The Arcana Chronicles 3: Dead of Winter

Her words gave me chills.

“But not the Emperor. That no-necked tyrant craves cataclysm. This game, he calls himself Richter. As in scale.” With a grin, she said, “We should thrash him just for that.”

I found my lips curling. “We were friends, weren’t we? Not just allies.”

She fidgeted with the trident on her lap, jutting her chin. “As close as sisters, if you must know.”

“Until I betrayed you?”

Glare.

Show of hands: who didn’t I betray in past games? “I’m so sorry. I wish I hadn’t.”

Circe’s glare changed to an expression of bafflement. “You are not you,” she repeated. “Until next time, hail Tar Ro, Empress.”

The water window disintegrated, as if melting.

The Priestess was gone.

Jack was still out when I returned to his tent.

Selena sat in a chair beside his cot. “Took you long enough.” As if she’d minded.

She and I might be solid again, but Selena would always be a superhuman pain in the ass. “Matthew hasn’t come back?” I’d been gone awhile.

After my confusing meeting with the Priestess, Cyclops and I had found a secluded patch of ground for me to grow fruit. My phytogenesis had been a sluggish process, taking tons of blood.

By the end, I’d been so woozy I’d blundered my way to Tess’s tent. But I’d delivered a bumper crop, a poncho full of treats, more than she could ever eat by herself.

With the archangel watching over her, she’d slept, her body so small under the blankets. But she’d already looked better.

Selena stood. “Matto’s probably wandering around the fort. As usual.” She gazed past me. “You’re letting that butt-ugly wolf inside?”

“The majestic wolf—that keeps saving my life—is an indoor pet.” I’d had a night like no other, just wanted to pass out.

“Whatever. You look like shit. Go to sleep, but plan on a talk when you get up.”

“About what?”

“Things.” With a lingering look at Jack, she ducked out of the tent. Sleep. Yes. I took Matthew’s cot, figuring he’d wake me if he wanted it back.

I lay on my side, so I could watch Jack. Despite my exhaustion and recent blood loss, I remained awake, as if my gaze refused to be parted from him.

At what should been dawn, roosters crowed. They did at Death’s home as well, undaunted by the lack of sun. Lark had once told me they crowed to their own rhythms.

Though the camp would be waking, maybe I could get an hour of sleep.

As I drifted away, I wondered what today would bring. . . .

16

DAY 374 A.F.

Earthquake?!

I shot awake in my shuddering cot, swaying with dizziness. Why was no one screaming?

Where was Jack? Matthew?

I rubbed my eyes. Oh. False alarm. Cyclops slept along the length of the cot, shaking it as he twitched in dreams.

I reached over and stroked his frizzy fur. “The things I put up with for you.” He woke, stretching his scarred limbs.

Wait, why was I in Jack’s cot? And not wearing pants? My jeans hung over the chair. Had he undressed me?

Matthew ducked inside. “Empress.” He looked even worse than yesterday.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Cyclops rose and padded past him, heading outside. I really hoped the wolf was fort-trained.

“I’m not feeling well.” Matthew moved to his cot, sitting stiffly.

“What hurts?”

His pale skin was stark against his black coat. “My brain.”

“Have you slept?”

“Yes. Days ago.” Who wasn’t strung out on zero sleep?

“You’ll feel better once you get some rest.” Which might be a lie. I’d awakened just as tired as before, only now I had a headache.

He nodded. “A respite’s necessary.” Anticipating my next question, he gestured toward the river. “Jack rode over to the army with the Tower and Judgment. Order! Discipline!” Joules and Gabriel were getting involved?

“Shouldn’t Jack be in bed—instead of riding through the dark and rain?” So much for not wanting to let me out of his sight.

“Once he sets his mind . . .”

I sighed. “Don’t I know it.” It’d taken me so long to be near him, and he was out of reach again. “What time is it?”

Shrug. “Dark.”

“Thanks.” I pivoted my legs over the side of the cot. The nearby fire crackled, but it did little to ward away the damp cold. I found myself missing my luxurious room at Death’s, then felt a ripple of guilt.

Matthew studied the ceiling so I could fetch my jeans.

I buttoned them, finding them looser. Only a few days away from Aric’s, and I’d already lost weight. Speaking of which . . . “How is Tess?”

“She’s okay. Like a reactor. She needed to regenerate.”

“Regenerate like me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nooo. Like a reactor.”

“So when will she be up and about?”

“She’s up. About.” Just when I felt relief, he added, “Mostly bald.”

I winced. “I’m going to have to make that up to her.” I hunted for my boots, found them at the foot of the cot. “Can we please talk about last night? About what the twins did to Jack?” I’d planned on airing out everything between me and him, but how could I after he’d suffered so much?

“His story to tell.”

“That’s all you’ll give me?”

His damp hair flopped over his forehead, and he shoved it back. He needed a haircut. “The Army grinds on, a windmill spins.” He’d told me this often in the past.

The Azey had once marched on Haven because the farm had been equipped with ready sources of water: windmill water pumps. In his own way, Matthew had been warning me of the Lovers’ approach.

Yet then I frowned, remembering what Vincent had told me. “The Milovnícis never cared about Haven’s water. They came only for me.”

“True.”

“So why did you mention windmills?”

“They spin to the scent of roses.”

Stifling my irritation, I sat on a trunk to pull on my boots. “Do you want to tell me about my history with the twins?” I’d once feared that much of Death’s ruthlessness had been shaped by past versions of me. I’d shaped the Lovers as well?

“I gave you the history. Up to you now.”

“To access those memories? You can’t just tell me? They said they practiced torture—for me.”