We skipped lunch, so none of us has the patience for a hot meal. But Mara insists on putting something warm inside us before we go to sleep. So as we dine on dried figs, bread, and cheese, she sets water to boiling to make pine-needle tea.
I’m feeling satiated and warm when Hector stands and stretches. “I need to check the horses,” he says. He turns to me. “Want to learn how to polish tack?”
It’s suddenly hard to breathe, because I know exactly what he’s thinking. “All right,” I manage.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Mara smiling as I get to my feet and follow Hector to the back of the cave and around the small lip of stone.
His arm hooks my waist, and he pulls me into the dark.
I melt against him. His mouth crashes down on mine, and he kisses me desperately, furiously. I respond by pouring out weeks of frustration and worry into our embrace, running my hands up his arms, over his shoulders. My fingers tangle in his hair as I assure myself that he’s here, that he’s mine.
His hand slips under my shirt, splays against the skin of my back. I break off our kiss to trail my lips along his jaw toward his ear, where I whisper, “I’m still taking the lady’s shroud.”
His breath hitches, and he buries his face in my neck and rests there a moment. His heartbeat is as ragged as my own.
Finally he says, “Are you sure, Elisa?”
It’s baffling and amazing to me how, after everything, he can remain the least bit uncertain of my feelings. “It’s one of the few things I’m sure of.”
He lifts his head and considers me thoughtfully. Then he tips up my chin with his thumb and kisses me again—a sweeter, gentler kiss that feels like sun breaking through the clouds.
The pit of my stomach buzzes as I press my forehead into his chest, saying, “I told you that you would kiss me again.”
He laughs. “It’s the ‘and more’ part I remember most vividly.” He gently pushes me away, putting a safe cushion of distance between us. He grabs my hands and lifts them to his lips. “When we reach Basajuan, maybe I can get you to myself for a while.”
The earth tilts a little.
“In the meantime,” he adds, “I really should teach you how to care for tack. I find myself in need of a distraction.”
I grin. “Good idea.”
The storm rages all night and into the morning. After a breakfast of bean mash and hard biscuits dipped in tea, we gather at the fire to take stock of our situation.
“How much food do we have left?” Hector asks as he polishes one of his daggers. It seems he is always doing something toward the upkeep of his weapons. Maybe I should learn from his example.
“One bag of dried corn, two of grain—we should save that for the horses,” says Mara. “Some dates. A round of cheese. Dried meat for one day. I can stretch the meat farther with a stew. I’m out of flour for thickening.”
“You can use pine bark pulp instead of flour,” Hector says.
“We could eat one of the horses,” Belén points out.
My stomach turns at the thought, but I say, “We’re nearly out of grain and can’t feed them anyway.”
“Anything we slaughter will keep for days in this temperature,” Mara says.
“I’ve eaten horse before,” Mula says. “Tastes like dog.”
“Maybe there’s some grass or underbrush buried in the snow outside,” Hector says. “But no one ventures farther than that until it clears. And if you do go out, you must be tied to a rope. No exceptions.”
We all nod agreement.
“Elisa?” Storm says. “What if the weather clears? What then?”
His sister is nodding as he speaks. “The pass is snowed in by now,” she adds. “There is no way through.”
I turn on her. “Then we’ll blow our way through,” I snap. “Storm and I. With our Godstones.”
She opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind.
“I’m not sure that will work,” Hector says.
“Why not?”
“Anything you melt will just refreeze in this temperature. Not even our mountain horses can handle an ice trail. Especially not at an incline.”
The walls close in around me, and darkness boils in my center. I can’t give up. I refuse to believe that after everything I’ve gone through, everything I’ve put my friends through, I’ll be foiled by mere weather. Or maybe not “mere weather.” The rare cold, the poor visibility, the thunder snow, it’s all thanks to Lucero and his volcanoes. “There has to be a way. There has to.”
“The Deciregi might be stuck too,” Belén says. “Or better yet, maybe they’re dead.”
Storm stares at him. “Do you really mean that? Or are you speaking falsehood to comfort Elisa? I can never tell.” To me he says, “The Deciregi were at least a day ahead of us. The storm came at us from behind, so I’m sure they crossed into Joya d’Arena before the heavy snow hit. They’re probably headed north toward Basajuan even now.”
Everyone ponders for a moment. One of the horses snorts, and the fire pops, sending an ember flitting to the ground near the toe of my boot, where it flares and dies.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Mara says. “Maybe the storm will blow itself out soon and the weather will break warm.”
“Maybe,” Belén says, but his voice is tinged with doubt.
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my forehead on them. I mutter, “If the Deciregi reach Basajuan before we do, they’ll raze it to the ground and use the area to mount another offensive, even more massive than the first, against Orovalle and Joya d’Arena. We will lose everything.” And everyone.
“We may have to look to our own survival,” Hector says. I usually love this about him, that he can be practical and frank in the most dire circumstance. But right now I can’t help my twinge of annoyance.
“I want ideas, Hector. Solutions.”
“Your safety is my highest priority,” he says, just as sternly. “And I won’t let you starve in this cave or freeze to death on the trail. If the mountains remain impassable, we must consider retreating back to Umbra de Deus as soon as the weather clears.”
I lift my head to glare at him. “What good does it do to protect a queen if there is nothing to be queen of?”
Firelight shadows the planes of his face and gives a shimmer of red to his black hair, making him look fiercer than ever. Softly, he says, “Do you really think I obsess over your safety just because you are my queen? Surely you know better by now.”
Vaguely, I’m aware of everyone else shifting uncomfortably, of the storm sending a gust of wind inside that makes our fire dance crazily. But I can’t tear my gaze from his face. I know what he’s thinking. I could give it all up. I could wait out the winter and then retire to a hidden location, somewhere remote, and live out my days. All I have to do to survive is remove myself from danger. And Hector would be with me.
I’ve been prepared to give my life for my land and people. But only if it accomplishes something. I’ve never believed in senseless death. At what point does our situation become so perilous and impossible that continuing the fight is senseless?
God, what should I do?
“I have an idea,” Waterfall says.
As one, we turn to stare at her.
“The mines,” she says.
Storm frowns at his sister. “Are your orders to get us all killed? Even if it means sacrificing yourself?”
“No! Of course not. I don’t deny that the mines are deadly. But they’d offer protection from weather and cold. We could travel halfway to Basajuan through the tunnels. The storm will have cleared by the time we come out.”
“Storm,” Hector says in a voice more like a growl. “Tell us about these mines. Tell us everything you know. Do not leave out a single detail.”
Storm looks to me, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He’s going to have to get used to taking orders from Hector.
He sighs. “You may have noticed,” he says, “that places of power tend to be underground—or at least near a conduit to the inner earth, like the volcanoes. It’s a long-held belief among Inviernos that the deeper one goes into the earth, the closer one gets to the zafira.”