and they came straight for the man standing next to me. Not me. Him."Get back from the wall," I said, and grabbed his sleeve, and it was the first time in a year I'd been the one to grab. "Aldric. Insid
AldricBram had a man dying in the long shed three days after we came home, and that was how we learned what anchored meant.The man was one of the seventeen. Call, a quiet one, who'd taken cold through a gap in the siege Sela couldn't have known about and held it secret two days because he didn't want to be a bother, which is the most of the seventeen there is in one sentence. By the time Bram found the gray climbing his ribs it was past the elbow of where you cut. Into the trunk."He's got till morning," Bram said, in the flat voice he uses when he's already lost and won't insult you by hiding it. "Maybe. I can make it not hurt. That's the whole of what I've got."Amara stood at the foot of the cot a long time."No," she said. "Not him too. I'm tired of standing at the foot of the cot.""You can't chase it out of the trunk." Bram didn't move from her path, but he said it. "We learned that with the woman from Two Creeks. You'll pour yourself into a man who's already leaving and lose
BramSix. They'd left with six. For one breath I let myself think everyone was coming home.Then I counted again, and there were five riders and one shape tied across a saddle, and I knew the shape was Maren.I had the gate open before Rell gave the order. Some things you don't wait to be told.They came in slow, all of them gray and thinned by the road, and the first thing I did was to move down the line deciding who needs me most, and the answer was nobody, the wounds were old and the worst hurt on any of them wasn't the kind I treat. Amara sat her horse like a woman carrying something heavier than herself. There was new white in her hair, a whole streak of it. Zane wouldn't leave her side, close as a guard. And Wren had Maren's rein and wouldn't give it up, even at the gate, even when hands came to help."I've got her," Wren said, to nobody, to everybody. "I had her the whole way. I've got her."Sela came across the yard on her crutch faster than she should have, and she and Amara
ZaneWe wrapped Maren in her own cloak and tied her across her horse, because you don't leave anyone in that country, not even to the warm grass, and we turned north out of Orsel's little circle of summer back into the cold we'd crossed to get here.Wren wouldn't let anyone else lead Maren's horse. She took the rein and walked, and nobody argued, and that was the funeral. A girl walking a dead woman's horse out of hell, dry-eyed.Amara rode in the middle of us, quiet but here, present, her hand off her neck. The grave had done something. She'd come back up off that warm stone changed, steadier, like touching Orsel had shown her the worst and the worst turned out to be survivable, at least to look at. I let myself feel almost good for half a day.Then, around noon, she made a sound and folded over her own saddle horn like she'd been hit.I had her before she came off the horse. "What. What is it.""Greywater." Her face had gone white and far away. "The cold's there. It's there now. I c
SelaThe cold reached Greywater on the fifth night they were gone.I was awake because the leg doesn't let me sleep much, and because somebody has to be awake when everybody else is pretending the quiet is restful and not the held breath it actually is. I was up on the wall-walk with a blanket and a bad attitude when the river stopped.You'd think a river stopping would be loud. It's the opposite. One moment there's the sound a river makes, and the next there's nothing. I looked down and the water had gone to gray glass under the moon, edge to edge, in the time it took me to notice."Rell!" I don't have a fighting body anymore but I've still got the loudest mouth in any building. "RELL. River's froze. It's here."She was on the wall before the echo died.We did the things. We'd drilled the things a dozen times against the chance and now the chance was a wall of white coming up off the ice into the lower town, and the things were: fire and people behind fire and the weak in the middle.
WrenWe propped Maren against the warm stone with her legs out in the green grass, and for a moment the heat of it gave her back a little color, enough to lie to myself with.She ran her fingers over the face of the stone, by touch, her eyes half shut. There was writing on it. Not letters I knew. Old marks, worn soft, and Maren read them with her fingertips and her lips moved and her face fell, piece by piece."What does it say," Amara said. She'd knelt in the grass across from Maren, close to the stone, and the warmth had brought the human color back to her face too. For the first time in three days she didn't have her hand on the back of her neck."It says her name. Orsel. And under it..." Maren's fingers stopped on a mark. "Under it the word for held. Not died. Not rests. Held. Present. Still happening." She looked up, and her eyes were wet and afraid. "Wren. She's not buried here. There's nobody in the ground. The stone isn't a marker. It's a door, and she's behind it, and she's b
Amara I'd waited for the right moment, the way I'd told the old man I would, and the right moment turned out to be the worst one... the last quiet we were going to get. The camp had done everything it could. Bram had set the snares. Aldric had walked every approach twice and then a third time. The
Amara We reached them late on the second day... a day later than we'd meant to, the lost day sitting on all of us like a debt we'd have to pay back in blood. The Seventeen weren't hiding, and they weren't exposed. Their camp sat in a natural bowl of stone and old trees, the kind of ground Bram pic
Aldric We didn't run the next day. Amara was right... running only fed Seraphine the map. So we held in a treed fold of high ground with good sightlines and two ways out, and we made it ready. Cleared the approaches. Set Bram's snares on the low paths. Banked the fire down to nothing. Three days
Zane We ran hard for two days after the cleft, putting country between us and the trap Seraphine had tried to herd us into. Corvus was coming... Maren said it, Amara said it, and the new rope in my chest said it, the one I hadn't known was tied to me until two nights ago. But a man can't run scared







