Page 64 of Shadows of the Crown

He chuckles, his cheeks reddening. He runs a hand over the back of his neck as his eyes drink in my body. “Fuck, I wish I didn’t have to do this right now. I’d love nothing more than to stir up those missing memories of yours.”

“Whatareyou doing here, if it’s not to talk your way into my bed?”

Every sense heightens when he looks down the hall again. Maybe this is a trap, after all. “I’m sorry, angel.” I straighten at his pained expression, gripping my blade tighter.

“What do—” I falter when his closed hand reaches up to toss something at my face. Powder. “What the fuck, prince? I will…” my words slur off as my entire body grows extraordinarily heavy. “Why?” He lunges forward to grab me when I stumble back. I fight with everything I have to stay awake, but the last thing I hear is the prince apologizing over and over again.

I lurch up, coughing violently at the freezing powder I breathed in. My hands immediately reach to cover my face as it gets belted with what feels like shards of ice. I will my body to stop shivering so badly, though my attempts are useless. The cold bites into my skin, burning each nerve it touches.

The only thing I can hear is the incessant howling that masks even my heavy breathing. I cup my eyes and peek through my hands—snow. When did it start fucking snowing in Valoria?

Something flaps from under my sleeve, and I pull out the paper, struggling to read what it says.

My hands touch my face and body—everythingfeelsthe same…

“That fucking bastard drugged me!” I scoff, tucking my face into the bendof an arm.

I need to move. Quickly. I’ve no idea how long I was unconscious for, and I can already feel my limbs weakening as their resources are directed to the center of my body. I carefully push up, barely managing to stand without the frenzied blizzard forcing me back down. My lungs burn as I sigh deeply when my fingers touch the blade at my thigh—Caspian must have sheathed it before he brought me here.

HowdidI get here?

I wince as a strong gust of wind attacks me, my fingers dotted with blood when I pull them back.

Heat, then move.

The only things I can think about right now, lest the king get his wish after all. My eyes scrunch closed as I attempt to concentrate on calling to my pyro strand; it takes several tugs before the familiar essence comes forward. I coax it over my skin, only enough to prevent the worst effects of the storm. Even just that small amount of warmth feels like it was gifted by the Angel itself.

Covering my eyes once more, I scour my surroundings, clearing my throat when the dryness tickles it. It is impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction, though the slope under my feet and the amount of snow already on the ground tell me everything I need to know—for now.

Unstable memories threaten to thwart my focus, but I shove them down and begin wading down the mountain. At least, I think this is the direction I need.

I chuckle, the movement feeling how I imagine sands in the Cindara Desert do. My legs move too slowly through the snow, and after only minutes I am panting and sweating. This is not good—I’ve no food, water, or reliable clothing. My sweat is quickly depleting my body’s heat, though I can weave more. For a while. The most pressing issues are how damp my clothes will get from the sweating and how quickly I will become dehydrated.

“I could melt some snow…” I scan the area once more, decently confident that no one would witness my use of undocumented essence. It would be a big risk, but so would not having water.

I straighten and continue inching forward, shoving each hand under an arm to conserve essence. I’ve never determined just how much I can use before my body gives out from exhaustion—and I’d rather not discover that at this moment.

I’ve no idea how much time passes before I’m cursing the Angel for not creating any useful essence. It would be a dream to fly down the fucking mountain, but instead I’m anticipating another several hours before I reach the castle. My sweat has coated the collar still imprisoning me, allowing the blizzard to quickly dry the hard material to my skin. I’m certain that moving it will only tear my skin with it; it burns, but it’s not yet important enough for me to weave my pyro strand until it lets go.

The blizzard seems to have lessened—possibly. It is a challenge to know for certain, as everything is still just as white and blinding as before. My brow attempts to furrow, barely moving from how stiff my skin has become. I’ve yet to see another competitor…the Elysaran mountains reach north for hundreds of miles, but I wouldn’t expect that we were all placed so far apart. They must be close. Or dead.

Hopefully the latter.

Images of lying down and being lost in the snow forever flood my mind. It would be so easy to succumb to the call of the mountain—give my body to it in exchange for ridding me of all my ridiculous problems.

I wheeze in another burning breath and drive myself forward. Isaiah’s death would mean nothing if I let go. My father’s death. Even my mother's. The king is responsible for each of their murders.

It may have been my mother that shoved the blade through her heart, but instinct tells me that Thalion was the reason for her decision. I’m unsure of how, but I’ll never figure it out if I die here. I must keep going.

I struggle for hours, carefully weaving heat into my limbs when I’ve no other option. I have never known such exhaustion—tugging my pyro strand becomes harder with each attempt. It slips through my calling, forcing my body to become colder while I continue to sweat more water than I can physically consume. Theamount of heat I can weave is minimal at this point; it’s as if the cold is overpowering that strand. It could be affecting all of my affinities, though I will not test that theory in these conditions.

Nor will I allow myself to fear what will happen if I do not reach the base—or at least make it through this fucking blizzard. The shards of ice no longer strike me hard enough to bleed, though I can feel the rashes they’re creating along my exposed skin.

My surroundings have brightened slightly, and I’m certain I can see a bit further, though it does not feel like enough compared to how long I’ve been walking—stumbling, mostly. However I imagined I could keep Isaiah alive long enough to win…I’m not sure. My body is barely listening enough to save myself, so to ensure the safe descent of two?

My best friend’s unimpressed eyes flash just ahead, as if he’s telling me just how pathetic that sounds. He’s right—the reminder sinks into my skin, providing energy I couldn’t detect before. I’m the fucking Silver Wraith…I will not yield to a bout of snow.

I look up, nearly groaning at the hint of shapes coming into view. I squint when the shapes appear to move—no, shape. Just one.

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