Shatter Like Glass-Cinderella Retold

Part Thirty-Seven

Pulling up his hood, Jag approached his ship. One hand gripped his bow, the other rested on the dagger at his belt. He wasn't about to be taken unawares, not by the Kingslayers or the Viridian.

Jag stopped just in front of his ship. He let out a low whistle. No reply. Frowning, he tried again. Still no response. Jag let go of his bow and started up the ladder. It was difficult to make the climb using only one hand, but he wanted to keep a firm grip on his blade. If his men weren't responding, something must have happened. Jag needed to be ready.

A chill crept up his spine as he made his way up to the deck. Reaching the top, he realized that the chill was from more than unease. Frost covered the entire top surface of his ship. His men lay unconscious on the deck. He would have thought them dead if he could not see their breaths. They were on a desert continent, yet on deck it was freezing. Jag's fingers curled together. The Frost Weavers were aboard the ship, his ship. They had attacked his men.

Jag drew his bow and nocked an arrow. Taking several steps forward, he saw that the frost was thickest around the captain's quarters. A Weaver must be inside. Careful not to make a noise, he crept towards the door. He would have to be quick. His best chance of killing them would be taking them by surprise. Jag gave himself a moment, then burst threw the door. He saw a flash a movement and fired. The arrow pierced the Weaver's shoulder. She stumbled back from the door in shock, her white hair falling away from her face. In a fluid motion, Jag drew, aimed, and loosed another arrow. This one sunk into her chest. Gasping, the Weaver yanked the arrow out. Frost began to spread across the surface of the wound. The ice turned red almost immediately, but the bleeding stopped. Jag swore.

"You should have known better," the Weaver stated.

She was right; he should have. He'd hoped that a direct hit to the heart would end her life before she could freeze the wound. The throat or forehead would have been a better target. He should have remembered. Jag wouldn't make that mistake again.

He nocked another arrow and aimed it at her neck. The Weaver laughed humorlessly.

"You are a fool to think you can kill me, Jagan Daye."

"I can try." Jag pulled tighter on his bow string. Sighing, the Weaver withdrew the other arrow.

"I did not come here to fight you," she said. She was eyeing his bow with more disdain than unease. When her eyes flited to his face, Jag released the arrow. The Weaver raised her arm a second too late. She wasn't able to freeze the projectile, but it embedded itself in her hand rather than her throat. Scowling, the Weaver raised her left hand. Jag realized what she was doing just as ice shot from her palm. He leapt out of the way.

The ice missed him and instead hit his bow. More ice spread over it. Jag had to let go to avoid being frozen to it.

"Now may we talk?" the Weaver asked.

Jag didn't meet her eyes as he replied, "If you're only here to talk, why would you attack my men?"

"It was your men who attacked me. When I boarded and asked to speak with you, they charged with their weapons; I had no choice but to freeze them. You should consider yourself fortunate that I did not kill them for such an insult."

"So, what, I should thank you for sparing their lives?"

"That would be a start, yes."

Scowling, Jag asked, "What do you want?"

"I suspect you have heard of the Kingslayers. We have reason to believe that our council is their next target. Someone is helping them, someone with great knowledge of us."

"And you think it's me?"

"It is certainly possible," the Weaver replied.

"Well, as much as I would like to see the lot of you burn in hell, I'm not on their side either."