Page 48 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
Something crunches under me, and I turn my head to the side.
A carpet of flowers stretches in all directions—but instead of a glowing, living red, they are crisply frosted, encased in ice. The sunlight has changed—it’s grayer, colder, and it sparkles on the dead flowers, turning the meadow into an expanse of frozen blood-red diamonds.
It’s so beautiful I want to sob, and also to throw up.
Riordan lies beside me, his armor coated in a thin layer of delicate frost.
“What happened?” I ask Dorothy.
She has Fiero nestled in her lap. He’s awake, but he’s droopy and unhappy. The poor little creature needs decent food and a warm bed.
“The scent of the poppies put you all to sleep,” Dorothy says. “But their effect has been muted until we can pass through.”
“Is that so?” I rise cautiously on one elbow. “And who’s responsible for this mercy?”
She meets my gaze. “I think you already know who it was.”
“He likes you, doesn’t he?” I narrow my eyes at her. “The West Witch.”
Dorothy scoffs. “He hates me. He plans to kill me as soon as he can.”
A laugh rises in my chest, but it cracks in the middle on the way to my lips. “That’s how Riordan and Caer and I began. Death threats. I thought I would be raped, eaten, dismembered, flayed, skinned—any number of terrible things. It’s not that they aren’t capable of such atrocities—but they became attached to me, and they couldn’t bring themselves to do any of it.”
“Why?” Dorothy scoots closer, confusion and curiosity in her eyes. “How does that connection happen between enemies?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s a kind of magic no one will ever understand. You seem so wildly different at first, and then you discover that deep, deep inside, where it matters, you’re more the same than you ever suspected. And it’s those moments of mirrored thought, those little shocks of realization—they fuse souls together until you can’t break free. And then you realize you don’t really want to be free, after all. Or maybe there’s a new kind of freedom, the kind you craved all along, though you didn’t know it.”
Dorothy’s stare makes me self-conscious. I can’t discern her reaction to my words. But I’m freezing, and I can’t lie still any longer, nausea or no—so I struggle to my feet.
Some distance away, Jasper is stirring amid the frozen blossoms. He sits up jerkily, his neck snapping into place with a terrifying crack. His golden tan looks a shade paler, more sickly, but he immediately turns toward me and chokes out, “Are you all right?”
Warmth rushes through my chest. He’s truly the sweetest person I’ve ever met. “I’m fine.”
He starts struggling toward me through the fragile frozen blooms, crushing them, leaving scarlet carnage in his wake. He’s shirtless, shivering. Fae don’t normally feel temperature extremes too strongly, but this freeze is magical, and must be affecting him more deeply. Either that, or he’s just weaker than most Fae. Maybe there’s human blood somewhere in his background.
He crawls to me, lifting dark golden lashes decorated with snowflakes. The intense longing and concern in his bright blue eyes startles and thrills me. I reach for him, pull his cold body close, and tuck my face into the curve of his neck and shoulder.
He’s precious to me, and it’s frightening how quickly that happened. From the moment I saw him, I knew he was mine. Couldn’t be anyone else’s. He’d been waiting for me, needing me, and when our eyes met we both knew it.
I turn my face up to his at the exact moment he looks down, and he gives me a soft smile right before he kisses me.
But then, with a creak of metal, Riordan begins to move, and my heart practically leaps from my chest toward him. I twist in Jasper’s hold, stretching to lay my hand on Riordan’s thigh.
“You’re awake,” I breathe.
He shifts nearer and reaches for me, metal-clad fingers shaking. He doesn’t touch me, but his hands hover over my body, as if he’s desperately checking for more injuries. “Kitten.”
“Darling,” I whisper back.
A rasp of caught breath from inside the armor.
Jasper reaches behind me to clasp Riordan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all right, my silver guardian. While you recover, I’ll go check on the beautiful beast.”
He gets up and walks over to the bulky, unconscious shape of Caer. Dorothy follows, stroking Fiero’s furry little head and surveying Caer with cool disinterest.
Riordan grunts into his helmet. “The Scarecrow gives his affections far too readily.”
“He means well. I think it’s rather adorable.”
