“I’m bored already,” Feve says.
“You shut it,” Siena says, which makes me smile. I’d love to get a glimpse into whatever history there is between those two.
“I’m in,” Circ says.
“It might help us figure things out,” Wilde adds.
“Right,” Buff says. “First rock’s for Wilde.” Surprise, surprise.
There’s scuffling and scraping as everyone moves to the front of their cells. I stick my head out and purposely look left first, so as to not be so obvious about how icin’ bad I want to look in Skye’s direction. Siena’s head pops out but she looks at Circ, who’s grinning at her. Feve’s on the opposite side, his bare chest sliced by shadows and markings. He’s staring at me like if he looks hard enough he might kill me with just his eyes. Further down the row, Wilde’s next to Feve, and she’s looking my way, but past me, I guess at Skye.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
Not yet. Too obvious.
Buff’s at the end of the hall, sort of looking at everyone, but definitely favoring Wilde’s direction.
Don’t look—
—how can I not look?—
—don’t. Really, don’t.
I look.
I mean for it to be a quick, nonchalant glance, just to see that she’s there, but she’s looking right at me, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips I’ve gotten to see the most of over the last day. I don’t blush this time, not one bit, just look back, meeting her eyes, feeling something akin to excitement rush through my chest.
She’s not icy, like we thought. Nay, her beauty goes far beyond a word like that, which suddenly seems so childish, so ordinary. And she is anything but ordinary. With deep, brown eyes that seem to collect every last flicker of torchlight, strong high cheekbones that fit her right-sized nose and full lips so perfectly, she’s a brown-skinned angel, delicate and strong, soft and hard—and grinning.
I’ve been staring a while.
“Mornin’, icy Dazz,” she says, soft enough so only I can hear.
“Morning, beautiful Skye,” I say, shocking myself at my own boldness.
Skye’s grin fades and I can tell I’ve surprised her too, which is some feat, considering she’s seemed one step ahead from the very beginning.
When Buff says, “Catch, Wilde!” she looks past me, and the moment is broken. I turn, too, and watch as Buff chucks the stone awkwardly through the bars. To his credit, it goes in the general direction of Wilde, skipping across the stone and resting in front of her cell, where she picks it up. She looks at Buff, her long black hair draped behind her.
“Ahem.” Buff clears his throat. “Wilde, my lady, what are the three most important qualities you look for in a guy?”
Chaos follows the question. I’m laughing, unable to help it. Feve’s protesting, yelling something about the childishness of Icers. Siena and Circ are holding hands and more or less just shaking their heads. And Skye’s screaming the most, saying things like “…burnin’ not what we agreed,” and “…searin’ wooloo Icies.”
Wilde, however, raises a hand, instantly silencing everyone, including me, as I suddenly find myself unable to laugh. “Truth, honor, wisdom,” she says, answering.
There’s silence for a moment, and then I say, “Sorry, Buff, oh for three.”
Laughter fills the dungeon, Buff’s being the loudest of all as he nods his head. I catch a glance from Feve and it’s not filled with animosity. He’s not laughing exactly, but he’s not glaring or frowning or shooting eye-daggers, so I guess it’s a win.
Skye’s laughing, too, which makes me smile even bigger. Score one for the funny man.
We all stop, however, when the door barges open and Big sticks his thick head in. “What the freeze is goin’ on in here! Shut yer gruel-eaters ’fore I shut ’em for you!” He slams the door and there’s a lot of hands over mouths, as people try not to laugh.
“Now, can we stick to the rules?” Wilde says.
Buff nods sheepishly.
Right away, Wilde turns down the row and says, “Dazz,” bouncing the rock along the floor. It skitters to my feet and stops against my toe. I look up expectantly. What will the wise Wilde leader ask me?
“What are you not telling us?” she asks.
Chapter Twenny
I bite my lip. I’ve told them most everything, but not one of the most important things. They might already know all about it—but then again, they might not. And who am I to be the one to tell them? On the other hand, who am I to keep it from them?
I decide on a more neutral approach, seeing if I can draw what they know out of them.
“My sister was taken,” I say.
Silence and stares.
“I’m sorry, I left it out because—well, I don’t know why. Just because it’s personal, I guess. Her name’s Jolie, she’s twelve years old, and someone took her away, abducted her in the middle of the night. I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t—” My voice breaks and I look at the ground, at the rock at my feet. Failure written all over me. Plain as day for Skye to see. I couldn’t even protect my own little sister.
“Who took her?” Wilde asks softly.
A second question. Do I have to answer? Should I answer? Can I answer?
“I don’t know for sure,” I say, “but I think…”
I grab the rock, skid it across Siena’s cell, all the way to Circ’s. “How can the Heaters send their children to King Goff?” I ask, with no attempt to keep the venom outta my voice. I feel heat rising everywhere. My fists clench and I feel my old friend, my temper, urging me to hit something, anything. So much for our fun, laughter-filled game. Maybe we should’ve stuck to Buff’s type of questions.
“What?” Circ says.
“What the scorch are you talkin’ ’bout, Icy?” Skye says. There’s no question it’s a capital I in Icy this time.
My eyes meet hers, but there’s no anger in them. Or truth. She has no clue what I’m talking about. I scan the faces of the other prisoners and find the same thing in all of them. Confusion. They’re as clueless as I was not that long ago. They don’t know an icin’ thing about any of it, which is a huge relief, because if they did…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be something I could forgive. Says the man who delivered the children to the king.
I sigh, close my eyes, feeling the heat leave me.
Eyes closed, I tell them everything I left out the last time.
~~~
When I finish, there’s complete silence. Dungeon master Big would be proud.
When I open my eyes, I expect everyone to be looking at me, just staring. Hating me. For being the messenger. For not doing anything to stop it. For delivering—actually being a part of taking—the children to Goff.
But they’re not. They’re looking off into nothing. At the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. None of them speaking or doing much. Just waiting, as if maybe I’ll say, “Ha! I got you, didn’t I?” But I can’t say that, as much as I wish I could.
Finally, Wilde speaks. “Goff took your sister. Jolie.” It’s not a question.
I nod, tired of speaking.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“What’s he doing with the kids?” Feve asks. I shake my head, feeling more and more helpless. “You don’t know?”
“No one does,” Buff says, coming to the rescue. “Not even those close to the king. It’s a big mystery.”
I remember that it’s Skye and Siena’s father who’s as much to blame as anyone. I look at Skye first, but she must have something mighty interesting on her thin, leather shoe, because she’s studying it with both her eyes. So I look at Siena, who feels me looking, and turns her head. There’s a tear in her eyes, just hanging there, as if it’s not strong enough to make it over the edge of her eyelid.
“That’s what he was doing for the Cure?” she says. It’s a question, but I don’t think she’s expecting an answer, so I don’t say anything. She wipes away the weak tear with the back of her hand, then slams it into her other palm, as if smashing it. “I always wondered what’d be enough to trade for some of the Cure. Some tug meat ain’t nothing. Guarding the border? It made sense when we thought there was no Fire in ice country, when maybe fear of it spreading would make the king give a lot for a little. But now it makes sense, in a knocky kinda way. If Goff wanted little kids for some reason, then he’d pay anything for them, even the Cure. No wonder my father was so obsessed with reproducing.”