The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

25. Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

Housekeeping

A s the weeks go on, the biting cold lets up, thawing the frosted windows enough to see through. With Coy still recovering in the cabin, we’ve been able to keep the fire roaring during these final weeks of winter. But he’s nearly back to normal, following a routine and even playing his harmonica again when he can. Though a bit winded, he can still hold a tune just as he always has.

I am sick of my fingers practically cracking off every time I go outside, but it can't be any worse than what the warriors are enduring. I've been making a lot of stews and soups as of late to combat the cold with cider as a nightly staple. But with the winter at the tail end of its run, the apples are in short supply, slower to create new life in these conditions. Sometimes I make a special brew for the warriors if they come to me with an ailment, something I am more than happy to help with, but the nagging feeling I should be doing more never leaves. This restless energy within me never relaxes.

With my presence needing to stay undetected, there is only so much I can do. Practicing my magic helps, especially now that I don't venture outside as much with the forest blanketed in white. My tracks are easy enough to cover up in the deep snow, but it's still a risk, according to the group. The only thing I can be sure of is that the huntsmen would be few and far between in this weather. In my opinion, I don't know who in their right mind would willingly find themselves in the woods in the dead middle of winter, knee-deep in snow trudging through the thick of it.

Now the only times I find myself outside are on the rare occasions when I venture out during the day to check my snares or when Huck takes me out to train, using his heat to keep us from freezing. After we practice, there’s a ring of green inside the snowy forest from his ability melting through.

I've been getting so much stronger than I ever thought possible with his training, and my accuracy with a bow is more than I could have hoped for. We haven't talked about that night since he left me in the cold, or any other moment between us for that matter. He hasn't broached the subject and if I'm being honest with myself, I've been too afraid to bring it up again, afraid of rejection, afraid to admit my feelings. Too afraid I've done something wrong.

I hate myself for feeling this way. I hate that these thoughts keep me up at night as I listen to his deep breaths below me. Such a silly thing to waste my time worrying about when I have more pressing issues at hand, like my mother's relentless pursuit to end me or what my plans will entail once spring returns.

On the few occasions when we've visited the neighboring villages, we've discovered that my mother is still very much on my trail. With just a few inquiries to the right people, we've discovered that not only is she still pursuing me, but she's upped her game. In a few villages, she has convinced them I am wanted for a petty crime, putting everyone on high alert for a young woman with cropped raven hair, fair skin, and crimson lips. She's all but put a bounty on my head throughout the entire country.

If only my mother weren't so powerful and influential. She's always boasted about having her hands in every political pocket, but I refuse to hide in the cabin, wasting my life away after I've fought for it time and time again. By some small miracle, the group still lets me tag along to the villages, even if it's just so I can hear of the danger for myself. I disguise myself well enough, but dressing as a warrior is barely needed when I walk in with a group of them surrounding me. They never even give a second glance after they see a cluster of strong-framed warriors in fighting leathers.

Last week, while enjoying a few rounds in a local village tavern, I heard a few men discussing my mother's orchard and how someone's brother visited the shop to get rid of a problem he had in the neighborhood. From what I gathered, the problem was a person, and that person is now gone. I have no idea what kind of magic he purchased from my mother, but it's clear that the person has been dealt with.

Even out here, near the western coast, my mother's gifts have poisoned this village too, and no one's the wiser with no evidence of the perishable fruit in whatever form he purchased it in. Her methods are cruel and disguised in a way that is dangerous for anyone. That, coupled with her influence on the court, and her magic looking glass makes her a triple threat to anyone she finds intolerable.

When I was younger, and my father was still alive, I remember playing with our black cat, Ruby, having her trail a ribbon I had tied to a stick from one of the orchard trees. When we found our way to my parent’s chambers, my mother had left the door to the dressing room open just a crack and I could hear an unfamiliar woman's voice coming from inside. Ruby snatched the satin ribbon as my feet carried me into the bedroom, past her vanity and I stopped just outside the door frame of her dressing room, listening to the voice coming from within.

Through the small crack in the door, I could see the center of the mirror no longer depicted a reflection, but instead was a portal to another world entirely. Within the gold frame was a beautiful woman on a balcony, crying as she looked out at whatever lay beyond. Her golden hair cascaded down her back and her cheeks and lips were flushed with emotion as the tears spilled. The woman was singing something I've never heard before as she white-knuckled the railing of the balcony. Knowing that the mirror doesn’t usually emit sound, I realized it wasn’t a typical visual, but instead a projected memory.

My mother's hand reached out towards the woman's face, her voice cracking with emotion as she sang along. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the mirror. Not only because I had never seen it up close before, but also because of the woman within its frame. Who was she? And why was my mother watching her?

"Do not cry, my sun." My mother's hands grasped the mirror's frame and stepped closer. "For you alone light up the darkness that is my life." She seemed desperate, despairing. Although the mirror projected only a memory, my mother still spoke to her as if she could hear her declaration.

"The world cannot crush what is true, cannot tame what is wild. I should have never chosen my magic over you that day. My aunt presented me with an ultimatum, and I chose wrong. I see that now."

I didn't understand it then, but I know now that the day she spoke of was the day her heart began to harden. There was not a time I could recall when she had ever spoken in such a tone to my father or me. She loved this woman deeper than anyone she's ever loved. Over the years, I believe my mother slowly lost touch with reality as her heart continued to blacken, but it started much before her hatred for me began. It started with that ultimatum.

When my mother's hand dropped from the frame and the scene rippled out once again, I ran from the room, knowing she would not take kindly to me spying on her, especially in such a vulnerable state.

I still do not know much else about the woman from my mother's memory, but I know enough of that mirror for it to keep me up at night, wondering why she has yet to find me.

Despite the severity of my situation, my mind lingers on thoughts of Huck, on his lips against mine. His hands on my body. The whiplash I have from the back and forth of his actions. One minute he lays his soul bare to me, the next it feels almost as if he’s trying to avoid me. It makes me hate him. It makes me yearn for him. My skin crawls with these feelings that leave me vulnerable. I hate everything about it. I hate the way he has completely flooded my senses. But mostly I just hate how I can't stop my own reactions to him. It's weak and absurd.

I just wish I knew why. Why does he shut me out? Where does his reluctance stem from? Is he worried about my mother?

So instead of wasting my energy on inane things like emotions, I lose myself in my magic, trying my hand at fuzing my power to other objects. Never before have I needed to use my magic like this, nor have I needed to find other ways to fuze it. But now, living in a war camp in the middle of winter, I've found myself in need of growing my power, to push boundaries.

Without a proper mentor, I feel lost, like I'm floundering with this gift I've been given. It's almost too much to control. Part of me wishes I had my mother to lean on, to learn from. Another part of me is glad we are miles and miles apart. She taught me the basics and that will have to be enough. I've watched her use her magic for years before her love turned to hatred, and even then, I studied her from a distance. At times, I couldn't help myself. I was so curious as to how it all worked, how my own magic worked, even if I could feel her wrath from afar. Now it's just me and my memory, and that will have to be enough.

I've been trying to rely on instinct and stillness, letting my body take over naturally and hoping that will be enough. So far, it's worked with other objects: a glass of water, a loaf of bread, seeds. I've changed my hair color to a temporary shade of blond, healed my weakened ankle, and even enhanced my vision for a short period of time. But the variety of what I can do isn't the issue.

The problem lies within needing a sort of conduit to fuze to. There is no reason that I shouldn't be able to fuze directly to a living body, instead of an ingestible object. I need to break through the wall that seems to naturally surround every human as a sort of self-defense mechanism. I can feel my power within my bones, and I know it is strong, stronger than it's ever been before.

This week I tried to relieve Aspen's pain without an inanimate object to fuze my magic to. I wanted to try and cut out the middleman and see if I could just inject my magic directly into him. It hasn’t worked yet when I tried it on myself or Coy, but I won’t give up. Maybe it would even be more potent.

I was afraid to even broach the subject at first, but when I saw the shape he was in, I swallowed my fear and asked. He could barely leave his bed, hiding his head beneath the pillow as the others got ready in the morning. Despite our quiet and careful steps, every noise was like a hawk's scream in his head. At least that's how he described it to me.

Fuzing my magic to the fruit was like pouring syrup into a small tube. You must be slow and steady, concentrating on exactly what you want to bring into the apple. Fuzing magic into a human is like pouring syrup into a brick wall. The barrier surrounding Aspen is hard to penetrate, which is good considering if my mother ever tried this, she would absolutely attempt to fuze something harmful into a person simply just by touching them. They would be defenseless against her.

When I asked Aspen if he felt pain while I was attempting to push past his barriers, he said, "I'm surrounded by pain. In my head, in my joints. Everywhere." My heart sank at his confession and I could barely contain myself as I placed my hands on his chest, summoning my magic. With my eyes closed, my magic woke within my veins, and I let it pour from my body into his, but then it would stop, dissipating when it couldn't push past his natural barriers. He couldn't feel anything different than what he felt before I started so I took it as a good sign, but it also made me even more motivated to get it right. No one should have to suffer this way.

When the warriors come home that night, Aspen immediately falls into his bed without a word, not even taking his boots off and the guilt nearly tears me in two. He's asleep within minutes, which is all I could ask for with someone experiencing such agony.

"Any progress today?" Coy asks as he settles in for the night, finding a spot near the fire.

"Not much. I can fuze to anything now except to flesh and blood. I tried again this morning with Aspen, but I haven't had any luck." Fuzing to simple things like food and drink comes second nature to me now, but nothing will ever be as simple as fuzing to a frost apple. Some unknown property about an apple is connected with our magics, my mother and I. Maybe it’s the proximity to the orchard, or maybe it's how many apples we’ve ingested over the years. Or maybe it's just the simple explanation that frost apples have a likeness to our magic. Personally, I think it has something to do with it being the only fruit to remain stable throughout the winter seasons.

"Don't lose hope! I know you have it in you. Look how far you've already come." Coy cleans off his harmonica before starting a soft tune. It’s soothing and slow, something to hopefully calm Aspen’s nerves…and my own.

At this point, I've come to learn most of his songs, humming along with the melody. It's become a comfort to me, and part of me sours at the thought of one day not hearing it anymore when I pack my things and leave this cabin for good.

"Thanks, Coy. I appreciate your vote of confidence. Even if it might be a little displaced."

"Nonsense! There's something special about you, Snow. And I'm not just saying that because your eyes glow bronze when you work." Bear chimes in, his boisterous voice filling the room.

"You're nothing if not subtle." Terran nudges Bear as he makes his way to the bathroom.

These warriors have a dynamic between one another that I can barely comprehend on my own. Without truly seeing it—living it—I wouldn't have believed such a camaraderie even possible between a group of Arions. But it's real, and it's envious. I'm lucky to even be a small part of it.

"You ready to train tomorrow? It should be one of our warmer days." Huck comes up from behind me, his shadow appearing before he does. He’s right. Winter is finally coming to a close, which brings so much more than warmth with it. After a few days off from training due to the warmer weather followed by plummeting temperatures creating ice over everything, this will be our first training session in nearly a week, the signs of spring creeping in.

"Sure." I try to sound amiable but I may have overshot. "I need to get out a bit." Huck eyes me for a moment too long, his lips parting just slightly, before nodding and going about his night. I shake my head once, resisting the urge to roll my eyes or shout at him in front of the group. But I suppress the urge, not wanting to be the one to ruin the dynamic in this cabin, even for my own sanity.

That night I toss and turn, anxious to train with Huck again, to be alone with him in the woods. I'm nervous about what spring will bring— if I will even make it to spring. I feel like each day is another day I cheated death, like it’s another day I stole from fate. I also can’t help but worry about what will happen to Aspen when I leave this camp. I never fulfilled my end of the deal. Despite Huck’s lenience on the matter, it still weighs on me heavily knowing that I lied about being able to cure him. I got Aspen’s hopes up for my own sake. Of all the questionable things I’ve done since leaving the manor, this is one that I am least proud of.

With all that being said, the thing that finds its way into my mind and haunts my nightmares is my mother and the sinister mirror hidden in her chambers. I dream of the rippling reflection I've seen only a few times in my childhood. I dream of it leading her straight to this cabin—straight for me. I think of why it hasn't led her to me thus far and decide it's better not to know at all.