MY NERVES JANGLED LIKE A CHOIR OF MIDWINTER bells.
In a small hollow just a few paces below me, Ina sat on a rock beside the stream, plaiting her dark hair while the water eddied around her pale ankles. She finished the braid and began to coil it at the nape of her neck, weaving in a thin strip of leather to tie it in place. As another gust kicked up, she turned into the wind so that I saw her in profile—the perfect straight nose, the sharp angle of her jawline. Over the past few weeks, her scar had tightened to a red line arching across her cheek like a bloody crescent moon. It only made her beauty more fierce, the blue of her eyes more intense, the dark of her hair and lashes more striking.
A day might never come when the sight of her didn’t steal my breath.
“Ina,” I said. Her name came out suffused with longing.
Her head whipped around with serpentine speed.
“Asra!” She dried her legs hastily, slipping her feet into worn woolen socks and then her boots. One of the toes was beginning to come unstitched. She clambered over to where I stood, until the soft curves of her body arched within a hand’s breadth of me. The wind whirled around us, our cloaks tangling with one another before we even touched.
I opened my arms and she stepped into them without hesitation. Relief flooded through me. The scent of spring hovered around her—cool mountain water and the verdant green of the soaproot shoots she’d used to wash her hair and bathe. My fear and worries slipped away as she melted into me like the softness of day turning to night, of darkness shifting back to dawn. The warmth of her against me brought back every moment we’d shared together with nothing between us at all. After all my fear, she was still my Ina, still the girl I knew, familiar in my arms. She would listen to reason. She had to.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured. The hum of her words against my neck sent goose bumps racing down both my arms.
“Do you mean that?” I asked. Hope fluttered in my chest, fragile as a newly hatched butterfly. One minute she wanted me. The next she didn’t. It had to be the trauma of everything that had passed since we left home—or perhaps the dragon, who might have felt differently about me than she did.
She released the embrace but kept hold of my hand as we scooted back around to the more sheltered side of the cluster of rocks, crouching low to hide from the worst of the wind.
“How did you find me?” She sounded nervous, not like the bold creature who had left an entire caravan of bandits nothing more than bloody smears on the road.
I cast an anxious glance toward the cliff. We were still within sight of it. “The people who live in the forest saw you.”
“I’m glad you’re safe.” She ran her fingers over the ribbon of my courting bracelet, a small smile playing over her mouth. I wanted to kiss her.
“Not quite yet,” I said. “I promised the Tamers I’d get you to leave their forest. They’re worried about you upsetting the natural order. If I fail, they’ll kill me.”
Ina snorted. “They have no chance of killing you with me by your side. Besides, I don’t plan to stay. It’s hard to hunt as a dragon in these woods. Too many obstacles. We’re mountain creatures, after all. But I’m so tired . . . I needed to rest. I still can’t take dragon form for more than a few hours at a time—less if I’m flying for long periods. It should be at least a little easier by now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. Guilt swirled through me. It had to be because she hadn’t manifested traditionally. Even though I’d been the cause of it, I didn’t know how to help her now.
“Oh, Asra.” Ina rested her head on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have come after me. What if your death ends up on my hands, too?”
“I’m not dead, and it wouldn’t be on your hands anyway,” I said firmly. “This was my choice.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone else,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I know you don’t.” I squeezed her hand. Finally she was coming to her senses.
“Just the one. Just him.” Her head snapped back up and her eyes took on a hint of wildness, the flash of the dragon within. “I would have flown straight to Corovja and killed him days ago if my manifest was settled, but it’s taking time. Too much time.”
I took a deep breath. So much for sensibleness. I had to talk her out of this before she got hurt wreaking vengeance on someone who hadn’t earned it.
“Ina . . . there has to be another answer. The boar king didn’t personally destroy our village. It could be moons before your manifest settles. You could take that time to find a way to protect others who are at risk of bandit attacks. Or figure out what future you want for yourself,” I said. If I could just get her to slow down and think, surely she’d realize that the best course of action was to make a fresh start.
“But you and I could get revenge for what the king did to our home. We could stop him from doing it to anyone else ever again.” She gestured widely to acknowledge the whole kingdom.
“But if you kill him, you’d be queen,” I said. Had her determination for vengeance turned into a hunger for more power? Her justifications didn’t add up.
She shrugged, but her eyes glimmered in a way that told me it wasn’t the first time the idea had crossed her mind. “That can be decided after he’s dead.”
“Please don’t do this. It’s too dangerous. He’s already got the Nightswifts plotting something against him. We don’t need to get tangled up in that.” My fear grew the longer we argued. She wasn’t being reasonable.
Ina tilted her head. “Nightswifts?”
“Assassins who used to work for the king. I ran into some of them when I was looking for you in Valenko. Listen, I don’t want harm to come to any other village, but you need to rest. Let’s find somewhere to go that’s safe and quiet where we can talk about this more,” I said.
“If you don’t want any other villages to be harmed, then don’t let it happen. Help me kill him.” The venom in her voice made me shiver.
What had happened in Amalska was inextricably tied up with the king and the crown for her, and I had let that happen. The time had come to tell her the truth. Whatever she decided to do from here, she had to do it with full knowledge of the role I had played in the fall of Amalska. I shoved down my desire for one more night beside her, one night to be comforted by her closeness before I had to risk letting her go.
I had always wanted impossible things.
This time, I could not allow myself to have them.
“Ina, I have to tell you something.” My heart was already breaking.
“That you love me?” she said, her eyes suddenly playful. Her moods had always been mercurial, but now they seemed to change with the swiftness of the spring weather.
“I do,” I said, but I couldn’t force a smile. “That’s where this all began. You know I am more than mortal.”
She nodded.
“There is more than that—more than what I do with the herbs and potions. I have a gift, one I was told never to share.” I hesitated, terrified to reveal the darkest part of myself to someone for the first time.
“You can tell me anything. You know that,” she said, her voice encouraging.
For just a moment I let myself get lost in the cool blue of her eyes, but I couldn’t stop now.
“I can shape the future by writing it in my blood.” Speaking the secret aloud felt like letting part of my soul go.
“You mean you could write the death of the king if you chose?” She gripped my arm, her eyes glittering.
“No. Gods, no.” Even if it wouldn’t be treason, the thought made my stomach churn. I could hardly believe she’d suggested it. How could she so quickly turn to killing as the answer, and how could she want me to bloody my hands, too?
“But why not?” A spark of anger lit in her eyes.
“Using my gift ages me before my time. And if I’m not specific enough about what the future should be . . . things don’t go the way I expect. People get hurt. People die.” Images of burned bodies flashed through my mind. I swallowed hard as bile rose in my throat.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You remember the drought when we were children? The one that had started to take over the southern part of the kingdom? I ended it,” I said. Sonnenborne’s curse had begun to spread north into our kingdom, creating a terrible drought of both water and magic. My blood had been the only way to stop it.
The memory twisted like a knife, even now.
“But how?” Her blue eyes were wide. “And why you?”
“After the boar king tried and failed to end it with his magic, he made a bargain with the gods. They spoke to me through Miriel, telling me I was the only one of my kind. The last like me had died hundreds of years ago. So I did what they asked. One simple sentence. One kingdom saved.” I fought to keep my voice steady.
Her eyes widened. “But the gods never speak to anyone but their clerics or the king. They don’t interfere in human lives.”
“You’re right, they don’t,” I said. “That’s why they demanded I do it when the king’s magic wasn’t enough. Afterward, I aged at least a year in the span of an hour. I’m not sure exactly how much. For weeks I stumbled around, not feeling at home in my body.” I tried to make her understand the agony. My knee still bore a jagged scar from one of the falls I’d taken, where I’d managed to split myself open enough to bleed buckets onto the forest floor. In that same spot, a cluster of red flowers still bloomed every autumn.
Ina put her hand gently on my arm.
“Eventually, news made its way to Amalska that the drought had indeed ended,” I said bitterly. “A flood had destroyed every village along the river bordering Zumorda and Sonnenborne, killing at least a thousand people on both sides. I begged Miriel to let me rewrite the past, to make things unfold differently. She told me if I tried to change the past, it would kill me. The past is not so malleable as the future.” My voice came out hollow, dark and distant as the painful memory. Miriel had assured me that the death of all those people wasn’t my fault since I had been faithfully serving the gods, but I had still cried myself to sleep every night for moons, especially when I overheard the village elders telling Miriel how little the crown had done to help the survivors. I had been only nine years old.
“So then you never used your power again?” Ina asked, her voice doubtful.
“I refused to. I didn’t trust myself to write something that wouldn’t have dire unforeseen consequences. But then . . . I missed you so much all winter,” I said, my voice careful and soft. “You were always in my mind. Always in my heart. So when you returned and told me about Garen . . . it hurt. I couldn’t bear to watch you marry him, especially if you didn’t feel certain about it. So the night before the bandits raided, I used my blood to write that you would find your manifest the next day. I wanted you to have the chance to choose your own path . . . and I wanted to give you a better chance of choosing me.”
She withdrew her hand. The absence of it felt like a blow, but it was too late to turn back.
“While all I wrote was that you would find your manifest, everything came true, even the intention behind my words. As I wrote, I wished more than anything that you would choose me, not him. Now you never will marry Garen, because he’s gone with all the others. I wasn’t specific—I never meant to hurt anyone—but it was my fault for pushing the future in that direction. I should have known people might die as a result. I’m sorry, Ina. So sorry.” My voice rose in pitch until tears stung the corners of my eyes.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” Ina’s hands shook as she pulled her cloak tightly around herself and stepped away.
“Yes, I do,” I insisted. “Everything that happened was my fault. I’m the one you should punish. The king is not owed your revenge. I am.” Every word took effort to push past the tightness of my throat. Now that she knew what had happened, even if she couldn’t forgive me, she’d stop her plans of regicide. She had to. I couldn’t lose her when she was all I had left of home.
“He still could have sent help,” she spat. “His negligence started it. You just made it worse.”
The crushing weight of my guilt grew heavier.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right away.” Her voice trembled, the pain on her face raw as an open wound. “I can’t believe you didn’t ask me before you acted!”
“I know. I should have. I’m so sorry,” I said, and then a sob tore from my throat. My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
Ina made no move to comfort me. Her fists clenched and unclenched, her left hand finally coming to rest on her stomach.
“This baby has been robbed of a family and a community because of what you did. My child will never know love—because of you.” Her eyes shone hard as gemstones.
“What?” I blinked at her in confusion.
The pieces of our history snapped into a new position.
Garen. Ina. The betrothal . . .
Ina’s desperation to find her manifest had never been only about the village. It had been about the child she was already carrying before she came up to beg me for help. She would have married Garen, if for no other reason than to give the child a family and a community, because that was what was expected of mothers in Amalska.
She was pregnant, and I had killed her baby’s father.
This was what she meant when she told me I had no idea what I’d done.
I stood, frozen, barely able to keep breathing. All this time I thought I was the one who owed her an apology for something she might never be able to forgive, but her knife had been buried in my back long before I made my mistakes.
She didn’t even seem sorry.
“You loved Garen?” I asked, my voice weak. “You were intimate with him?
“Only once, the night of the midwinter festival. But you know what the truth is, Asra? I never loved either of you.” Never once had her voice sounded so cold or cruel. “You were both supposed to help me become an elder, and instead both of you ruined that for me. If I live a thousand years I will never, ever forgive you.” She turned and ran, then leaped into the air, her transformation almost instant. The white dragon screamed, something between a keen and a roar, then a burst of flame erupted from her jaws, blindingly bright even against the afternoon sky.
I cowered behind the boulders, waiting for the flames to hit, sure she was about to destroy me, but nothing came. I opened my eyes a few breaths later as she vanished into the clouds, carrying the shredded remains of my heart.