Page 73 of Omen of ice
We hike south for the better part of the day. Daroose and Valen take turns sniping at each other, and I keep an eye out for palewort, an herb used for alleviating headaches. I’m going to need it before nightfall.
“I met Servis once—he’d be yourgreat-grandfather, right?” Daroose is ahead of me, walking behind Valen. “Was quite self-absorbed, even for a Fae. Servis always bragged about how superior the Winter Fae were and how they’d be the only ones left standing.”
“I suppose he was right, in the end.” Valen’s pace remains steady, but his posture slumps a little. A small spike of shame hits me as his guilt flares again. “After the war, refugees from the other courts came to him for help. He refused them all.”
“And they tore themselves apart.” The whole thing makes me ill. Our history shows that humans did a fair amount of damage to themselves. There was no shortage of violence and war, but our motives were never that cutthroat. There were disagreements over beliefs and territory, but we’d never set out to wipe each other from the face of Derriga. We never stood by as branches of our race withered and died. If someone, even our enemies, was truly in need, we opened our doors. We tried to help the non-druid villages—we just didn’t have enough resources to spare to make a difference.
“Aye.” Valen sighs. “He said there weren’t enough resources to go around. The Winter Lands were fairly desolate after the war. Then Envrill took over. He promised to take in migrants from the broken courts.”
“But he never did.” The story the druids were told was that there still weren’t enough resources to care for the Winter Lands’ own citizens. To take on more would be to doom their own people. But after meeting Orbik, I doubt that his father was much different from him.
“And the current ruler?” Daroose snorts. “What of him?”
“My uncle, Orbik.” Valen cringes a little. “By the time he claimed the throne, it was apparently too late. The chaos had taken over, and the rebel bands had formed. There were far too many centuries of bad blood between the Winter Lands and everyone else.”
He adjusts his pack, swinging it to the opposite shoulder. The weight of it presses down on me. The link seems to open in times of heightened emotion, but over the last forty-eight hours, it seems to also be affecting us at random. A touch here, a scratch there…
“He’s got no intention of sharing our prosperity,” Valen says.
Daroose grabs a handful of leaves from a nearby tree as we pass. He sifts through them, picks out the largest, then rolls it up and takes a bite. He makes sure to grimace and glare at Valen as he chews.
Valen still doesn’t slow his pace. “I don’t agree with what Orbik is doing. I don’t agree with what any of them have done. They—”
I gasp. Pressure in my chest and leaden weight in my limbs. The ground dips and sways, and a wave of vertigo throws me off-balance. I thrust my arm out to keep from toppling, but all I get is air. Icy air. The temperature around me plummets.
Someone catches me before I hit the ground. “Keltania?” There’s concern in Daroose’s voice, but the panic I feel from Valen is enough to steal my breath away.
“Don’t worry,” I say to him as Daroose helps me right myself. The sensation is gone almost as quickly as it came. My vision snaps back into focus, and the eerie chill abates. “I’m not dying, so you’re probably safe.”
He frowns. “What happened?”
“I just need to eat something.” I bend to retrieve my pack, which has fallen on the ground. Unfortunately, after rummaging through it, I come up empty-handed. We’ve exhausted our food reserves.
Valen checks his with the same results. He spins in a slow circle, scanning the area. “There should be beetberries in this part of the forest. I read that the Autumn Court used them in all kinds of desserts.”
“I’m not convinced this is a nutrition issue,” Daroose says. He leans closer, coming nose-to-nose. He pokes my cheek several times before straightening. “Your pupils are dilated, and you smell funny.”
I swat him away. “Rude.”
He ignores me and turns to Valen. “We’re going to need help. I think I know someone—if he’s still around.”
As we make our way, my feet become heavier. My body begins to ache, and I feel like I haven’t slept in days. Daroose leads us west for nearly an hour before stopping and announcingwe’ve arrived. He starts a fire, tosses in some pontiweed—which turns the smoke bright green—then settles against a large tree.
Valen has been staring at him for the last twenty minutes. His irritation at the kelpie’s silence is mounting. “What, exactly, are we doing?”
Daroose examines his nails, fanning his fingers and giving his hand a quick shake. “Waiting.”
“For what?”
“I told you—I have a friend who I hope still lives in the area. He might be able to help.”
“Help withwhat? You still haven’t told us why we’re here.”
The tips of my fingers turn cold as the cuticles of Valen’s left hand begin to frost. I hold up my hand and wiggle my fingers as the numbness settles in. “Valen, hand me my pack. It’s gettingcoldout here.”
His eyes go wide, and he clenches his fist, taking a visibly deep breath when he realizes the magic is affecting me. I still don’t know what to make of Daroose. I already feel like we’ve told him too much.
Once I’m sure Valen has his magic under control, I turn back to Daroose. “What do we need help with, exactly?”
