Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1) (17 page)

It's amazing how quickly time slips through your fingers. Blink and it's gone. I never understood how fleeting it was until right now, staring across the dried up bed of the Hudson River, at the broken skyline I would recognize anywhere, at the castle that haunts my thoughts.

Asher and I have spent four days pedaling as fast as we could, four nights touching as slow as we could, and now there is nothing left. The rebels march tomorrow, which means Queen Deirdre must die today.

But she won't.

And that single thought stabs my chest, an open wound.

Asher tried to say goodbye last night, but I could not bear to hear the words. Every syllable was a knife to my heart, pain I deserve to feel for what I am about to do. As we lay under the stars in each other's arms, he held me close, catching my tears with his lips. In that moment, I almost broke. Almost confessed. But that would accomplish nothing, would not save him. So I held him close, hugged my face into his chest so my lips could not open, could not speak.

We stayed that way, silent, not even kissing, just embracing until the sun rose. I've never hated dawn before, but this morning it was my enemy, unrelenting and impossible to defeat.

Asher takes my lifeless hand, squeezing it gently, trying to let me know that it will all be okay. I tighten my grip, wondering if he has guessed why my throat holds no words, why the days have passed with so little conversation. Does he know it is because every time I open my mouth to speak, I fear what I might say? That even a glance might give my betrayal away?

But there is no need to worry. Trust shines like a vibrant flame in his eyes, one that will soon be snuffed out.

I break his hold, unable to bear the sincerity in his gaze, and mount my bike, pedaling ahead of him. Asher follows quickly behind me and we dip through the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel, to the spot where it all began.

The rickety squeak of wheels sounds slightly foreboding to my ears, and as we descend underground with only candlelight to guide us, I realize how much I miss my horse. There's something silly about riding into battle on a bike. My guns are reloaded and strapped to my hips, bulky. My sword bounces against my leg. Even my crossbow slides down my shoulder so I must constantly shrug to keep it in place.

I am awkward, graceless. My butt hurts. I miss the feel of muscles coiling and extending beneath my legs, empowering and strong. The sound of thunderous steps, galloping at full speed, making my heart race with excitement. But even my horse could not bring a thrill to my veins, not today.

All too soon, sunlight reappears as a speck in the distance, enlarging until we have reached the end. We leave our bikes to climb over the heap of fallen rocks blocking the exit, maneuvering through the rubble as I lead him around the location of the mines.

Before we know it, Asher and I are back in New York. Neither of us says anything as we pass the pharmacy where we first met, first fought. I'm too distracted. I don't want to think about the first time Asher decided to trust me, when he saved my life because he thought he saw something brave in my eyes. But I'm a coward, and I'm waiting for him to realize it too.

Wordlessly, we walk. Both lost in our own thoughts. But our fingers squeeze together tightly, bound together, giving me strength. 

Asher and I have gone over this plan countless times during the past few days. I'm to present him to the queen as my prisoner, and when we get close to her, he will make his move. That, at least, is what he believes. So when we reach the very edge of Central Park, just beyond sight of the wall, he does not protest as I pull his arms behind his back and secure them loosely with a rope.

Three knives are hidden under the cotton shirt covering his torso. A gun is strapped around his thigh, reachable through the hole in his pant leg pocket. He does not realize that I took the bullets out in the middle of the night. He never thought to double check.

In this instant, we are no longer a boy and girl. From now on, I am a Black Heart and Asher is my prisoner. We will play our parts until we're delivered to the queen. No speaking. No lingering glances. No tender touching. Though he believes it is just an act, I know differently. I understand that this is the way it was always going to end. In hatred. In betrayal.

Happy just doesn’t have a place in my story.

I take a deep, uneven breath, and push Asher forward, steeling myself, prepared to begin. But he stills me with one word.

"Jade."

My heart stops.

He knows.

But when he looks over his shoulder, promises blaze in his eyes. Fire and warmth fill his irises, and I know exactly what is coming next. The goodbye I would not let him say. The words that would be too painful to hear.

Asher's mouth dips open.

"Stop," I croak, voice broken like the city that raised me. "I can't take it."

Asher's brows furrow, hurt, but he nods like he understands. And I want to shake him, no you don't know, but my hands do not move. He is too gentle. Too trusting. Maybe I would be too if things were different. If life wasn’t so cruel.

But it is.

And my fragile heart cannot take anymore. If I hear those words dancing in his gaze, I might give in. I might give up and let Asher have his way.

But I can't. I won't lose him to death. I would rather he hate me.

So I look away, breaking the moment, and Asher steps forward letting me know that it is okay, that it is hard for him too, that he's ready.

It takes fifteen minutes for us to reach the wall.

My hands tremble, my palms sweat, my heart races. But on the outside my expression is calm, my face is blank. I know when my old comrades spot me because a black speck on the wall jumps into motion. Even from a distance I see him run to the nearest guard tower.

My pace does not slow or quicken. I steel my nerves, encircle my body in a hard shell that no one will be able to crack. I become my namesake. I am not cold or cursed. The queen's magic does not fill me. I am trapped in a spell that is entirely my doing. But it is the only way I know to carry on.

The gate to the city opens when we are just a few feet away. Inside, hands behind his back and feet shoulder width apart, the commander waits.

I search his eyes for a speck of relief, a dot of warmth, any morsel that lets me know some worry has been eased by my safe return. But they are blank, just as emotionless as I remember. I wait for disappointment to tighten my chest, but nothing comes because really, this is exactly what I expected.

"Jade," his deep voice closes the space between us.

"Commander Alburn." I nod in greeting, a subordinate to her leader, not a daughter to her father. "I have brought the queen her son."

Asher plays his part well, refusing to meet the commander's eyes, struggling against my grip as I mention his mother. I hold him steady, jerking his shoulders straight, rough in my movements.

"You are not in uniform." The commander upturns his nose in distaste, inspecting both Asher and me, pausing on my black heart pin with a slight nod. "But the queen will want to see you immediately."

He shouts commands that are followed without protest, and a carriage is brought before us. I shove Asher in first, distracted by the stares of the guard, not paying attention, and his forehead bangs against the door. My face remains serene as he groans in pain. My arms do not flinch as I force him into a seat and make my way inside. But guilt invades my system. Then I remember that this pain is nothing compared to what I am about to inflict. Nausea rots my stomach, and I swallow, but the unease will not go away.

"Where have you been these past weeks?" The commander asks, closing the door. Not a moment later, the carriage rolls into motion, bumpy over these ill paved streets.

He knew the queen's plan, so I am not sure why he bothers asking the question. There is a wary gleam in his eye that concerns me, as though he knows the queen no longer controls me. The tiny cabin suddenly feels too small. I cannot look at the commander. I cannot look at Asher. So I turn my face to the window, watching stone homes pass by, but even the old buildings seem to judge me.

"I was captured by the rebels and brought back to their base where I remained imprisoned until little over a week ago. I recognized the prince and did not want to free myself until I could also detain him and return him to Queen Deirdre. A few days ago, the camp was attacked and I was finally able to act. I returned as quickly as I was able."

"I see," he draws the last word out. "The queen and I were concerned that you had perhaps lost your way."

My palms are beginning to sweat. Does the queen know I am no longer loyal? Her frosty curse does not invade my insides. In fact, warmth seeps into my skin, making me hot, confined, about to faint.

The cart shifts angles and through the window, the town begins to shrink. We have started the ascent to the castle, up the winding mountainside, and I'm reminded that it does not matter. By her magic or mine, the queen will get her way. Asher will be caught and that is all that matters to her.

"She has plans for you Jade, plans I cannot reveal but which require your dedication."

I rein my emotions in, force my breath to calm.

"I have never failed before, Commander." I turn from the window, pulling my eyes away from the rising height, meeting his cold stare with one of my own. Empty. Hard. Focused. My voice has migrated back to its old flatness as I tell him the truth. "I do not intend to start now."

A grim smile and nod is my only response.

Asher's eyes flick to me, an aura in my peripheral, concerned. He cannot tell if it is still an act or if the queen is starting to pull me under the thrall. I wonder if he is starting to catch on, if he could even fathom that this is entirely my doing. I'm not sure I want to know. I stay straight, face forward, detached.

A drowsy chill has settled over my system, dull but still there, haunting almost. A sense of calm trickles down my limbs, stilling the nervousness. Part of me feels completely ready for what is about to occur. Part of me wants to scream. I grasp onto the second part, keeping that fire close to my heart, burning. I have not betrayed him yet, so I hold on to these last few minutes of passion. Warmth permeates the space between my body and Asher's, pushing and pulling so I cannot shirk the awareness of his skin so close to mine. We do not touch, even the barest brush of fingers might give me away, but the heat is enough.

I hold on to it.

I want to remember what it felt like when he loved me.

The carriage pulls to a stop and the fire dissolves.

An odd sense of déjà vu settles over my system as we exit, almost in slow motion. Nothing feels real. I'm somewhere else, watching like a spectator as this imposter prepares to destroy the one man she's ever loved, the person who saved her.

It was not so long ago that I came here to meet the queen, that I received my mission. Yet the world is changed. The wrought iron gates are less majestic, the tall spires less intimidating now that I have seen and killed the creatures that built them. Even the sky has adopted a hazy gray color, clouding over and eliminating the stark blue, no longer reminiscent of the queen's eyes. Now they mirror my stormy mood.

We approach, climbing the steps to the front door. Asher's feet are sluggish, and I must press against his back to keep him moving. His head swivels, glancing everywhere. His pulse quickens beneath my fingers, a fine sheen of sweat glistens on the back of his neck. Asher's movements become frenetic, ticking this way and that. Afraid or apprehensive, I don't know. 

I do know that I am oddly empty. Spent. With each step, my heart grows harder, colder. I am bracing myself for what is to come.

As we make our way down the dark hallway, the cavernous throne room slowly comes into view. I wonder what waits. Will soldiers jump on us the moment we pass by, securing both of our arms, locking us away? Or did the queen always know that in the end I would not fail her?

The commander stops.

I push Asher past him, stepping into the brightly lit room.

The queen smiles from her throne. Crimson robes drape elegantly down the front of the wooden dais, flowing like a pool of blood around her. Lit from above by hidden windows, the golden crown blazes like fire, casting metallic reflections on her blonde hair, making it seem jeweled. Power exudes across the space between us—power and confidence.