sweater with white snowmen on it.
“I insist,” I said, summoning my most imperious, queenly voice. “It will be a grave insult if you don’t take it.”
My bluff worked. Rhona snatched the sweater and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you,” she kept repeating. She backed out toward the door, bowing over and over. When she was gone, Jasmine sighed.
“You shouldn’t have done that. What if you need it later?”
“I have a couple others. And she needs it a lot more.” Noting Jasmine’s skeptical look, I added, “How can you see all that and not be affected by it?”
“I try not to see it,” she said bluntly. “Or think about it. It’s the only way I’ve gotten by these last couple months.” It sounded harsh at first, but then I realized I could understand her reasoning—and didn’t like that I could. She tossed her pack unceremoniously on the floor and stretched. “I’m going to go hang out with Pagiel for a while.”
I knew Pagiel had his own hut for the night and wondered if I should be attempting some sort of chaperoning. In the end, I let her go without a word. She’d become a lot more responsible in our time together, and besides, who was I to deny her some happiness in these times? I pulled a chair as close to the cooking pit as possible and warmed myself while trying not to ruminate on what Isaac and Ivy were doing right now.
A knock sounded behind me and I called a welcome without even glancing back. A foolish move, as it turned out.
“Eugenie?”
I jumped up and spun around as Kiyo entered. I had set down most of my weapons already but still had an athame in my belt. I pulled it out and held it out between us. “Don’t come any closer,” I warned.
He shut the door and then held out his hands beseechingly. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to talk.”
“I have no interest in talking to you,” I said. “I don’t want to hear any more explanations about how you’re on this journey to help us and have buried the hatchet in order to save the world.”
“Actually,” he said, “that’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh. Then are you here to apologize for trying to kill me? Because I don’t really want to hear that either.”
“I’m not really here for that either,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ouch. I’d meant it that I didn’t want to hear any pleading, and really, no apology could make up for what he’d done. Still, there would’ve been something, well,
“I wanted to talk to you about your children,” he said. “Word is they were born early.”
I gestured to my stomach. “Obviously.”
“And they’re alive?” The clinically detached way he asked that was shocking.
“Yes,” I replied. “Alive and well.”
Kiyo sighed in dismay. If he’d said, “That’s too bad,” I probably would’ve punched him then and there. Instead he said, “Eugenie, you must know how dangerous they are. Especially the boy.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t know that, actually. What I know is that they’re innocents who have come into the world with their whole lives ahead of them, lives which they—not some prophecy—will shape and which I intend to make happy and meaningful.”
“That’s nice in theory but also naïve. I’m sure your father started out as an innocent too. Look how he turned out.”
Anger was kindling in me, far hotter than the blazing cook fire. “They’re nothing like him. Neither am I. And nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. It didn’t work when I was pregnant. It’s not going to work now.”
He took another deep breath, like he was waging a mental battle to try to seem reasonable. “I’m not trying to be cruel here. I don’t want any of this. I’m just trying to save this world and the human one from a lot of grief and destruction.”
“You’re not being cruel?” I exclaimed. “You’re all but suggesting the death of a child—a baby! And for what? Some prophecy which probably isn’t true? These two aren’t even going to know about the Otherworld! They’re far away from any of this, and I intend to see they stay that way.”
A glint of annoyance showed in his eyes. Maybe whatever anger management he’d been practicing wasn’t working so well after all. “That’s the attitude everyone has when they try to stop a prophecy. You know the old stories. Trying to avert prophecies just makes them happen. Destiny fulfills itself in ways you never expect.”
“Our actions and choices shape our destinies,” I growled. “Otherwise there’s no point in living. I can’t believe you don’t see that! You were always so reasonable in the past—at least until you decided to kill your own children. You have no business saying my son’s the monster here.”
He flinched at those words, as well he should have. A funny look came over his face, one I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t guilt or chagrin, like I would have expected. Before I could ponder it further, the door opened without a knock and Dorian strolled in as though he’d lived here for years.
“Why, hello,” he said cheerfully. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. I was just passing by and thought I’d see if your charming hovel needed any patching. My magic’s quite good at summoning dirt and rocks for convenient household usage.”
He had that typically guileless look and tone, but I wasn’t fooled for an instant. Dorian hadn’t just wandered by. He’d either seen Kiyo come in or heard about it from someone else. My suspicions were confirmed when Dorian put his hands on his hips in a way that opened his cloak and revealed the sword at his waist.
“Everything’s fine,” I said, with a tight smile. “Kiyo was just giving me his latest explanation about how my son is a terror to be feared.”
Dorian scoffed. “Little Thundro? A terror? Hardly, unless perhaps we’re discussing diapers.”
Kiyo’s hardened expression momentarily faltered. “Wait. You named your son Thundro?”
My response was preempted by a high-pitched shriek that split the night and made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was neither human nor gentry. I got to my feet and immediately began grabbing my weapons. Dorian and Kiyo were already moving for the door.
“What the hell was that?” I asked, knowing perfectly well they had no idea either.
Outside, darkness had fallen, with only well-placed torches to give us light. The terrible screech sounded again, echoed by smaller, terror-filled cries from the Palm residents as they scurried for shelter. A flash of red caught my eye, and I grabbed Rhona’s arm as she ran past.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. Even in the flickering torchlight, I could see she was as pale as the snow around us.
“The storm,” she cried. “The storm is coming.” She tugged desperately against me, and I released her, more confused than ever. Others hurried past, and within a couple minutes, no one stood outside in the village—except for me and my traveling companions.
“What’s going on?” said Rurik, coming to my side. “Are they being raided?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “They keep saying that—”
I heard the roar again, and this time, its owner came into view. My jaw dropped.
“
If you could take every stereotype and caricature of the abominable snowman and roll them into one archetypal snow monster, you’d have what was standing before me. It was about twenty feet tall, covered in white shaggy fur. Three curved horns—one on each side and one in the forehead—protruded from its head. Its eyes were large and black, as were the six-inch claws on its hands. When it roared, I caught a glimpse of a mouthful of razor- sharp teeth.
Dorian drew his copper sword. “Rurik, my friend. The next time you barter for our lodging, do get a bit more information on what exactly we’re paying.”
“Yes, sire,” muttered Rurik.
Seeing as we were standing out in the open, I would’ve thought the Storm—because really, it deserved a capital
