Eternal Winter

Warm Feelings: Part I

The voices far, far below became a dull roar underneath the voiceless howl of the wind. In the open, on this balcony high above Austa, the cold was bitingly frigid, with the snow blowing into my eyes and twisting around my hair. Still, I did not back down from the other woman, draped in dark, dark black from neck to ankle. The only colors were auburn hair twisted tight, high into a bun and a streak of bold red across her lips. Not even her deathly pale skin or her dark, cold eyes showed any life otherwise.

"You—!" my voice was but a hiss, thin in the wind.

She waved a hand, curtly cutting me short. Her voice rang out louder than any other sound, "That is hardly a polite way to refer to your mother, dear," and I could hear her from every direction. As if she were the voice of the storm itself.

Every reply I could think of was lost as my mind whirred with images, pulsing in pain. I gritted my teeth. I blinked once and my memory cleared. My sight focused in on her and only her.

Only now.

My grip tightened, already grasping both my sword and staff. Her eyes flicked down to my hands. She arched a brow as her gaze travelled back up to my face slowly, a slight tilt to her head. Her lips quirked to the side, ever so subtly.

I was moving before I even realized it.

I drew my staff and whipped it towards her, dragging the air in a wild torrent. Hardly a curl of hair twitched on her head as she casually stepped out of its line. I was already closing the distance, though, with my sword swinging at her in my other hand. She moved swiftly, dodging the blow easily. Same with the next.

I was only cutting through air.

A quick step backwards and I gathered myself again. With my staff, I twirled it once, then again, before snapping it back down to her. Wind came down, tearing around her. I was right behind. As her hand went up, so did mine.

With a flick of her wrist, the wind ceased, but my sword was already kissing her...and moved no more. Stalled in place against her blocking arm. From it, black smoke curled around my blade.

There was a moment of stillness, where our gazes locked and all I could see was identical, fully black eyes staring down at me, unwavering in their coldness. Waves of stunning chills, radiating out from her, crashed over me again and again, until my pulse was beating in time with it, pleading to me wrong, wrong, wrong.

She did not move. I did. In two quick steps, I was away. Breathing hard, as if even the air was heavy with dread, I inched even further back, almost unconsciously. Everything within me screamed at the sight of the black smoke, her black eyes. That darkness. My magic thrummed uncomfortably in my veins. Even my staff quivered.

A black, wispy tendril drifted down from her arm, lazily blowing in the wind. With a quick motion, she snapped it down towards my feet with an impossible crack. A tuft of snow puffed up where I had stood a moment ago.

I moved back another few paces. She did not move her feet, but her dull eyes trailed me as I circled around her.

"It appears you learned a new thing or two in your time away," she mused easily, breaking the unspoken silence. "Hardly practical, however, with me."

"Everything is new," I growled, fighting for my breath. Unbidden, though, an ache spread in my chest at her comment—an emptiness from the undeniable truth. "Everything," my voice broke. "Even the practical."

An imperceptible flash went over her face, a narrowed gaze and tighter brows. It cleared, suddenly, and her red lips parted, "Have you forgotten everything?"

Try as I might, I could not stop myself from flinching. The pain only burrowed deeper. "Perhaps for the best, as well," I whispered. "From the flashes and family that tell me of what the past was."

"Family?" she parroted, her voice dragging. Her head slowly looked to the door and a grin split wide across her face. Suddenly clear of the blackness, a glassy look came over her eyes. "You mean..?"

A spark of regret pierced through me at the same moment the door burst open, slamming hard against the stone wall with an echoing bang and heavy panting paired with, "Lyra!"

My own head snapped in that direction, my own voice echoed in her own,

"Sammy!"

But, unlike my panic and fear, hers was laced with frantic joy, even at the sight of her niece, Michaela, leaning heavily on Sammy's shoulders.

Before she could move, I rushed to Sammy's side. His gaze was intent on me, pointedly averting his gaze to the woman behind. As I stepped closer, I could see blood coated one side of his face. It was thick, but still wet, as it trailed from his hairline down his neck. He shook his head at my nervous gaze and shifted Michaela higher onto his shoulders.

"Mine's nothing, but Michaela can hardly walk," he managed to say, his voice thin and strained.

I turned my attention down to Michaela. Her knees nearly brushed the ground and her other arm hung limply down her side with blood shimmering on the still crystallized skin of her forearm. At her name, though, she forced her face up, a creased grin forced onto her face.

She opened her mouth to speak, but faltered, coughing violently enough her shoulders shuddered and she began to slip. I deftly eased her from Sammy's shoulders to the ground, where she crumpled against the hard, stone wall. When it stopped, and she was only pulling in ragged breaths, new blood trickled from her mouth off her chin.

A soft sigh came from behind me, and I whirled around quickly. I stepped between her and Michaela, raising my staff defensively. There was still that glassy look in her eyes, and she still stared intensely at Sammy, but the grin had settled into a thin tilt. She sighed again and the black seeped into her eyes again, spreading like water over them.

She spoke with a toneless voice, but her words were chilling, "Are you not missing one?"

I stilled. Stuck in my throat, my breath was choking me. From behind me, I could feel even Michaela and Sammy were holding their own breaths.

And slowly, under the rush in my ears, I could hear footsteps, heavy and uneven. Closer. Closer, closer. Closer...

Until I could feel them halt so close behind.

A short gasp came from Sammy, and I could not stop myself from turning around for him.

Still hulking within the shadows of the palace doorway, stood Julian's commander...with Julian, himself, limp and unmoving, slung over one shoulder.