Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1) (6 page)

But not quite my match. I am more skilled. He is stronger. With every minute, my arms lose a little fight, my blocks grow a little softer, my attacks a little slower. His remain steady, unflinching.

So I play dirty, dropping to the ground while his sword swings overhead, using my leg to swipe at his feet, knocking him over once more. As he falls, I roll over his sword arm, placing my blade across his throat.

Our chests heave together, pressing and pulling against one another. Pink flushes his cheeks, enlivening his features, making his eyes seem darker, fuller. The distance between our faces is small, but time seems to stretch between it, expansive, vast.

"You're right," I say, relaxing my arm, "I don't have it in me."

I don't know if that's true or if I say it as a ploy to gain his trust. But I'm not sure I want to know. So I stand, rolling free from his chest while I drop my blade, breathing easier with the distance, letting the breeze cool the sweat from my brow.

He doesn't move from the floor, but his gaze shifts.

My eyes wander to the doorway.

We have visitors.

Four men watch on. They are older, not as fit, bulging slightly at the waist. Amusement is clear on their faces, as though the prince and I were putting on a show.

Well, we'll see how they like this.

In one leap, I am standing on top of a table. Before they can react, I am running, jumping from desk to desk toward the back of the room. Their feet pound in pursuit, but I have the advantage. I know this room inside and out.

As I reach the end of the row, I jump, hands gripping for the iron bars of the railing a few feet above my head. There is a second-floor balcony lining the edge of the room, and it would mean my escape.

My hands fasten around metal and I hang on, two choices flashing before my eyes.

I've made this jump before, practicing, leaping for fun just to see if I could—and I can. The men would never make it, too old and out of shape, but the prince might. Either way, I would have time on him, and I know where the exits lead, which halls to travel. I would lose him in the maze of this building, and then I would return to the queen, defiant, letting her know that she did not own me. But in that defiance, I would be stuck, trapped forever in her thrall. The places in my paintings would melt away, disappearing even from my dreams.

Or I can hang here, let their hands pull me to the ground, let them capture me and hold me prisoner, following the queen's plans perfectly. In the end, I would gain my liberty, but she would still own me forever. Though I would be free to wander the world, I would never fully be free from her or the choice she forced me to make.

Indecision stills me. Stalls me.

Hands grip my ankles, and I know it is too late.

One yank and I am on the ground, tangled in beefy arms that seem to appear from nowhere as they hold me still, bind my wrists, my ankles, tie a cloth over my eyes.

I am blind.

In the darkness, a voice whispers, "I'm sorry."

Pain explodes in my head, zipping down my back until my entire body burns. And then it disappears.

I disappear.

When I wake, darkness greets me. Black stripes crisscross my vision, thin and mildly translucent, almost like thread. Like a blindfold, I realize as a trickle of boastful conversation filters into my ear, too loud for my pounding head to handle.

My body wriggles, aching for freedom, but I quickly realize my hands are bound tightly behind my back and my feet, too, are strapped together.

The noise travels from behind me, so I use my strength to flip my body, rolling over my hands, biting my lips to keep from crying out at the pain of straining already spent muscles. Fire flickers dully into view, bringing my eyes slowly back to life. A shadow passes quickly in front of the fire, and the crunch of feet on leaves trickles into my ear.

My body goes completely still.

Fingers slip into my hair as hands convene, twisting at the back of my head until the cloth falls free. I blink rapidly, fighting the sting of sudden brightness, fire blazing before my face.

Four men sit around the flames, all eyes on me while they sit quietly and pick at the bones in their hands. The smell of roasted bird fills my nose, causing a grumble to rise in my stomach, loud and painful. I ignore it, surveying the scene as fast as I can. We are surrounded by trees, far from the city and completely alone. Each man sits with a gun and knife strapped to his waist. A large rifle leans against a tree behind them. There is probably another hidden in the grass by their feet.

If I could cut my binds, I would likely be able to slip free into the night. I doubt they would waste bullets following after me—an injured prisoner is much more difficult to deal with. Either way, I should probably try to escape. It would be suspicious to be too complacent, to seem too willing to be caught.

A fifth man is behind me, and I assume it is the prince. His boots shuffle against the ground and warm fingers touch my wrists, skin on skin, but then they pause.

"Are you going to run if I untie your hands?" His voice is smooth like velvet, washing over me. The same commanding voice of the queen, somehow empowered.

Like the queen, my gut tells me that I cannot lie to him. That he would see through me. Somehow, he would know. So I tell the truth. "Yes."

His hands abandon the bare skin of my wrists, finding my shoulders instead. Cradling me, he lifts my upper half from the ground, using his strength to help me sit upright.

"I appreciate your honesty," he says and steps into view, crouching down to my eye level. I meet his penetrating gaze.

"Would you have believed me if I said no?"

The only reply I receive is a deep grin, and then he stands, walking close to the fire and grabbing a plate of food.

"Do you like chicken?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I suppose not."

"Then, yes."

His tone sounds amused, but I keep my face blank as he comes back to sit at my side. He cuts through the meat with a knife and fork, teasing me with the possibility of escape if I could just slip that blade free without his realizing.

I look up and he is watching me, eyes reflecting the fire, gaze intrigued as he puts the plate on the opposite side of his body, setting the knife down a full three feet from my eager hands.

The fork rises to my lips and I bite, eyes popping wide as the flavors explode behind my lips.

"Do you know who we are?" He asks, hands back to work on feeding me dinner. Another slice of chicken rises to my mouth and I accept it eagerly, savoring the spicy taste before I respond.

"Rebels."

He pauses, trying to catch my eye, but I keep my glance down, focused on the food. I will not reveal that I know his identity, not so soon, not until I can use it to my advantage. For now, they are five rebels, five enemies I would love nothing more than to destroy.

The prince sighs. "I suppose that is how you would think of us, but I don't fault you. The queen's power is strong."

"What would you know about it?" I peer sideways, but he ignores me, not at all fazed by the question. 

"My name is Asher," he continues, and I swallow quickly, surprised that he tells me his real name. Perhaps he doesn't realize that the name Asher is well known through Kardenia, very much wanted.

Attention back on the fire, Asher points to the first man on the left, who continues to stuff himself, face greasy with chicken juice. "That's Toby." He shifts to the right, to a man who sits with his hand at his waist, guarding his knife with nimble fingers. "That's Dave." He moves to the next man, who is broad and wide, with a midsection that pooches just slightly over his pants. A smile waits for me on his lips, almost kind. "That's Joe." Finally, his finger lands on the last man, who does not watch me but instead turns a stick, rotating the bird roasting in the fire. "And that's Al."

There is a pause, stretching into tense silence. I know what they wait for, but I feel like being difficult.

"And you are?" Asher finally asks, putting my now empty plate back on the ground. His body inches farther away from mine, leaving the air empty, hollow.

"Your captive," I say, swallowing the last remains of my dinner.

The prince nods, as though he expected nothing different from my response. Their gazes fall to the blindfold at my feet, but I don't want darkness anymore, so I know I must continue the conversation. I must try to be nice, no matter how difficult that may be.

"Where are we?" I ask. "Where are you taking me?"

"We left the city last night," the prince begins, and as he speaks, the four other men in the group lose interest, returning to their dinners. I wonder if the prince is truly part of them, or if he feels alone, surrounded by men who were born in a different world than he. The rebels are all from the original Earth—at least I assume so. No one from the magic realm has ever been able to leave Kardenia or the queen, no one except for the prince who sits before me.

Still, his face gives no impression of sadness. It is like happiness perpetually floats around him. A smile always graces his lips, a fire always seems alive in the dark nebula of his eyes.

He leans back to rest on his forearms, casual while he continues. "And traveled all day today before you awoke. I believe we are in a place you would know as New Jersey, traveling west toward our base, which happens to be where we're taking you."

"Why?"

"Because I have a theory I'm trying to work out," he answers, but the words seem more for himself because I do not understand the meaning behind them.

"And why let me know the way?"

The prince shrugs. "We'll keep you mostly drugged until we arrive, though I told the others it is not necessary. No one in Kardenia could travel there willingly—it is too far removed from the queen's power, she would never allow it. Even if you escaped, you could never find it again."

"How can you be sure?" I ask, curious. I've never spoken to anyone so freely about the magic before, especially no one so knowledgeable.

Asher meets my gaze, eyes full, brows downcast, lids crinkled, like he knows my soul and is sorry for it. "I was born in Kardenia, so I know the effects of the queen's thrall when I see them. And you have fallen deeper than most."

"How can you tell?"

He leans closer, so I can almost feel his breath on my cheek while he thinks. I do not back away, I hardly move as he assesses me.

"You don't flinch," he starts, and he is right. No tremor pulses down my veins. Nothing moves my muscles. The prince takes that as a sign to continue, and his gaze travels with his words, searching me for more secrets. "Your breath is calm and even despite your situation. Your gaze never leaves a cool level of calculating, looking for weakness, looking for openings to escape. Your speaking tone never changes. It does not rise in surprise, lower in remorse, or deepen in anger. Even now, you watch on, silent as I speak ill of you, raising no words to defend yourself. I've barely seen you smile, which I guess is understandable given the situation, but I have also not seen your fists clench or your jaw square with fury."

He pauses and I remain as I am, watching, quiet, immobile on the ground. The prince lounges, but his tone has gained a fullness I am not used to. His throat seems tight.

"But mostly, it is the questions you've asked. Not a single worry has slipped through your lips, no fear that someone might miss you at home, might come looking for you. No commanding threat that a loved one will seek revenge, because loved ones don’t really exist in Kardenia, not as I've come to realize they can." 

"And yet," he says, turning, flipping onto his side so it is obvious I have his full attention. My gaze does not shift from the fire, but my concentration has faltered slightly, drawn in by his words. "You did not capture me when you had the chance. You let me go. So maybe you are not in as deep as it might seem."

I know this is an opening I should take advantage of, a moment where I can gain his trust like the queen wants, but those words will not come. They flicker in the firelight, waiting to be said, waiting for my lips to steal them from the flames.

I could denounce the queen and it might sound real. I could say I allowed myself to get captured so I might escape her hold. I could admit I needed to force someone to drag me away, so I might finally be free.

I could say all of those things to make this trusting boy trust me.

But I say none of them.

Instead, I look up at the leaves hanging overhead, the darkest shade of evergreen, swaying so the sky flickers just beyond, and I say one word.

"Jade."

"What?" Asher shifts his weight. I've caught him off guard—I can tell by the way his body jerks back to face me. I've pulled him from his thoughts, likely similar to mine, ruminations on the queen neither of us can escape.

"My name," I repeat softly. "My name is Jade."

A moment passes between us, brief, but I know it is significant. My heart twinges uncomfortably, a feeling I haven't experienced before, almost as if something has tugged on it, urging it to life.

"Thank you," Asher says, breaking the bond and I curl into my knees, stone once more.

He gets up and walks back to the four other men, expression coming alive as he leaves me on my own. They laugh as he sits and tells a joke, casting a jovial bubble over the group while I rest cold on the outside.

But my attention is on what the prince left behind. A knife sits three feet away and I could inch my way over, but I sense this is a test. He is too careful to leave such an opening by chance.

I'm not sure what Asher is testing. My loyalty to the queen? My loyalty to him?

But it is not a question of loyalty, not for me. It is a question of freedom. If I use the knife, I have no doubt of my ability to escape. But I would be running back to the past, back to what I know, back to a life that never changes, never excites.

But if I leave it, I move forward into the unknown. What will happen when we pass beyond the threshold of the queen's thrall? She seemed to think the bond would not break. The prince seems to think otherwise. And I do not know.

But I am willing to find out, willing to try.

So before I can change my mind, I fall on my side, to the direction opposite the knife, as though laying down for sleep. I wince as my head knocks against the dirt, further bruising an already sore wound, but my chest feels light.

I look back to the fire and realize the prince's eyes never left mine. The hint of a smile graces his cheeks, and I know he knows my choice. I also know I've passed his test.

He walks back over, a cup in hand, and eases down next to me.

"Drink this," he whispers as he helps raise my head from the ground. The liquid burns as it travels down my throat, but I do not cough as the fire reaches my stomach.

"Drugs?" I ask, but I already know the truth. My lips feel fat and my eyes begin to blur, almost masking his affirmative nod.

The flames expand, tingling down my arms and legs until I am numb from the heat—numb in a different way than I ever have been before. The stars seem brighter, the trees expand and spread across the sky, warping as my mind begins to fade away.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The prince leans down. His pale skin glows luminescent in the firelight, brighter now, almost blinding to my eyes. His fingers brush my upper arm, blazing hot, but I do not flinch. I cannot move. My body is bound, my mind floats up with stars, far away.