Page 42 of Winter's Fate

He knew the region better than Callum had assumed. It made him wonder whether Maynard had intentionally chosen aquiet area to make his attempt at robbing coaches. Maybe he’d been hoping that none would come along.

At first, the cabin had seemed as good a place to start looking for Laena as any other. But the closer they got, the more he could smell the heart-tithe in the air, stronger and stronger, until even the thieves were lifting their collars over their noses to block out the smell. Callum had no doubt this was the place where Laena was being held. Part of him wanted to run, to crash forward without thought to allies or enemies, and wrench her away from the danger before the tithers could do her more harm.

He forced himself to take his time. He would not abandon her, nor would he put her in more danger by rushing in without a plan.

When the cabin emerged, a lump of a building hunched within an overgrown grove, goosebumps fluttered over his arms and neck. This had to be the place. Ivy crawled up the walls, snaking into the cracks, and more than a few bricks had crumbled to the ground. The roof was a mess, the half-decayed shingles sure to leak at the first sign of rain, and most of the windows were cracked and broken.

Callum signaled for Maynard to distribute his thieves, one for each window. “And scouts for the woods,” he added as the older man hurried away, leaping over fallen branches with surprising spryness as he punched the air, wiggling his thumbs and fingers in what Callum could only guess must be a series of signals to direct his band.

The man was barely out of sight when a crash sounded from inside the cabin, followed by a scream.

Callum’s dagger was in his hand before he could think of what to do, instinct combining with a lifetime of training so that his body acted without delay. Abandoning any pretense of subterfuge, he dashed across the grove, the undergrowth grabbing at his boots as if to pull him down.

“Cover the other exits,” he shouted, hoping Maynard and the others could hear.

Another scream—definitely Laena’s, he was certain of it now—and then his shoulder was against the door. He threw his whole weight into it, which turned out to be unnecessary; the rotting wood splintered, cracking open against the weight of his body and sending him stumbling into the room.

A blast of cold air was his only warning as a storm of icicles volleyed toward him, the sharp ends flying at his face. He threw himself down, his chin slamming against the floor as they lodged themselves into the walls with a sputter of percussive thumps.

One of the men screamed, and Callum looked up in time to see him wrenching an icicle out of his shoulder.

Fighting amongst themselves? Or caught in friendly fire? Either way, it was creative magic for heart-tithers. He’d never seen them use ice before. The room held only the faint whiff of a tithe, like a distant afterburn.

Laena stood at the far end of the room, hands raised as if to shield her face. Her hair was a tangle around her shoulders, her face streaked with dirt, but she appeared to be uninjured.

The panic he’d been holding in his throat dissolved.

In its place, bitter rage poured in.

The injured man staggered forward, blood dripping from his shoulder, icicle raised. Laena pushed her hands out as if they might shield her from whatever he intended. She was wavering on her feet, ever so slightly—but enough for him to notice—and the sight of it made him want to tear this place to the ground.

Perhaps her hands couldn’t shield her. But Callum could. He surged forward and grabbed the man’s wrist from behind, twisting until the icicle dropped from his fingers. The man screamed as Callum raised his dagger and slashed it across the villain’s throat, cutting off his cry with a gurgle.

Rage pulsed across his vision, hot and violent. Rather thanclouding his senses, it made him more aware of his surroundings, aware that a second man was coming at him from the side. He pivoted, blood pooling around his feet as he faced his next opponent.

This man was smaller than the first but quicker. Teeth bared, he dodged Callum’s first jab, dancing out of reach. Callum moved for him again, unwilling to give the man any quarter. He needed to reach Laena before they managed to spirit her away again.

The man lunged, his knife aimed at Callum’s gut. The point sliced through his shirt, digging into his skin.

Icy air coiled around the hilt and wrenched the blade out of the man’s grip, pushing it into Callum’s. The man startled in surprise, giving Callum the opening he needed to strike. The man fell with his own knife in his gut, precisely the spot where he’d tried to hit Callum.

Never mind that cold air, or any air, should not be capable of grabbing knives out of the air. He stared at the fallen man, trying to piece it together. Had his own magic failed him?

“Callum!” Laena shouted, a note of warning in her voice. He turned just in time to knock aside a woman who was coming at him from the right, a hammer aimed at his head. She staggered, and the hammer flew across the floor.

Somehow, impossibly, the woman kept her balance, abandoning the weapon as she ran for the door. She, at least, knew when the fight had been lost.

Laena spread her arms wide. Between the rotting doorframe, a curtain of ice hardened. One moment, Callum was looking out at a sliver of the overgrown grove, the next it was obscured behind a window of wavering ice, the edges feathered with frost.

What the blazing kind of magic wasthat? It smelled fresh and sharp, like the morning before the first snow. It was like no magic he’d ever seen, or smelled, or felt.

And it seemed to have come fromLaena. The princess stood with her back to the corner, her lips pressed into a thin line. The color had bleached from her face and her hands were shaking, her expression distant. As if it was taking all her concentration not to collapse.

The woman hit the ice and bounced back, surprise mixing with fear as she glanced back at the princess. Gritting her teeth, she made another run for the door, this time cracking through the ice with her shoulder.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Callum started after her. But then Laena made a sound behind him—something between a whimper and a sigh—and he turned just in time to see her crumple to the floor, unconscious.

CHAPTER 18

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