Page 184 of Wings of Ash & Flame
He pointed to a series of smooth rectangular rocks that rose upward with the mountain’s so-called “trail.”
“There. That looks like the best way forward. Sturdy enough to support our weight. We can follow that ledge to the right—it’s narrow, but it leads to a shelf about fifty feet up. We’ll need to be careful, swift, and precise. One wrong move and the ice will give way beneath us.”
“Okay,” Alaire said, committing his directions to memory. There was no room for doubt or hesitation.
They began to climb. Alaire focused on matching his movements, mirroring his deliberate steps and steady grip. Beck and Solflara trudged slowly behind them.
As the elevation increased, so did the ferocity of the storm. Each gust of wind slapped against her exposed skin, roaring in her ears, drowning out everything else. Dawson used his magic to thin out the thundering currents whenever they needed to speak.
For the first time in hours the noise fell to a hum, her head wasn’t being hammered from all sides.
She tilted her head toward him, waiting, but Dawson stayed silent.
“Is everything okay?” she called over the wind.
“Yeah,” he grunted, pulling himself up to the next foothold.
Okay…
“The wind—you settled it. Was there something you needed to tell me?”
He clung to the mountainside with one hand, glancing back at her briefly. “No. I noticed you kept pressing your free hand to your head and thought you could use the break.”
A tender warmth filled her chest. He’d noticed her discomfort without her saying a word.
“I… don’t… thank you. That’s incredibly thoughtful. But I can handle the wind. We’ll need your magic at full strength for whatever’s ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
Her voice nearly broke, but she cleared her throat. “I am.”
“If you change your mind, promise you’ll tell me,” he said, muscles bunching across his back as he climbed higher.
“I promise.”
The howling resumed. The ice grew slicker beneath her, offering little grip. Her legs strained on the narrow ledges, arms burning with each upward pull, but despite the ache and relentless cold, something light and buoyant had settled in the center of her chest.
Forty-Two
Hours passed in a blur of snow and ice. Alaire’s muscles ached, her lungs burned with effort, and dampness settled deep in her marrow—a chill that set her teeth chattering.
At last, they reached a plateau. Alaire flung herself onto solid ground, stretching her limbs as a sigh escaped. Sweet, sweet relief coursed through her.Finally. The flat expanse offered room to breathe, but its edges dropped into white nothingness.
“We made it,” Alaire said, letting the tension ease from her body. Despite the harsh conditions, the frozen landscape held a raw, unforgiving beauty.
Dawson sat beside her, one knee raised, an arm resting on it. Aside from the rosy flush on his cheeks, no one would’ve guessed he’d just scaled a mountain.
Alaire poked him. “How is it you look like that after the climb?”
He arched a brow. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“You know—don’t act like you don’t.” She waved her hand vaguely at his flawless state.
“I can assure you, I do not…” He cupped his chin, hiding the beginnings of a smile.
“Ugh. You’re going to make me say it. Fine. Generally unruffled, somewhat regal, and a tiny bit desirable.”
“A tiny bit desirable?” His eyes gleamed wickedly.
