Some nights Eira dreamed that she was running. Running after Cerin. It was like the games they'd played as children, except—in her dreams—the chase felt eternal. Sometimes, it was worse than running; when she reached out to touch him, he would fade to nothing beneath her grasping fingers. Most nights she awoke before she could catch him, but, that night, she did. However, for the first time, he didn't evanesce. Instead, he fell limp in her arms. Blood trickled out between ashen lips.
She screamed, shrill and piercing.
Eira's eyes flew open. Sunlight shone between a gap in the shutters, casting a dim glow over the room.
"Only a dream," she whispered. Eira gasped the words out, her breathing erratic and panicked. "It was only a dream." She found herself saying that more often than not when she awoke these days.
The events of the night before crashed back to her. She'd managed to get herself into a notorious rebel group after a successful interview with their leader, Bran Darrow.
Afterwards, she'd stumbled back to the inn (after getting lost several times) and fallen into a deep sleep as soon as she came into contact with her bed—something she hadn't done in months.
Eira checked the small clock mounted above the mantle. It was just after six o'clock. Her shift started at eight; she had plenty of time to spare. She surfaced from the warm, albeit creaky, bed and began to dress.
The dye in her hair had long since faded and her hair was a blondish colour, she realised after a quick look in the mirror—the first time in a while.
The roots had gone white, too. That was what she got for using her powers. If she'd withheld herself from bringing them out for long enough, then there was a likely chance her hair would have grown back in its original colour.
Eira sighed and left the room, picking up her small coin-sack as she passed. She couldn't risk being caught for something as easy to avert as her hair colour.
Outside, people were beginning to get up and about, setting up their shops and stalls for the Saturday market. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and everything was cast in the pink and orange glow of dawn. It was pretty, but it was too early for her to appreciate anything properly.
She read a few pages of a book, sitting on a bench underneath an old oak tree as she waited for daily market to begin. She'd started to frequent the place whenever she needed some fresh air.
Eira surveyed the crowd that was beginning to gather around the main square. Men and women were erecting their stalls and placing their produce on tables within. There was everything—food, drink, clothes, medicine, tools. She and her parents—and later, her adoptive family—would come here every spring and autumn and buy supplies from the market. She could remember holding her mother's hand as she looked at everything there was to offer. Her mother would buy special cakes that they never usually bought and they would take them home and eat them after dinner as a treat.
It was strange to think that it had been nearly nine years since she'd seen her parents. How she'd almost forgotten them in everything that had happened. Or maybe, it was because she'd tried to forget them.
Their faces were blurred most times she thought of them, nowadays.
How was it that she'd had everything she'd loved torn away from her? Her parents. Her adoptive family. Her friend. What would be next? Her sanity?
When the large clock atop the church chimed seven, Eira left her spot under the tree and headed over to the market. She cast her depressing train of thought away and focused on the moment.
But, today she felt volatile. She felt as if she could easily fall down into a hole and never fully fall out. Her thoughts of her parents solidified that fact.
I need to keep it together, she thought as she purchased the dye she needed from a bored-looking stall owner.
"Keep it together," Eira repeated, aloud. Hopefully her words would work.
~
Kea appeared at his usual time, much to Eira's dismay. He sported an angry purple bruise on his cheek and still braced a hand against his ribs. He looked, quite frankly, terrible.
"I feel as bad as I look," he said, by way of greeting.
"Good evening to you too," Eira replied.
Kea grimaced and sat himself on a bar-stool.
Eira turned away and began to dish up his food. Since it was always the same thing, he needn't ask for it.
"What time does your shift end?" Kea asked as she placed the bowl of stew on the bar in front of him.
"Nine," she replied. Al was letting her go early because of how many hours she'd been working nonstop over the past weeks.
"That's good, then." Kea picked up his spoon. "Because if it had been any later, I would have had to excuse you from your work."
Eira placed down the glass she had been drying with accidental force. "What do you mean?"
"We have work to do," came his reply. There was a glint in his eyes Eira hadn't seen before.
~
"What does this "work" require?" Eira questioned as they left the inn.
"Are you any good at listening?"
As it so happened, she was good at it. Six months of eavesdropping on Tutors rubbed off on a person. "Yes. I'm certainly practised in it."
"Good. Because, that's exactly what this job entails. Darrow has told me to "lend a hand" with your first mission. If it's something you're adept in, then it shouldn't be hard at all."
Kea strode off and Eira had to jog to catch up. All of a sudden, she was getting deja vu for some odd reason; the exact same thing happened the night before. Slow down, damn it.
But, despite his usual gait, Eira could see that Kea was walking with a slight limp. Just what sort of fight? She knew it had been with those drunks she'd scared, but what had he done to them? She remembered the barely dried in blood that had stained his clothes and his hands.
There was something about him, she thought. Something that seemed awfully like a hungry beast set free. Bran Darrow really wasn't the only mystery she had on her hands; Kea Alden really was one in himself. Or whatever his actual name was. Darrow had said everyone used fake names, so why would Kea be the exception?
It was mutual. She didn't know his name, he didn't know her name. Well, he probably did—it was plastered on every bloody newspaper in the kingdom—but he didn't know that she, Lowenna, was Eira the Frost. Or at least she hoped he didn't.
And then she realised: if Cerin was in the same rebel group, then he would keep his name hidden too. She certainly couldn't ask around for him. She'd been a fool. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. It could take her months to track him down—and that was if she managed to keep herself hidden that long.
Eira crashed into something. The something yelped and moved out of the way, letting her stumble and fall to her knees.
It turned out the something was Kea. Eira got to her feet sheepishly, brushing dust off her trousers. Luckily the street they were on was one that was regularly cleaned.
Kea looked—to put it eloquently—pissed off. He was injured after all. It must've hurt. "Watch where you're going, won't you?"
"Sorry," Eira mumbled.
Kea's eyebrows raised and he turned away. From that, she realised, he'd been expecting a retort.
He probably wasn't wrong in that assumption; they'd been rude to each other constantly for two weeks solid. In Eira's petty justification, it was him that started it. Although, she supposed he wasn't as much of a bastard as she'd first thought. He had got rid of the drunks, unsavoury methods aside. She owed him, regardless of how reluctant she was to admit that to herself. But, it wasn't as if he'd known she was wanted and that he'd saved her from being outed. He'd likely just done it out of anger towards the men. Why he was angry on her behalf was a mystery. But it had still saved her from incarceration, regardless of how indirect it was.
Eira shook herself from her thoughts and brought her attention to her surroundings. They were in a side lane that lead up onto the northern end of the high street. Eira had used it that morning when she'd gone to the market.
She'd fallen behind Kea again; he was marching along at a speed she could only run at. And injured as well. Eira was bewildered as to how he did it—his legs were a bit longer than hers but not by that much. Actually, his legs looked kind of short for his height.
"Why do you walk so fast?" Eira panted as she attempted to catch him up.
"Maybe you just walk slow."
Eira didn't reply. To be honest, she was kind of offended. Just before she was about to open her mouth to say "No I do not!" Kea spoke over her.
"What, were you expecting me to say 'so as not to let my inner demons catch me,' or something?"
"What?" Eira asked incredulously. That thought had not crossed her mind, even in the slightest.
"What do you mean?"
"I never even thought about that for a millisecond." Eira began to laugh. It was just so ridiculous.
"Whatever," Kea said. "We're almost there." He pointed to a grimy looking tavern diagonal from the lane they were just reaching the end of.
Eira forced herself to stop laughing. That had been the first time in a while. Actually, she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. It had probably been at something unimportant with Edan, like the look of shock on Mina Cauldwell's face when Edan had made snowballs and threw them at her. They hadn't been sure whether the shock had been at him being able to use his powers to that extent or because one had hit her square on the forehead. Eira smiled at the simple memory, lost in a sea of the years that had passed since.
She brought her attention to the matters at hand. In a well used tavern like the one across from them, it was probably a good time to overhear some conversations, it being Saturday night. People liked getting intoxicated after their shifts ended, guards included.
She now knew what Kea meant by listening.
But, if there were guards around, she'd have to stay well hidden. They couldn't see her face, or else she would be well and truly sabotaged.
Once they were outside the tavern, Kea stopped and spoke, his voice low enough so that only Eira could hear, "We're going in there to do some listening into some drunken guards' conversations. Try to act inconspicuous and don't try and start arguments, no matter what they say. They're not simple drunks; they're in direct order of the law. Talking back to them could be a serious offence. And you're already a criminal in their eyes. Just keep your mouth shut and don't say anything. All we're doing is gathering information."
"All right," Eira said, resisting the urge to reply with an indignant 'do you think I'm stupid?'
They entered, and immediately the raucous noise hit Eira. Where she worked was never as full as this, and it was never this rowdy. The floor was almost entirely packed and employees were sprinting back and forth carrying trays laden with ale and food. Eira willed herself not to immediately turn around . She'd always hated busy places like this. They made her head feel as if it was going to split asunder.
Kea lead her over to two spare seats at the bar, conveniently placed beside a group telltale grey-clad men—city guards.
"There's been some trouble for the guards lately," Kea whispered into Eira's ear once they were sitting down. "A young Frost has run away from the training facility. Said to be a pretty powerful one, too. It's caused an uproar—the second one in the past few years—and now anyone'll do anything to get their hands on her. They'll pay a large sum, as well. But you'll know all this, won't you?"
"I've read about it," Eira forced out, attempting to keep her words even and believable. She had not heard that there was a bounty over her head. That just made everything so much harder, as if it wasn't bad in the first place. Perhaps she shouldn't have come. Perhaps people already knew who she was. She turned sharply away from the guards she was sitting beside, doing her best to keep her hood as far as it would go over her eyes.
"What I wonder is, what makes these Frosts leave? They have it all, don't they? Money. Power. Special abilities. I don't see what would drive them to abandon all that to live a life on the run. "
"Perhaps," Eira said, "Perhaps it is not all that it seems."
"Maybe," Kea considered. "It's not the first time. As I said—there was a similar case three years back."
Eira froze. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't you hear about it? Another—also powerful—Frost in training ran away. There was a huge search for her that lasted around two days. But, it all stopped abruptly and there was no more reports about it. To the public, it remains a mystery."
"What"—Eira leaned in close to Kea, looking him straight in the eye—"what was her name?"
"Her name?" Kea returned Eira's gaze. "Gwen Haley."
~
Eira kept her eyes trained on the drink in her hands. She didn't enjoy the taste of ale, so Kea had purchased her some lukewarm tea. The guards beside them hadn't mentioned anything important. They had just been moaning on and on about having no free time and about their superiors who got three weeks off in the summer. Perhaps the night was a failure.
But it was hard to concentrate on anything when the conversation they'd just had had torn open old scars, leaving them to bleed out uncontrollably.
Every time she closed her eyes she could recall how those words had stabbed her like a dagger to the heart. How she'd been unable to breathe. How she'd been unable to believe that it was the truth. How she'd fallen to her knees and everything had felt so far away, like she was stuck inside a bubble. She could remember how hot her tears had felt against her cheeks and how Edan's hug had felt like she was being choked.
She could remember how she hadn't slept for days. How she'd paced her room, feeling nothing but emptiness. How she'd had to suck it up and act as if nothing was wrong so the Tutors wouldn't suspect anything. How everyone knew how close she and Gwen had been, and how they noticed that Eira had changed after that day. How she was never that shy, naive, bookish girl again. She'd reinforced the image of having changed so people wouldn't try to get close, but it probably all was true. She had changed.
She'd felt numb since meeting with Moira. After hearing that news. She'd cried that last night she was hiding on the street, but now... now she felt like everything had crashed down. She'd thought that after everything that had happened she'd become impervious to loss. That she had lost the ability to truly cry. She had been wrong. Everything felt just as painful as it had before.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Lowenna," came a voice. It was only then that she returned to reality. Even then, it was hard to associate herself with that name. It was her mother's name and it always would be. How could she dare steal one of the last remaining things of the woman who'd birthed her?
Eira looked at the person beside her. Kea. Kea. It was just Kea. "I..." she faltered, unable to string together a sentence.
Kea's face appeared to show a look of concern. It looked odd and uncharacteristic upon his face. "Are you all right?" His words were even and surprisingly gentle.
Eira wasn't sure what she was supposed to say. Should she brush it off? No. It would be frighteningly obvious that she was lying. "I'm—I'm—"
"Let's get out of here," Kea told her, getting off of his seat. "Come on."
He grabbed her wrist and led her—she wasn't in a way to struggle, so she just let him—through the crowd of people in various states of drunkenness, making care not to bump into them.
"What about the job?" Eira whispered once they were outside.
"It can wait. Until tomorrow or even next week. You're obviously not fit for it, currently."
She was surprised he didn't berate her. Maybe that was just because she always expected the worst from people.
"I'm sorry," Eira said hoarsely. "For compromising your work."
"It's fine," Kea dismissed. "It was your work anyway. I doubt our leader would want me to force you while you're in the midst of having some kind of breakdown."
"I'm not having a breakdown. I just... need some time. To think." Showing weakness in front of someone she couldn't trust was bad. Bad. Bad. She should have realised. She should have stopped herself.
"You should go home," Kea said. "Take a day off of work, maybe."
"I'll see what I can do," Eira said ambiguously. She felt bad saying that, because it was apparent that he actually gave a damn about her well-being, or at least that she was operating efficiently, but she wasn't going to miss the work that she actually got money from. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. She didn't know what else to say.
"I said it's fine." He didn't make eye contact. "I'm going to finish the work we started. Don't say anything to Darrow about this. Though he may object to you working whilst being... indisposed, he seeks thirstily for any information he can get. I'll not mention it, if you're going to be in a fit state of mind for any other jobs you're required to do."
"Thank you," Eira murmured. "Honestly."
Kea turned to face the tavern. "Just get back before the drunks are cast out onto the street."
~
As Eira stumbled away, she couldn't shake the heavy guilt that had settled over her. She'd completely compromised her and Kea's work because of a pathetic meltdown. She should have known—thought she knew—better than that.
"I'm a fool," she muttered to herself. If she continued to mess up all her work she would drift further and further away from any chance at finding Cerin.
There was also the matter that Kea had helped her. Again. Somehow she kept getting indebted to that bastard, and it needed to stop. She would find some way to pay him back, she was sure of it. And then she would be rid of any obligations towards him, which would be a weight off of her shoulders.
Although she was trying her damned hardest to keep her mind away from the train of thought she'd been on before, she couldn't help recalling a certain thing Kea had mentioned before: that Gwen hadn't publicly been declared dead.
Why? Why had only the students of the Frost academy been informed? It was confusing. Bewildering. Gwen had had a family. Did they know? Or had they lived all years not knowing what had become of their daughter?
But, then it became clear to her.
The Frosts never let the ordinary people know what was going on. It was a tactic to keep them from knowing the darkness of their society, just how ugly they really were. That they were not simply just sending their children off to learn and hone their miraculous power, but, instead, they were sending them off to to train to become mindless human weapons at the mercy of their leaders.
It sickened her.
It sickened her that a family could never know about the slaughter of their daughter. How Moira and Cerin had never even been given Owen and Graham's bodies to bury. At least they'd been given the news.
The Frosts wanted the masses at bay, so as they could control them, so as they could kill however many as necessary.
Things needed to change.
~
P.S. this chapter got to 3.6k post editing. 600 words added and two separate editing sessions. I can't remember the wordcount for the next chapter, but i can only pray it's shorter. P.P.S. comments and votes are much appreciated! thanks to everyone who's done those already. And 7k views! AAAAAH