Page 120 of Fated to the Frost King

But my sister was alive.

That was the only thing that mattered.

After seeing to the more pressing wounds, we dragged the Tharnok carcasses from the kitchen. It was the room we needed access to the most since it was where the pantry and Wynnie’s tonics were stored.

Shattered glass glittered on the stone floor like ice, and the air still pulsed with echoes of screams. We had traded the odor of decay for the sharp tang of herbal tonics scattered across the counter.

My sister moved stiffly across the room, favoring her left leg. A jagged gash ran along her shoulder, half-covered in a poultice that stained the linen wrap beneath it green.

The rest of us were in similar shape, our injuries slathered with the same foul-smelling balms and covered in poultices. There was no chance to bathe when we were trapped in this room while my husband cleared the rest of the house, but we wiped away the blood as well as we could, cleaning at least our wounds.

Once the adrenaline from the attack had worn off, pain had crept in. My arm burned where the Tharnok had bitten it, and my head pounded from when I was thrown up the stairs. But the tonics were helping, at least, along with the salves.

Wynnie opened a tall, narrow cabinet, plucking a few more vials from her apothecary. Her eyes drifted over to the three remaining members of her staff, and she added several more to her stack.

We numbly sorted them, in oppressive silence, while we waited for Draven to return.

Two of the servants quietly scrubbed away what blood and tar they could manage, while the third sat in the corner, rocking back and forth and muttering quietly under her breath.

And each of us was holding our breaths, flinching at the sounds of shattering glass and scraping wood. Each of us waiting for another shriek of a monster, another crack of bone.

Our movements were mechanical. Every breath tasted of ash and frost.

But my sister is alive, and that is enough.

I repeated the words over and over again in my head, finding a rhythm in the repetition. It all still felt surreal. Like we were caught in a breath between moments, just waiting for the next unspeakable thing to happen.

Especially when I remembered the tears shining in Nevara’s eyes. She wouldn’t have cried for this, not after seeing the other attacks? All the different villages, right?

It couldn’t be over, yet…

Then again, how many times had she said she couldn’t See everything? Maybe she Saw my sister lying on the ground covered in blood, or Saw one future where that happened.

That made sense. It did. So why couldn’t I breathe?

“So…” Wynnie swallowed, her eyes skipped hollowly over the stains we hadn’t yet scrubbed from the walls.

“What do we do now?” she asked. Her voice was rough with disuse.

I forced myself to breathe, even as her question echoed in my own head.

What were we supposed to do now? The kingdom was crumbling. The people were suffering. The Unseelie were creeping in.

And the monsters were winning,shards damn it all.

Draven’s mana curled around my skin, less like its usual battering ram and more like a pile of blankets.

“The ward stones are holding, but we need to get back to the palace,” he said, striding back into the room.

Right. One step at a time.

He still surveyed the room with wary eyes, like another monster would come bursting through at any moment. Which, in fairness, maybe they would. How did we ever really know they were gone?

They were never gone.

“Do you have horses?” he directed the question at Wynnie.

Right. Because he could only take me through the ice.

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