Madly (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Samantha

I COULD HAVE THROWN MY arms around Zain when he said he'd caught sight of the abominable. It is worth even having to clean my face in the freezing snow and hiking with the rest of my clothing covered in black dust. He's found an abominable! That means we can get out of here fast. And good thing too, because as the day progresses, it seems to be getting even colder.

I wrap my scarf more firmly around my neck, trying to contain my warm breath. The problem is that where the air escapes—around my nose and cheekbones—it freezes fast, creating crystals that scratch at my skin. It's still bright, but any warmth that the sun could provide is leeched by the wind.

I'm too cold even to think about Zain. Although when his voice rings out, I lift my head, and am rewarded with another blast of cold air. His words are worth it, though. “Tracks!” he says. “Really close.”

Kirsty jogs up to him, and I catch up a few moments later. Ahead of us is a set of deep tracks. We can literally follow in an abominable's footsteps if we change our course.

Jedda does a few calculations, and spends several moments examining the snow. “We can proceed, but it must be with caution. These mountain paths are deceptively narrow, and the snow hides steep drops.” Re-energized, our group follows in his footsteps.

A series of caves runs high above our heads, parallel to us. They're a long way up, but they creep me out. They look like dozens of black eyes dotted in the mountain.

While I'm distracted, Jedda cries out. He jumps back, but his leg is rooted to the ground, caught up in a gruesome-­looking metal trap. Kirsty steps forward, but Jedda throws his arm out to stop her. She leaps back just as another trap springs up out of the ground. “What the hell?” she cries.

Then a figure rounds the corner of the path up ahead of us.

My stomach almost drops out of my body. It's Emilia Thoth. At her side is someone I assume must be the missing Sherpa, his eyes full of fear. And in her hand is a gun.

“Sam and Kirsty,” she says, her voice steady as she points the weapon at us. “I thought I told you to stop hunting? And Zol, I'm surprised you've made it this
far. I guess those researchers of yours must be doing a good job.”

“Emilia, be reasonable . . . ,” says Zol, his voice shaking. He clutches for his ring, but his hand freezes once he remembers.

“I reasonably warned you all to stop searching for this cure. Others—like your friends the Patels—were so much happier to oblige.”

My heart screams. “What did you do to them?” I shout.

Emilia continues, ignoring my outburst. “But you disobeyed me, so now is my opportunity to be unreasonable. And how are you going to stop me? Magic doesn't work up here, but I shouldn't worry—I've trained in the ordinary arts as hard as the Talented.”

“What are you going to do, shoot us all on the mountain?” I could almost kill Kirsty for how bold she sounds. Emilia looks deranged, her eyes flashing in the sun. She's not a woman to challenge.

“I've already dispatched one team on the mountain that way. How else do you think I found this nice Sherpa to show me the path so I could rig it with traps?” Her voice is ice cold. Colder than the mountain. “No one will save the princess except me. Nova has forgotten what true power is. It is time to remind them.”

“Emilia . . . Ms. Thoth . . .” Zol has a simpering, begging tone in his voice.

“It's future Queen Emilia, actually.”

“Queen Emilia . . . please, spare me and my son. We can be useful to you. My son is a strong Talent! And I have the power of ZoroAster Corp. to support your realm.”

Emilia arches an eyebrow. “It would be a shame to kill such a fine Talented boy, even if he does stink of new magic. You're right, you could be useful. But you,” she turns her laser-sharp gaze to me. “You're just ordinary scum getting in my way. Once, I might have respected your profession, studied it, even! But you have let your skills rot and you have outlasted your usefulness. So good-bye, Kemi.”

I think of Arjun and Anita.

I think of Princess Evelyn.

I think of my family.

I think of my great-grandmother, the first woman to conquer this mountain. She wouldn't have given up. She wouldn't have backed down.

“No.” Now I'm really in shock, because out of nowhere, I've found courage. Maybe the mountain air is making me loopy, but I take a step toward Emilia, ignoring the gun and the fear of the traps.

“Don't test me, Kemi!”

“Sam, no!” Kirsty shouts.

My heart fills with fear, but I keep walking, picking up into a run. My vision blurs and I can't see Emilia clearly, but I can sense her. I can sense her outstretched arm. Her gun pointed at my chest.

“You're done,” she says. Her finger squeezes the trigger.

For a second, I don't notice the snow shift beneath my feet. My heavy boots lose purchase, my ankle twists, and underneath the path there isn't solid ground at all but air . . . air and a steep drop.

It all happens so fast. The crumbling ground forces Emilia back a few steps. Kirsty rushes at Emilia, tackling her to the ground. All the while, I continue to fall.

The gun goes off. The sound of it echoes off the face of the mountain. I seem to hear it again.
Bang. Bang.
Is it an echo? Or is Emilia shooting the rest of our group, one by one?

Zain shouts my name. At least, I think he does. He's alive. But his voice gets fainter and fainter as I tumble in the snow, down the slope. I try to throw my arms out to grab hold of something, anything, but nothing catches. I'm helpless against the fall and soon I can't tell up from down.

A large rock stops my progress, my back colliding against the hard stone. A jolt of pain shoots up my spine and I groan in agony. Gritting my teeth, I open my eyes to watch as Kirsty wrestles with Emilia; Kirsty's going to be overwhelmed. And Zain rushes down the slope toward me, half-sliding, half-scrambling. His father shouts above him.

Far more disturbing is the rumbling, which seems to be coming from deep within the mountain itself. But I
know better, because facing back up the mountain, I can see the movement above their heads. It almost looks pretty, like the heavens descending on us, rapidly gaining speed.

Avalanche.

Jedda can sense it now, and he's screaming, his leg still clamped in the trap. Everyone can feel the ground shaking. The panic is clear on their faces. Emilia shoves Kirsty back, then disappears down the mountainside in the direction she came from—dragging the poor other Sherpa in tow. Kirsty helps Jedda with his leg, pulling the jaws of the trap apart so he can drag himself out. She starts toward me, but Jedda pulls her away, sideways across the mountain.

I am immobile in the face of the wave of snow.

Except Zain. Zain keeps coming. Zain reaches me.

“Are you—”

His words are lost in the roar. He yanks my arm, not concerned about my pain; only our mutual survival. Frankly, I'm okay with that. We stumble into a run, keeping as horizontal as we can.

The snow rushes over where the others had been standing.

The snow hits my rock. Engulfs it. We run until the snow pulls at our legs. I squeeze Zain's hand and the snow takes me. I immediately cover my mouth with my hand. Avalanche Survival 101.

With my other arm, I cling to Zain until the force of the snow drags us apart. Having my hand over my mouth creates a little air pocket, so when I finally stop moving, I am able to take a ragged breath. Then I start swimming. I front-crawl through the snow, trying desperately to make my way out. I thank the heavens for the blue sky, because if it had been gray out, I could have been swimming deeper, rather than swimming out.

Zain and I break the surface at the same time. His face is a mess. His sunglasses have cracked and broken against his nose, creating a deep scratch, which bleeds like crazy. But he's okay. Well, from the neck up. The rest of us is buried deep in snow.

I look around, trying to see any sign of the others. But the snow has carried us far away from where we were, and there's no sign of them anywhere.

We may be the only ones left alive.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Samantha

I'M GOING TO DIE ON a mountain. That's fact right about now. Pain throbs in the base of my spine and I don't know how much further I can go on. We manage to create a path through the snow out of the avalanche's wake, so we can walk on more solid ground. But the avalanche also turned around our sense of direction so completely we can't tell which way we came from.

I let out a groan, and it must sound more primal, more agony-filled than before, because Zain stops and turns around, concern etched on his face.

“You okay?”

“My back . . .”

He reaches over and lifts one of the straps of my pack, then gestures for me to twist my way out of the bag. “Let me take this for a while.”

“But you've already got a pack . . .”

“Just for a while. Until we find somewhere to stop for the night.”

He's right. Already purple and red streaks adorn the sky, signs that darkness is coming.

“What do you have in here?”

“My tent, sleeping bag, a few rations . . . and my potions supplies. Kirsty has most of the food. And all the other survival stuff—ropes, carabiners, cooking stove.”

“You replaced your food with a potions-mixing kit?”

“I didn't think I'd be separated from Kirsty!”

“Typical alchemist,” he says. I grimace, and he softens his tone. “Well, you have a tent, which is better than me.” He frowns. “I don't even have my compass, because I thought I could pull up directions using my wand.”

I shrug. “I don't have a compass either. Kirsty carries that. But don't feel too bad; the mountains can mess with magnetic stuff too. So it's not just Talenteds that have a problem.”

“That makes me feel only marginally less dumb.”

We keep trudging, hoping to find somewhere before dark where we can pitch our tent without fearing being blown off a cliff or taken by another avalanche.

“Look, over there!” Zain points at a flat ledge above us. “That looks like a pretty good spot.”

I nod. I don't want to argue; I don't even want to
have any part in making the decisions. I only want to stop moving, be rescued, and go home.

Zain walks ahead of me. It's clear that we'll have to actually climb a small but sheer rock face to make it up to the ledge. With my back hurting the way it is, I don't know if I will make it.

Zain is full of confidence, though. He throws the packs up first, so I guess now we are forced to go up there, or be outside without our stuff. If I were feeling stronger, I'd punch him.

He manages to haul himself up using only a couple of holds. He looks down at me from the top. “We can spend the night up here. There's even . . . well, you'll see. Think you can make it?”

I look up at him and grit my teeth. I reach up the wall, my back screaming. I bring my knee up high to my chest, resting my foot on the flattest bit of rock I can find, trying to use the strength in my legs as much as possible.

“Grab my hand,” Zain says.

My arms tremble, my fingers turn blue, my thighs burn. I swallow hard, and I focus on his hand. What choice do I have?

I launch myself up with an enormous push. He catches my wrist, and I catch his. At that moment, my feet slip from the freezing wall, but Zain has me. He lifts with all his strength, dragging me up and over the
edge, and then we are lying there in the snow together. His arms wrap around me, and I sense his relief that I've made it up. We're in this together. “Thank god you're tall,” he says with a laugh.

“Lots of reach,” I reply.

Then I look up. Looming behind us is the mouth of an enormous cave.

“We're not going to sleep in there, are we?”

“It might be safest.”

I shudder.

He pulls his arms tighter around me. “Yeah, I know; I'm freaked out too. Okay, pros and cons: If we go in the cave, it might be warmer and drier, but no one will be able to spot us if we're in there. So we'll set up the tent as close to the cave as possible, but not in it. Plan?”

“Plan.”

We set up the tent. Well, Zain does most of it. I help slide the poles together, wishing we had one of those expensive tents that spring up at the pull of a ripcord. I want to do more, but my back won't let me. Instead, I sit by the cave and breathe until the pain passes, watching him. He looks like a bear in his huge coat, with its fur-lined trim. His legs are encased in snow trousers and his face is still streaked with dried blood. “Come here,” I say. He walks over to me. I wipe his face with my mittened hand, until most of the blood is gone.
The cut could use a seaweed strip or at least a plaster, but we have nothing.

“Thanks,” he says, and his face is so close to mine. He's still the most beautiful boy I've ever seen, despite it all. He goes back to setting up the tent.

My stomach rumbles. I struggle to my feet. It's not fair that I sit there while Zain does all the work. “I'm going to see if I find something to start a fire with . . . then maybe we can have something to eat.” I gesture toward the cave.

He brushes some hair away from his face, tucking it under his beanie. “Fine, but don't go too far.”

“I don't think I could. I'll stay within sight.”

I wander into the cave. Immediately it's warmer, and my eyes have trouble adjusting to the dark after the brightness of outside.

Only a few steps in and the ceiling of the cave expands, growing tall. Rocks and debris scatter the ground, and—lo and behold—a few dead shrubs too. Enough to use for some kind of kindling. I collect them up.

There's a low, yawning sound from deep inside the cave, one that makes me drop my twigs. I stare into the darkness, my heart pounding. One beat, two beats. But there's nothing there. Nothing moves that I can see, and the sound doesn't come again. I snatch my twigs from the ground and rush to the entrance.

Zain is finished with the tent.

“I found a few twigs.” I show him my pitiful supply. “Probably not enough to make a decent fire. I also heard something . . . in the cave.”

Zain looks into the darkness of the cave's mouth. “It was likely the wind. Maybe come in the tent and we can get warm in there?”

I scramble into the tent and take off my boots in the little awning in the front. “I suppose we could just pee into bottles and sleep with them to get warm,” I say.

“That's gross,” Zain says, wrinkling his nose.

“It's better than your toes falling off.”

Now that my boots are off, my feet feel free—lighter than air, almost. I continue my crawl to the back of the tent and curl up into my sleeping bag, bringing it up to my chin. Zain follows me in. Under the bright orange plastic of the tent, his skin glows. He pulls his own boots off and removes his coat. The skintight undershirt he's wearing hugs the muscles of his arms, and I can see the outline of his tattoos underneath.

Once he's in, the tent zipped up, his presence feels enormous. He stretches out, his head by the door of the tent, and even though I'm curled up as small as possible at the back, his feet end up close to mine. He must sense my toes curl away from his, but he doesn't move them away. In fact, he brings them toward mine, until our feet are touching in their respective covers. I try not to recoil again and let myself relax.

“Cozy, isn't it?” he says with a grin.

“They . . . they are going to find us, aren't they?” And then suddenly I can't help it. Tears are streaming down my face. I can't help thinking that we're out here, lost in the mountains, out in the Wilds, with no magic or ordinary communication devices. It's a long shot that we will ever be found. At least, it feels like it, in the dead of the night, in this tiny tent.

Immediately, Zain is with me. He wraps his arms around my shaking shoulders and hugs me tight into his chest. He holds me as I cry.

“In the morning, we'll get out of here,” he says. “You will be back home in a couple of days. Safe and sound. You and I, we'll find a way back.”

“Together?”

“Together.” He finds my hand under the sleeping bag and laces his fingers through mine.

The wind outside picks up, buffeting the tent. One strong gust sends a tent pole down and one of our guy ropes is lifted from the ground and lashes against the tent. The noise is scarier than the event, and we both jump, which makes us laugh. I wipe my eyes. I've done enough crying on this mountain.

Zain passes me an energy bar. “It's not a juicy steak and mashed potato, but it will work.”

“I'd do anything for Mum's shepherd's pie right about now.”

“Don't think about it,” he says.

I unwrap the energy bar, which is half-frozen and hard to chew. At least it will make the experience of eating last longer.

“Do you think Princess Evelyn knew it would come to this?” I regret asking the question almost immediately, as he shifts his body weight away from me.

“Do I think she knew it'd come to her crazed aunt threatening people with guns, and two people trapped on the side of a mountain?” He shakes his head. “No. But Evelyn wasn't exactly known for thinking about long-term con­sequences . . .” He pauses. “That's unfair. I think she was just desperate to find someone she trusted to share her power with.”

“Well, with each ingredient I feel more and more impressed that she actually managed to create a real love potion.”

“She's so smart, Sam. I think you would like her a lot.”

I scoff. “If she's anything like you other Talenteds . . .” Then I wince. “Sorry, but you know what I mean.”

“I do. And she's not. But then, she probably would be weird with you as she's likely never met an ordinary person in her life. Oh, maybe shook one's hand at a party or something, but never actually spent any time with one. They keep her so sheltered. Imagine if you've never been wrong in your whole life. How
would you deal with it when things did start to fall apart?”

I nod, but I don't feel like I understand, not really. “You sound like a good friend, though.”

He laughs, and it sounds hollow. “She did try to potion me, so not sure what that makes us.” He looks at me. “You're going to fix her, aren't you? Find the love potion? ZA could find the ingredients, but finding the right mix, getting the potion right . . . you have the best chance at that.”

“Yeah sure—with your researchers and big fancy labs . . .”

“It takes more than that to be a good alchemist, and you know it.” He stares at my eyes, looking from one pupil to the other. “I've never known anyone who's been able to mix potions as well as you.”

“Well, what good does it do me when everyone uses synths now anyway?”

“Come and work for ZA. We need people like you there.”

“And betray the Kemi legacy and disappoint my grandfather? I don't think so. I know my place, and it's in our store. Nowhere else. That might be hard for you to understand—”

“I know more about disappointing people than you think.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“You don't think I'm the biggest disappointment to my father? I turned down the princess. I turned down the chance to be royal. I never told him that she'd asked me, but he suspected. Now he knows for sure.

“And now I have to save her. Because I'm the one that put her life in danger—heck, I put the whole country in danger, if the succession goes to Emilia Thoth!” He sighs. “Even if that means admitting ZA can't create the potion and making sure you do.”

“Why don't you think ZA can do it? You've got all the money and the Talent and your dad is some great mixer and you're his apprentice and you're top in your class in everything, studying at the best university . . .”

He looks up at me from beneath his dark brown eyebrows. He takes his hand away from mine, and I instantly feel colder. I wish I was brave enough to reach out and take it back. “Because while the researchers can help us find the ingredients, my father and I have to be the ones to make the mix. And both my father and I are frauds.”

I gasp, but the dam holding back Zain's thoughts has burst now and he doesn't stop. “My father's no great mixer. My grandfather was the one with the brains, the big ideas, but he had too little Talent to be of note and too much Talent to be a great alchemist. He had this idea that ingredients could be made synthetically, so that it didn't matter if you were Talented or
ordinary—you could still learn to mix. He wanted to level the playing field.”

“He didn't level the playing field—he destroyed it and flipped it in the whole other direction,” I interrupt, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“But that's just it—he didn't do it. Have you ever heard the story of how our company was founded?”

“What, about how your grandfather, the great Zoro Aster, cheated his way to winning the hunt and used the prize power to set up the company? Yeah, I've heard it.”

Zain has the good graces to blush, at least. “I've been wanting to talk to you, to tell you the real story for so long. But even when we went to school together, there never seemed to be a good moment. You always avoided me whenever I was around.”

“Yes, but—”

“I get it, I'm the enemy. But I don't have to be. And I don't think I am. Because a few years ago, on my grandfather's deathbed, he told the real story—that he and your great-grandmother worked together on the last Wilde Hunt. There was one ingredient no one could find to save Queen Valeri II—a centaur's eye. When it looked like they wouldn't be able to develop the cure naturally, Zoro told Cleo about his idea for synthetic ingredients. And she came up with the synth version of the eye.”

“No.” I shake my head, his words hardly computing.

“What?”

“You're lying. Granddad told me that Cleo created the potion, but Zoro stole it and passed it off as his own. He told everyone he'd used his new-fangled synth ingredients in making the potion. That's how he won. He cheated.”