The city was quiet as death. Streets that were previously bustling and full of life despite the weather were empty, abandoned, cold. It was eerie, in a way. A blanket of fresh, unmarred snow covered everything in sight, only adding to the starkness of the atmosphere.
Just what, Eira wondered, could have happened over less than two days to cause such a change?
However, the answer soon became evident in the air. The moment she was close enough to breathe it, it was clear as day. It smelled like death, and death alone; an unmistakable scent that could not mean anything else.
Eira clamped a gloved hand over her nose and mouth.
She entered the city, navigating the empty streets and surveying for signs of human life. Nothing. Only a handful of crows perched atop the usually smoky chimneys of houses, their cawing loud and piercing, hungry. Their feathers were fluffed up due to the weather, the pure black shocking against the whiteness of everything else. Beady eyes watched her intently, presumably hoping she had some form of food on her. Eira pulled a bag filled with leftover crusts of the bread she'd eaten over the journey from her satchel, upending it onto the road in front of her. The birds instantaneously began circling around, squawking loudly and fighting each other over the scraps.
She left them to it, wandering further down the street. Usually the crows would eat discarded or dropped food from the many people of the city, but they were going hungry today. Perhaps she was the only human they'd seen all day.
Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. She was beginning to get an idea of what had happened, and it wasn't something she much liked to think of.
Every shutter in every house was closed firmly. As she got closer to the centre of the town, shops began appearing. They too were closed, locked up and bore no signs of being opened any time soon.
She breathed in and out, a cloud of steam forming from her lips. The scent was stronger here. Her nose picked up another note in the air: fear. Tangible fear. The firmly closed shutters showed that fear.
As she moved, her eyes flicked over every building and side street, still searching for any sign of life. Nothing. There was still nothing. She brought her front teeth down onto her bottom lip, hard. She tasted metal on her tongue.
Eira was on the main street now. Shops that should have been bustling were vacant shells of themselves. Still nothing. The dread she was feeling was becoming troublesome to ignore. She disliked that fear. It had moved from trepidation, foreboding, to a raw, instinctual fear. Fight or flight. Everything in her bones was screaming: run away, run away!
She forced it away as strongly as she could, swallowing the air in her throat, and clenching her hands until her nails cut through the thin wool of her gloves and dug into the flesh of her palms. Instead, she focused on her breathing, putting one foot in front of the other. She would go to the inn and see where Al was. If he was there, she would attempt to get some information out of him regarding what had happened. Everyone couldn't have just up and left the place.
She began the walk back to the inn, newfound determination masking her fear. It wasn't a long-term plan, or anything close to it, but it was a start. And that was all she needed to keep herself going at this point.
As she walked down the dim, grimy close that led to the inn, she heard something that couldn't be anything other than her own imagination playing tricks on her. She stopped in her tracks, searching for a source of the noise.
She heard it again.
Was she imagining things? Were her ears cruelly playing tricks on her?
Again. A voice. Maybe two strides to her left. It said her name.
Her real name.
"Eira."
Her head swung in the direction of the sound. If it was real, was it a trap? If she followed the sound, would she be walking into the bear's den, so to speak?
"Eira!" Urgent. Coming from around the corner of the nearest building to her left.
Realisation crashed over her like an icy wave. She knew that voice. It had been a little while, but it was unmistakable.
Her legs working on their own, she walked the distance in an instant. She peered around the corner, eyes widening at what she saw.
"Eira, in here!"
He was crouched in a tight gap between the two buildings, not dissimilar to the one she had hidden in herself a few weeks ago. His eyes were wide and staring, angry red streaking the whites and bruise-like shadows beneath them. He motioned frantically for her, so much so she thought his arm could easily collide with the hard granite of the wall.
Eira inched closer, brain whirring with possible explanations. Was she really just seeing things?
"How are you here?" She'd intended it to sound like a demand, but she ended up sounding just as bewildered as she felt.
"Now—it doesn't matter. There are more important things to be worrying about."
She narrowed her eyes, having managed to shake her previous shock a little. An idea of exactly why and how he'd got there was becoming clear—not that she was happy about it. "You mean..."
"You're in danger, Eira," he said. "They've begun their hunt. It happened yesterday."
Eira sucked in her breath so quickly it strained the muscles in her chest. This. This was what had crossed her mind before, as she'd wandered through the desolation of the streets. The only thing that could terrify the city's every inhabitant into cowering inside their houses. It also explained the death on the air. Everywhere the Frosts went, that scent followed. Eira included.
"You didn't do all this just to tell me that, did you, Edan?"
From the moment they first met until now, Edan had never once been hard to read. The answer was written all over his face, so he needn't even utter it.
"I had no choice." He looked directly at her, those bloodshot eyes unblinking. "They drafted me in to help find you, obviously thinking that since the two of us always stuck together, I'd have known where you went. I spent a couple of weeks feeding them misinformation, but they started getting suspicious about it after a while—to the point where I couldn't be sure of my own future. So I did the only thing I could that would save myself and help you. And I wanted to be free."
How foolishly loyal. Endangering himself for her sake. She wanted to rebuke him for it, tell him he should have done what's best for himself, not her, but knew that, deep down, she'd have done it for him as well.
"Being hunted is no freedom," Eira mumbled.
"I would rather be hunted, than be trapped inside that place a minute longer."
"Thank you," she blurted. "For risking your safety to warn me, and to keep the Frosts away." She would try her hardest to repay what he'd done. If not for him diverting the Frosts, she mightn't have made the progress she had.
He gave her a weary smile.
Perhaps if Edan was also here to help, getting that freedom they longed for would be a little easier. Her objective had changed somewhere down the line, and she knew it. It had drifted from her initial goal of merely finding Cerin and getting revenge on those who had wronged her family. There were other things that were critical. Protecting the ones she loved, gaining the freedom to live as they all desired without fearing for their lives, ending the needless killings that happened to people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Eira finally dared to think of a moment where she could breathe clean, solacing air. Where she could close her eyes and not have to watch her back with every step she took.
For that, however, she would need to fight. Tooth and nail with everything she had. It was not something she could ever possibly manage alone.
She knew she needed the others if anything were to succeed. Gwen. Edan. The rebels. Darrow could give them an upper hand in the battle. He'd proved reliable in producing results with the map they'd stolen. It promised freedom, hope, a world beyond the one they were all enclosed within.
Eira wasn't sure of the numbers of the rebel groups, but surely there were a significant amount. After all, in the world they lived in, how hard would it be to find someone who was desperate for change?
Eira would not run away, not this time. She wanted to make this place somewhere where ordinary people were not cowering behind closed shutters from the fear of being punished by those who deemed themselves their overlords—the sole reason: power. With even a taste of it, it could get to you head and make you start thinking of yourself as a superior, ultimate, ideal being and shun—or kill—those who you deemed as lacking, inferior. It was wrong. Wrong, in the very sense of the word. An atrocity of human nature.
She wanted a world where power did not rule. Where everyone was treated equally, no matter what they were, or deemed to be. Rich or poor, with or without the Frost, it needn't matter.
She realised something at that moment. Yes, she, Gwen and Edan might be Frosts, and, yes, they may be in the favour of the city's rebels, but it would not have even a chance of success if the kingdom's inhabitants, the ordinary people, did not support it. And at this point, most of them lived in ignorance to the true nature of the Frosts—and just how much was being kept from them.
She needed to show everyone the true nature of their world. Needed to reveal the secrets removed from their libraries and classrooms. She needed to convince the masses. She needed to sway them. She needed to empower them.
What she needed was a spectacle.
But how?
What could she do?
How could she, a criminal, a renegade, a Frost, turn people onto her side? It just wasn't possible.
Then, could the rebels?
No. People might believe them to be liars, faking everything to make people join their cause. She could easily sentence them all to death if she convinced them to do it.
What she needed was someone trustworthy to the people. Someone who held sway over the masses.
Eira chewed on her bottom lip, tender from before.
It hit her a moment later. Eira knew exactly what—who—she needed. But it was a chance; a hope; a gamble. There was no way to know for sure if she was right about it. It lay in something offhandedly mentioned by their leader a while ago.
The basics of a plan began to form in her head. There were a couple of things she would need to do before employing her plan, if things went accordingly.
The first: Edan. He looked at her with bemusement, brow furrowed.
Eira met his eyes. "Edan," she began, thinking carefully of the right words to say. "Do you want things to change? With the Frosts, I mean."
"Yes," he replied, unhesitating. "I hate them, and the things they do. Well... not you or Gwen, but the others. The ones who did that to her, the ones who waged a war up north solely to invade those lands and reap their resources, that drag young, barely trained children up there under the guise of fighting, but when it's really just to be cannon fodder. I hate that they try to train our humanity out of us, turning us into subservient weapons for them to use however they so desire. I hate how they think they can kill whoever they please, just because they think they're above everybody else. At first, I didn't know why you did it, Eira. Why you ran away. But I thought about it for a few weeks, and it's become as clear as day. I want to fight. I want to honour Gwen's memory and do as she would have if she were still alive." There were tears falling from his eyes, hot and rolling down his cheeks like rain. Even a Frost cried warm tears like everybody else.
Guilt constricted in Eira's stomach. If Gwen were still alive. "I'll tell you, then. Why I ran away."
And she did. She repeated the story she had told Gwen mere weeks ago, from the eavesdropping on the tutors to her gaining a job. From the grim news Moira had recounted to her, up until the moment she'd scared those drunks with her powers. She told him about joining the rebels and even about the strange glimpse of Cerin she'd got in the music hall. She did not leave out what had happened with the guard like she had with Gwen, and, judging from the look on his face, it was apparent Edan had already been informed.
Eira paused. She had to tell Edan about Gwen. Considering his words from before, there was no way he had any idea she was still alive. It wasn't going to be easy telling him that their dead friend was, well, not dead.
"Edan," she said slowly, trying to ease in the subject. "I met with some rebels who had been scouting up north near the battlefield."
"They know about that?" Edan asked.
Eira gave a nod. "Our leader has ears everywhere." She took a deep breath of the sour air. "That isn't what I was meaning to tell you, however; it was one of those scouts. They were someone I knew. Know. Someone we know. They were—she was—someone.... someone that I'd thought was dead for a long time."
Edan's eyes widened. He froze still as a statue, one hand grasping Eira's wrist like a vice. "No," he finally forced out. "You can't mean..."
"Edan, the scout... she was Gwen. She's alive. She's been alive all this time."
Edan's face didn't change. "How?"
"They lied," Eira said simply. There was no other explanation. "Gwen was never caught by them. She got away and has hidden within the rebels up until now."
Edan's knees hit the cobbles with a hard crack that made her wince. "She can't be..."
Eira knelt down beside him, taking his hands in her own. They were freezing to the touch, scrapes and bruises covering his fingers and palms, some healing, some so fresh they couldn't be more than a couple of hours old. "I wouldn't lie about this," she said firmly. "I promise. Edan... she's really alive. I swear it."
"So... all—all our grief... our regrets... everything...were all for nothing?" He finally met her eyes. Anger was beginning to build in them, deep brown turning fiery.
"It would seem so," she said softly, hands still holding his. "It's hard to take in, I know..."
"Why would they lie?" His words were edged with bitterness.
Eira frowned. "They have done nothing but lie to us."
"Why?" His tone was desperate, eyes directly staring at Eira.
"After all that's happened, you ask that? Surely you aren't naïve enough not to know that." Eira cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. It had come out far harsher than she had intended.
Edan let go of Eira's hands, getting back to his feet. Eira tried not to look at the bright red soaking through the knee of his trousers. "You're right," he said, tipping his head back, eyes focused on the dark grey sky. "I shouldn't be surprised after all they've done to us."
Eira bit her lip again, hard. It stung. "If you want to know the whole story, I don't think it's really my place to tell you."
"Then... if she's... alive, I can see her?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes, but later." Eira willed a slight smile onto her face. "She's resting right now; we just returned from an expedition for the rebels. I'll fill you in once we're safe."
Edan nodded "O—"
Eira brought a finger to her lips. "Shhh." She listened carefully for a few seconds. At first, all she could hear were her and Edan's breath, the cawing of crows in the distance, the rushing of the river not too far away. However, if she really listened closely... "Footsteps."
Edan swung his head around to where Eira was looking. "What?"
"I can hear footsteps. Hurry. We need to run. It could be guards." Or worse.
"Is there anywhere we can go?"
"There's somewhere, but it won't be safe for long."
~
Eira and Edan edged along the walls of the buildings that lined the streets, attempting to keep their footsteps as light and as silent as possible. Although it was only a short distance, Eira's heart was in her throat the entire time. She listened intently for any sounds and kept her eyes open wide for any visual signs. There was nothing so far, but that could always change.
It took a couple minutes more before they stood facing the inn's facade. Eira only let herself breathe once they were fully hidden in the shadows of its walls. The pair stood in silence for a short time, listening, watching once again. Mercifully, it didn't appear as if they'd been tailed. Eira drew her eyes away from the road and onto the inn. Like everywhere else, its shutters were closed tight, no light or noise emanating from the small cracks between them.
Eira motioned for Edan to follow her to the back door. She opened it and peered into the small kitchen beyond. None of the lamps were lit, and nor was the fire. It was dim, freezing, and well and truly empty. She took Edan's wrist and yanked him inside, shutting the door as hard as she could whilst trying to be silent.
"We should be all right." Eira let go of his wrist. "Sorry about that."
"It's fine," he said. However, the fact he was rubbing it with his other hand indicated the opposite.
She felt a little guilty, but didn't say anything. They needed to hurry to the marginally safer confines of her bedroom.
They crept into the barroom. Again, empty. No sign of Al or Leila or any kind of customers. It wasn't exactly surprising, and Eira was thankful for it. Nobody for her to explain herself to.
"This is the place I've been staying," she told Edan quietly. "We can hide here until nightfall."
"And then?"
"And then we go to the rebels' headquarters. It's the safest place I can think of to hide."
Edan looked more than a little apprehensive. "The rebels—are they hostile? I mean, will they be hostile to me? Do you think they'll let me in?"
Eira considered it. "If you can prove yourself trustworthy, I don't imagine so. And I'm sure that if Gwen vouches for you, our leader will be willing to let you in."
"Just Gwen?"
"They don't know who I am," Eira said. Though with the exception of Kea, of course. But he didn't need to know that.
"Oh."
"But at the point that I joined, I was sure they would kick me out—or worse—if they discovered my identity. Though now I know that he let Gwen in, I realised that rather than just hating all Frosts, our leader considers any that have the rebel mentality as valuable assets." Edan nodded, but Eira could see, from his stiff posture and furrowed brow, that his nerves hadn't been abated. She gave him a encouraging smile. "It'll be all right, I'm sure," she told him. "I'll try with everything I've got to help you, and I'm sure Gwen will as well." If it came down to it, she would reveal herself to Darrow if it would make him accept Edan. She would not leave Edan out to fend for himself yet again.
"Thank you," Edan said, his features finally easing into a somewhat more relaxed expression.
Eira smiled briefly, turning towards the door that led to the stairs. "Come on. My room will be the safest place to hide."
Once they reached the upstairs hallway, Eira listened closely for any noises. There didn't seem to be anyone up here, either. Or, if there were, they were being completely silent. She crossed the hall, halting in front of the familiar pine door. She dug out the key from her satchel, unlocked the door and went in. "It's this one."
She had a good look around the room, but nothing seemed to have changed from when she was last in it two days ago, though she had not left anything important behind in it.
Once he was inside, Eira motioned for Edan to sit down on the bed, while she went to the chest at its foot. He obliged, the bed frame creaking beneath his weight.
"It always does that," Eira told him, not looking up. She located what she was looking for: an oil lamp and a small box of matches. After lighting the lamp, she placed it on the bedside table and returned to the chest to get the rest of the things she was looking for: a clean rag, roll of bandages, small bottle of spirit and half a loaf of bread that was hopefully not too stale. After locating all of the items and gathering them into her arms, Eira retrieved the lamp and the glass of water that was also on the table, and sat down cross-legged on the floorboards beside the bed.
Edan eyed the spirit. "You're not—"
"Pull up your left trouser leg," she said, pointedly ignoring his preposterous suggestion.
"What?"
She sighed. "Just do it." She poured some of the water onto the rag and unscrewed the top of the bottle of spirit.
He looked a little confused, but did so.
Eira winced when she saw his knee. It was partially skinned, a deeper wound near the centre that was oozing a constant stream of blood. "Treacherous cobbles," she mumbled.
"Ah. You noticed."
"It was hard to miss." Eira lifted the lantern up. "Hold this so I can see it properly."
Edan took it, holding it above his leg so the flame illuminated his wound.
In the brighter light, it didn't seem so bad, thankfully. But still in need of bandaging.
"H-how is it?" Edan asked, unable to conceal a whimper as Eira pressed the wet rag onto his flesh.
"You won't need stitches at least," she replied, dabbing away the grime from the cobblestones and dried-in blood. She picked up the bottle of spirit, pouring some onto a clean part of the rag.
"Where did you get that?"
"I work in an inn, Edan. It wasn't particularly hard to acquire."
"Did you—" Eira put the alcohol-sodden rag against Edan's knee and felt him jerk under her touch almost immediately. "Ouch! What the hell! Is it supposed to hurt like that?"
"It'll be over in a second," she told him. "I promise."
Once satisfied with the wound's cleanliness, Eira removed the rag. Edan let out a loud sigh of relief the moment it was gone.
"Hold still." She picked up the bandage and wound it around his leg, firmly pinning it in place once she reached the end. "All done."
"Thanks," he said.
"It would've gone infected otherwise." Eira handed him the bread. "You look like you need it," she told him, taking the lantern from his grip.
"So do you."
"I've already eaten, it's fine." Truthfully, Eira hadn't had anything but water since the night before, but Edan didn't need to know that, either. She didn't want him to feel guilty about eating all her food.
After collecting up the things on the floor, Eira headed back over to the chest. However, halfway there, she froze in her tracks. Footsteps. In the hallway.
Just as she was about to ask Edan if he heard it too, somebody knocked on the door. She recognised the pattern: it was the same one she, Edan and Gwen had devised one night all those years ago.
"Eira? Are you in there?"
"Yes, I'm—I'm here!" Eira hastily put the things back in the chest and made her way over to the door, glancing over her shoulder at Edan. His eyes were wide with disbelief. He'd recognised that knock, that voice.
She gave him a quick nod, as if to say "yes, it's really her," and opened the door to reveal none other than a possibly more exhausted looking Gwen.