Page 159 of Frost and Death
A Fighting Chance
Iwake the next day earlier than anticipated, a sign from the Makers that, for this new plan to work, I needed to dedicate every waking second to finding answers. Trusting Jonas has a handle on the final preparations for the masquerade ball, I am eager to spend the day in the library, regardless of if Jerrick planned more training or not.
I opted for the cotton tunic and leather trousers Dorit laid out in the night while I was sleeping. Fastening my hair in a loose plait, I slip on my boots quickly, pausing on the threshold and looking into my room. I land on my mother’s mirror on the nightstand, reminding me to speak with Niko tonight and propose the new plan.
Squaring my shoulders, I find my resolve and leave my chambers, hurrying down to the kitchens for a quick bite. Thethought of food drew me faster through the castle, sending my saliva to drip from the side of my mouth.
Sweet Makers, I must be famished.
I push harder into the stone floor, my muscle memory kicking in, taking me through my usual path. A smile forms when I reach the second level of the castle, noting the light smell of yeast in the air.
I turn the last corner for the kitchens and bump face-first into someone.
Stumbling backward, I lose my footing.
I anticipate the sharp impact of my ass, but it is worse than I thought. Unable to evade the inevitable, I crash against the floor, teeth smacking, and sending a searing pain through my jaw. Even my wrists strained when I tried to help cushion my fall.
Heat blooms around my cheeks as I check my hands, flicking my wrists and noting the small cut from my fall.
A hand shoots in my line of vision, causing me to jump, lifting my head to see whom it belonged to.
Wildfire flows throughout my body as Jerrick stands above me with an undone shirt.
We scan each other for any noticeable injuries, and I use this to my advantage, peeking through his clothing. His chest is chiseled and muscular, and the hardened muscles drift downward to his stomach.
I inch forward as I take his hand, finding myself trying to look further. But the pulling of my arm forces me to break my stare as I stumble into him.
I right my footing, but Jerrick doesn’t release my hand. Instead, he holds it closer, inspecting the small cut.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a cut. It’ll be fine,” I say, unconcerned.
Jerrick pulls my hand closer and scowls as if it is the villain in this altercation. And maybe it is. Deities, my magicdoescome from there.
But when he drops his gaze, he propels us forward. “Come, let’s go get you bandaged up,” he says, dragging me down the hall.
“What? Don’t want to use your magic to help me instead?”
“I’ve already told you my powers don’t work like that.”
My memory jogs, and I want to ask another question but refrain when we enter the kitchens.
The yeast is thick as we inch closer, and my stomach releases a low growl, earning me a side glance from Jerrick. All I offer is a shrug, hopeful he doesn’t catch the hint of embarrassment on my end.
Ophelia and Cordelia hum the same song in harmony, seamlessly working together and around each other as they prepare meals for the castle. Their eyes meet mine and Jerrick’s, and I wave to them as Jerrick guides us over to the table.
“Where are the bandages?” he asks.
Ophelia’s head whips up to us with worry etched on her features. “What happened? Are you alright?”
Cordelia simultaneously says, “I’ll fetch them.”
Cordelia hurries to the opposite side of the kitchen near a vast variety of cabinets, withdrawing a small pouch and swiveling to us. By the time she reaches us, Ophelia has sat across from us, examining the cut on my hand.
“It’s nothing, really,” I assure them as Cordelia hands Jerrick the small pouch of bandages.
Only then does he release my hand, taking the pouch and revealing an assortment of cloths varying in length and size. “It is when it is my fault,” Jerrick mutters loud enough for us all to hear.
