Page 86 of A Frozen Pyre
The groundwater, they called it.
Dwyn knew a thing or two about water.
Rain continued flowing around her like a curtain as she maintained her control over the droplets that fell from the sky, until a gruff voice broke her concentration.
“Who did that to you, girl?”
She gasped in surprise, and that was all it took for her focus to shatter and the rain to drench her to the bone. Icy droplets that fell from heights where snow still clutched the mountain peaks soaked the fabric of her dress. Her hair became a sopping shell as it clung to her. Her fingers flew to the evidence of violence against her throat as she looked to where a large, dark shape stepped out from the shadows. She’d been so intent on the Reds within the church that she hadn’t listened for anyone else. Their footsteps had been covered by the rain. Drenched from head to toe, a late-in-years fae peered down at her.
“You seem young to have already mastered your gift,” he said. “What are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?”
“Sixteen,” Dwyn croaked, surprised at the rough sound of her own voice. Her hand tightened around her throat as if it might alleviate the bruising.
The man gestured to a figure behind him, and a woman stepped up, shouldering a satchel. She flipped it open,allowing the man to rummage through its contents until he procured a small brown bottle.
“I’m Anwir. Let me make you a deal,” he said.
She eyed him warily. She didn’t care for the sound of deals with men.
“Swear to keep the rain off our heads until we finish our task for the evening, and I’ll have my friend Mitra here pass you this healing tonic here and now.”
Dwyn looked between the bottle in Mitra’s hand and the man. Her fingers tightened around her bruised neck. She shook her head slowly, saying, “I’m fine.”
“Suit yourself,” Anwir said. He beckoned for the others to move forward.
“Wait,” she breathed. She watched his face tense with curiosity as he awaited her response. “Does this have to do with the Reds?”
Mitra and the man exchanged looks. Voice cautious, he asked, “What do you know of the Reds?”
She blinked several times, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes and weighing down her lids as she sputtered through the cold. Dwyn lifted a hand to help her focus her magic as she created a shelter for herself once more. It wasn’t warm, but she would dry in time. The others eyed her gift appreciatively.
“I know I want to do what they do,” she said.
Anwir chuckled. The sound was joined by the laughter of his companions. Unlike that of her peers at school or the cruel sounds of Rekyr thinking he’d won, this laughter was the low rumble of appreciation. They understood.
The man turned to the woman with a satchel. “What do you think?”
“I like her,” Mitra said.
“You know my name,” he said. “And you are?”
“Dwyn,” she responded. She regretted it in an instant, certain she should have offered an alias.
He nodded. He looked at Dwyn not like a man looking at a woman, but like a burglar eyeing a diamond. “I like her,too,” he said. He straightened his shoulders and said, “Let me amend the terms, girl. Keep the rain off our heads, and I’ll do more than give you the healing tonic. We know how the Reds do what they do. Hell, several of us were Reds once upon a time. What we want is more than they can do.”
“But they can do it all,” Dwyn said through a gasp.
“Nearly,” he said quietly. “Nearly.”
Her heart matched the quick, rhythmic pattern of the rain on the stones. She was tired, cold, wounded, and scared, but the adrenaline that flooded her was something else entirely. She got to her feet, wincing at the pinpricks of bloodlessness, and she’d lost all sensation in her legs in her hours spent in the alley. She looked at the man and woman before her, who stood unflinchingly in the rain and glanced over their shoulders to the figures beyond, obscured by the downpour. Dwyn flattened her palm and raised her hand to help herself focus as she stretched her gift, telling the water to bend around the alley so she might see everyone plainly.
“Nearly?” she repeated. “Then what is it that you want?”
His laugh was a single, dark exhalation as he answered. “Everything.”
Thirty
Dwyn had paced the room for hours. She felt like a caged jungle cat stalking for an escape. She pounced the moment the door opened, stumbling to the threshold and throwing her arms around the princess.
