catch
up.
Kyra kept marching, turning down
corridor after corridor, determined to never come back here again. Whatever
waited for her, out there in the world, she would face it head on. She might
die, she knew—but at least it would be her choice. At least she would be
free.
Kyra reached the main doors to the fort,
Leo at her side, and the servants, standing by dying torches so late in the
night, stared back at her, puzzled.
“My lady,” one said, “the storm rages.”
But she stood there, determined, until
finally they got the picture. They exchanged a look, then each reached out and
slowly pulled back the thick door.
The wind howled and a freezing gale hit
her in the face, the whipping snow ice-cold, and she looked out and saw the
snow up to her shins. But she did not care.
Kyra stepped out, right into the snow,
knowing it was unsafe out here at night, the woods filled with creatures,
seasoned criminals, and sometimes trolls. Especially on this night, the Winter
Moon, the night when all were supposed to stay indoors, to bar the gates, the
night when the dead crossed worlds and anything could happen. She looked up and
saw the huge, blood-red moon hanging on the horizon, as if tempting her to
venture outdoors, and, with the snow whipping her face, she did.
Kyra took the first step and did not
turn back, ready to face whatever the night had in store for her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alec sat in his father’s forge before
the great slab of iron, lifted his hammer, and pounded on the glowing-hot steel
of a sword, freshly removed from the flames, sweating as he tried to hammer out
his fury. Having just reached his sixteenth year, shorter than most boys his
age yet stronger than them, too, with broad shoulders, already emerging
muscles, and a big mat of wavy black hair that fell past his eyes, Alec was not
one to give up easily. His life had been hard-forged, like this iron, and as he
sat beside the flames, wiping hair from his eyes continually with the back of
his hand as sweat poured down off his forehead and hissed on the sword, he
thought of the news he had just received and realized he had never felt such a
sense of despair. He wanted to hammer it out, like this sword, and yet he knew
that some things could not be hammered away.
His entire life, Alec had been able to
control things, to step up and do whatever he had to do to make things right,
to work however hard he had to, to do whatever was necessary. But now, for the
first time in his life, he was being forced to sit back and watch as injustice
came to his town, to his family, and he could do nothing but stand by
helplessly and watch.
Alec hammered again and again, the metal
ringing in his ears, sweat stinging his eyes, and not caring. He wanted to
pound this iron until there was nothing left, and as he pounded he thought not
of the sword but of Pandesia. He would kill them all if he could, do anything
to make them go away. For on this day, they would be coming to his town—and
coming to take away his brother.
Alec slammed the forge again and again,
imagining it was their heads, wishing he could grab fate by the hands and shape
it to his will, wishing he were powerful enough to stand up to Pandesia
himself. But he knew he was not. Today was the day, the Winter Moon festival,
when Pandesia scoured all the villages, fanned out across the kingdom and
rounded up all eligible boys who had reached their eighteenth year, for service
at The Flames. Alec, two years shy, was still safe. But Ashton was not. Having
turned eighteen the last harvest season, Ashton was prime to be taken.
Alec pounded the hammer, wanting to
change the reality before him, to think of anything else. But he could not. His
older brother, Ashton, was his hero. Despite having a club foot, despite having
to walk with a limp, Ashton always had a smile on his face, always had a
cheerful disposition—more cheerful than Alec—and had always made the best of
life. He was the opposite of Alec, who
up.
Kyra kept marching, turning down
corridor after corridor, determined to never come back here again. Whatever
waited for her, out there in the world, she would face it head on. She might
die, she knew—but at least it would be her choice. At least she would be
free.
Kyra reached the main doors to the fort,
Leo at her side, and the servants, standing by dying torches so late in the
night, stared back at her, puzzled.
“My lady,” one said, “the storm rages.”
But she stood there, determined, until
finally they got the picture. They exchanged a look, then each reached out and
slowly pulled back the thick door.
The wind howled and a freezing gale hit
her in the face, the whipping snow ice-cold, and she looked out and saw the
snow up to her shins. But she did not care.
Kyra stepped out, right into the snow,
knowing it was unsafe out here at night, the woods filled with creatures,
seasoned criminals, and sometimes trolls. Especially on this night, the Winter
Moon, the night when all were supposed to stay indoors, to bar the gates, the
night when the dead crossed worlds and anything could happen. She looked up and
saw the huge, blood-red moon hanging on the horizon, as if tempting her to
venture outdoors, and, with the snow whipping her face, she did.
Kyra took the first step and did not
turn back, ready to face whatever the night had in store for her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alec sat in his father’s forge before
the great slab of iron, lifted his hammer, and pounded on the glowing-hot steel
of a sword, freshly removed from the flames, sweating as he tried to hammer out
his fury. Having just reached his sixteenth year, shorter than most boys his
age yet stronger than them, too, with broad shoulders, already emerging
muscles, and a big mat of wavy black hair that fell past his eyes, Alec was not
one to give up easily. His life had been hard-forged, like this iron, and as he
sat beside the flames, wiping hair from his eyes continually with the back of
his hand as sweat poured down off his forehead and hissed on the sword, he
thought of the news he had just received and realized he had never felt such a
sense of despair. He wanted to hammer it out, like this sword, and yet he knew
that some things could not be hammered away.
His entire life, Alec had been able to
control things, to step up and do whatever he had to do to make things right,
to work however hard he had to, to do whatever was necessary. But now, for the
first time in his life, he was being forced to sit back and watch as injustice
came to his town, to his family, and he could do nothing but stand by
helplessly and watch.
Alec hammered again and again, the metal
ringing in his ears, sweat stinging his eyes, and not caring. He wanted to
pound this iron until there was nothing left, and as he pounded he thought not
of the sword but of Pandesia. He would kill them all if he could, do anything
to make them go away. For on this day, they would be coming to his town—and
coming to take away his brother.
Alec slammed the forge again and again,
imagining it was their heads, wishing he could grab fate by the hands and shape
it to his will, wishing he were powerful enough to stand up to Pandesia
himself. But he knew he was not. Today was the day, the Winter Moon festival,
when Pandesia scoured all the villages, fanned out across the kingdom and
rounded up all eligible boys who had reached their eighteenth year, for service
at The Flames. Alec, two years shy, was still safe. But Ashton was not. Having
turned eighteen the last harvest season, Ashton was prime to be taken.
Alec pounded the hammer, wanting to
change the reality before him, to think of anything else. But he could not. His
older brother, Ashton, was his hero. Despite having a club foot, despite having
to walk with a limp, Ashton always had a smile on his face, always had a
cheerful disposition—more cheerful than Alec—and had always made the best of
life. He was the opposite of Alec, who
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