Winterskin (Book One of Wrath & Winter)

Magic Does as Magic Will: Part Two

The final week flew on griffin's wings, soaring by in a graceful—and sometimes graceless—blur.

We'd trekked into Baate Noir. Saw our first dragon. Almost lost a comrade. Sparred and almost lost it on each other time and time again.

And now, we'd be trekking into the forest alone. Without Hagen. With nothing but our rucksacks and weapons.

Crucibles happen at least four times a year. Two times in winter and two more in summer. During the most awful times of the year. Rarely do younglings die, but it happens. In preparation, younglings are treated like warriors going off to cross the Pourdurac and raid. A pulse-pounding celebration is thrown that races its way throughout the entirety of Montbereau. Farmers don't trek to the fields. The smithy closes his shop. The jarl is actually seen from his stone balcony and the court enchanter tosses up some fireworks to end it all.

From time to time, a witch is burned.

This year's festival brings back sour feelings. Especially for Eva and Maddy. Even Gram. The festivities officially start when the sun hangs low and the moon is threatening to kick it out of the sky, but from sun-up, thumping music shakes even the cabins on the outskirts.

And I'm floored. Immediately embarrassed.

"No way am I wearing this." I said, shaking my head, but smiling. "You're supposed to be the ones that get all pretty."

Eva and Maddy grinned in unison, holding between them a magnificent satin gown with swirling drop-sleeves that probably trail along the ground when the gown is donned. Intricate patterns that curl and twist like dragon's smoke is threaded into the gown. Taking a peek at their fingers, a sinking feeling wreathes in my gut.

I have to wear this.

"Your fingers...," I turn to Maddy, then Eva. Their porcelain skin is all stitched up and broken, "...oh, no." I sighed to myself.

I have to wear this.

And I do, for their sakes. I slide the gown on over a slip Gram offers me. Not telling me how she got it or where and how it fitted my body like it belonged. With my back to the hearthfire, Eva held up a ruddy little palm mirror. Behind me, Maddy combed fingers and a comb through my hair. Straightening out the tangles.

I hate the peak that tries so hard to be an arrow at the base of my scalp. I've been told that my eyes are like a falcon's, wide and sharp. My face resembles my mother's, if she hadn't gone to university and had children, then settled down in this out-of-the-way village. With my hair combed through and the red satin gown, I look almost presentable. Like I'm about to get married and not go into the Black.

"You're wonderful, wonderful!" Eva clapped. Tears in her eyes.

"And...a finishing touch...," Gram came up from behind. Placed a sparkling pendant at my throat. A liquid-like substance sloshed in the pendant's innards. "You'll keep this on, Katty, even during the crucible. You understand?"

It's like a long diamond, its ends pointed like the edge of short sword. "What is it?"

"Your mother's." She stepped back. Admired her work. "Just like the slip."

I froze.

No. No. No.

"I want it off." I said, arms useless limbs by my side, "I want it off, everything!"

"But, Kat, you look so beautiful..." Eva said.

"It's perfect the way it is."

They don't get it.

They never will.

She shouldn't be dictating my life from beyond the grave—she's dead!

She's dead.

But.

I do look beautiful. I do look like a woman—not at all like myself.

If anything, I look like her.

How beautiful she was in life.

"Keep it." Gram said, hands on my shoulders, "There are so many things she wanted you to have, she wanted you to do. But these two things are some of the few objects she never wanted you, or anyone else, to touch. Katell," she spun me around, "you are her daughter. Her things are now yours—have always been."

"You know that isn't what you believe."

"I believe," she said, "that the dead should not outlive the living." She grinned, causing a smile to spread on my face, "Now, go out there. Live, Kitten."