Eyes of ice

Chapter one - Numb

Chapter 1 - Numb

The blizzard howled again, a relentless scream battering the house walls, as if the storm itself had a voice, angry, desperate, pleading. Every gust seemed a warning, urging her to stay back from the door, to keep within the frail safety of the house walls. Yet she couldn't shake the creeping sense that the storm wasn't trying to hold her here but drive her out. It clawed and beat at the roof, tearing at the wood, as though it could sense her fate waiting beyond the timber walls, something darker and colder than even its fiercest winds. If she stayed, if she allowed herself to remain in his grasp, Eira knew she'd never be free. Yesterday night, it happened—the thing she had dreaded ever since Libov told her it would come, inevitably. She had risen early, as usual, to warm the milk for the infants when she saw it—the dreadful red stain on her bedsheets. Her stomach dropped like a stone, and a suffocating weight pressed against her chest, freezing her bare feet to the cold wooden floor as if it had turned to ice.

Libov lay sleeping in the bed beside hers in the cramped attic where all the girls slept. Ten years older, Libov had always been like an older sister. As if she had sensed the gasp of horror, Libov stirred awake. At first, she looked groggy, but her gaze sharpened quickly. She saw the panic in Eira's face, then followed her stare to the stained sheets. In a flash, despite her eight-month belly, Libov sprang up, tearing the sheets away before anyone else would notice.

Eira remained frozen, rooted in place as if spellbound, her mind howling like the wind outside. "It's alright, it's alright," Libov whispered urgently. "No one's noticed yet." She bundled the sheets tightly. "I'll swap yours with mine; sometimes pregnant women bleed a little. I'll make an excuse."

For the first time, Eira tore her gaze from the red stain and met Libov's eyes, wide and blue, filled with fear—almost more than her own. The tightness in Eira's throat constricted, and she couldn't even swallow.

Then she saw them—other blue eyes watching from a few beds down. Desma. Her piercing stare was locked on them, her thin lips curled into a malicious smirk.

Libov caught Eira's distant look and turned, her shoulders sinking when she saw the onlooker. She dropped to her floor, sobbing. "She's too young," she choked out, clutching her hands over her swollen belly. The rest of the girls and women in the sleeping hall seemed to wake up with her outburst. With all eyes on her, Eira looked down at Libov,

then at the belly, and understood. She had to escape, or she would suffer the same fate.

Like hypothermia, the word slipped from room to room—especially given that everyone knew Eira had always been his favorite. With her stark white hair, a haunting echo of the old Skara royalty, she was worth a small fortune on the market. Yet, had she not been cursed with those piercing blue eyes, she might already be living as a wealthy man's wife, surrounded by warmth and plenty. Instead, she was trapped in this creaking cabin, a mere pawn in his ruthless game for riches.

After a few hours Eira is still glued to her bed, staring out the attic's only window, where frost crept inward from the muntins, slowly swallowing the glass. Not that there was much to see beyond it—just miles upon miles of snow-covered land, a white wasteland. A winter desert, he called it. A prison without bars was still a prison, after all. The spiteful girls had forced her to take the bed by the window, thinking the drafts would chill her to the bone. But Eira had always felt fortunate for the spot, treasuring the sight of snowflakes spinning down, alone but graceful. She'd spent countless hours watching them, conjuring visions of another life.

But now that spark is gone. No more dreams of a savior, no thoughts of family or freedom. Her chest felt hollow, her body too heavy to move without great effort. She wanted nothing but sleep, a long, unbroken sleep that might carry her away for good.