Page 115 of The Mirror of Beasts

The beast let out a whine of irritation, and I wondered if I’d overestimated its intelligence.

But then its claws sank down onto the splintering sheet of ice. And one by one, the claws over my head began to tap out a little mocking song. Tap-tap-tap. Ha! Ha! Ha!

The calm was back, but this time, I seized hold of it. I let it guide me to whatever end the next moments would bring—mine, or Cath Palug’s.

The snow shifted above me.

The ice fragmented, each fissure feeding into the next, multiplying faster than the eye could track.

I adjusted the angle of my body, reaching back to grip Dyrnwyn’s hilt.

Cath Palug’s face appeared above mine, even more hideously distorted by the barrier between us. Its yellow eyes glowed—but not as bright as the white fire that raced along Dyrnwyn’s blade as I drove it up through the ice, straight through one eye and into its skull.

It screamed, thrashing, but I screamed louder—in rage and desperation, pulling the sword free only to hack at its neck, until its head rolled away from the body with a spray of blood.

Breath sobbed in and out of me. I let my sword fall to my side; the threat gone, its flames released with a hiss, leaving the steel to cool. I reached up, wiping the sticky blood from my face, spitting it out of my mouth.

“Ha … ha … ha …,” I snarled out, and kicked the creature’s enormous head deeper into the snow.

But whatever thrum of victory I felt faded as the winds spun through the empty landscape and I was alone once more in a kingdom of monsters.

It felt like an eternity before another shape emerged on the far horizon.

By then, I’d had hours to agonize over what had happened to the others. To imagine that Cath Palug had come upon them first, and caught them by surprise, or how they’d each be wandering alone in a complete whiteout, desperately searching for the other, all the while stalked by monsters.

Over and over again, I tortured myself with it, until I finally had to accept that the others might have a point about my mind being an extremely unhelpful instrument of terror.

But whatever that was ahead—that was real.

I knelt, staying low to the ground until I was sure what—or who—was waiting ahead. But the dark form didn’t change, and only grew as the storm eased the worst of its rage and settled into a gentle, rippling snowfall. The clouds surrendered enough of the sky to reveal a sunset that burnished the frosted land in a dazzling fiery gold.

“Oh, please,” I whispered hoarsely. “Please, please, please …”

Ahead were what appeared to be dozens of hills, but each was too uniform in shape and size to have been fashioned by nature’s hand alone. My body felt as heavy as a pillar of marble, but I forced it forward, riding that wave of incredulity and relief as I neared the hills and found round, slatted doors half hidden beneath a layer of hoarfrost and snow.

When I reached the first of the mounds, I scraped at the frozen edges of its door with numb fingers, trying not to focus on how blue the tips of them had turned. I forced myself to stop, to back up a step. There was a faster way to do this.

I kicked at the door until the sheaves of ice fell away, then dug it out from the snow, opening it to peer into the darkness inside. The other nearby doors were similarly sealed shut, but it didn’t mean other creatures weren’t hibernating inside.

Seeing nothing, I strained my ears and listened. Only the breeze whistling down through the small, sturdy hearth inside answered.

I shouldered the door fully open with one last burst of energy, then collapsed to the ground once I was through. A bed of browned leaves and rotting rugs scattered with snow softened my fall. For a moment, I did nothing but lie there and let the wind slam the door shut behind me.

“Get up,” I ordered myself. “Get. Up.”

The words were slurred by exhaustion and the shivering that overtook me. The Fair Folk who’d built these mounds had insulated them, and the difference in temperature was startling. My skin burned as sensation returned to it.

It would have been so easy to stay there, my legs throbbing from exertion. Just then, it was impossible not to consider it. But Nash, in all his limited wisdom, had taught Cab—

I drew in a deep, steadying breath.

Nash had taught the two of us the signs of hypothermia. The dangers of it. Exhaustion, disorientation, clumsiness, forgetfulness. The body using its last stores of energy to keep itself warm. If I let myself rest the way my whole being was longing to, there was a chance I’d never wake up again.

That alone made me crawl toward the hearth. Using a small broom, I jabbed up into the chimney, clearing the debris and ice until they crashed down onto the fire-scorched stones. It was a risk to allow smoke to rise—a surefire way to alert every nearby predator to my presence—but as soon as I was warm again, I could set up wards to disguise it.

The small pile of wood was damp and wouldn’t light, even with a match and drier bits of leaves. The next burrow over, however, had shielded their woodpile with a waxed cloth, and the rug, with its bright floral woven pattern, had been saved by someone thinking to place a stone cap on the chimney. There was even a small bed, neatly made, at the far end of the room. The sight of it held me captive for a moment.

They expected to return home one day, I realized. The Fair Folk who had lived here, hundreds of years ago. They thought they’d return to their life one day.

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