Ember Ashwing's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Ember reached the queen with cold hands and nothing else. The pale woman stood among jagged ice rocks, her white wings sharp as glass. She was everything the stories promised and more. She wanted for nothing. Ember had crossed the snow to win her, and now she saw the trap. A queen who had everything had no reason to stay for a girl who had always burned. Ember's throat went dry. She had no gift. The cold in her chest was already thinning. She turned back for the cottage. Willow was packing vials into her pouch. The herbalist had followed Ember this far, unafraid of her heat, the one person who had chased her down after a burned bridge and stayed. "I have nothing to give her," Ember said. "The potion fades. Then I'm just fire again." Willow did not soften it. "The frostmoss runs out. I have none left." She paused. "But there's a well. I've only heard tales. Water that never stops being cold. A frost potion with no end." "Where?" "Far. A rune path leads to it. A wolf guards it." Willow met her eyes. "No one gets past the wolf." Ember left at dawn. The glowing stones stretched ahead, each symbol carved and faintly lit. She followed them for days, boots crunching frost. Then the path ended at a stone well crowned with snow, its water glowing pale blue. Between her and the water stood the wolf. He rose on two legs, taller than any man, his coat white and wild. His eyes held something that was not an animal's. Ember drew her sword. He did not move. She swung. He caught the blade in one clawed hand and held it. The steel did not cut him. He only watched her, patient, waiting for her to understand. Ember lowered the sword. She looked past the fur and the fangs. There was a man trapped inside the beast. She knew that kind of trap. She had lived her whole life inside her own fire, burning everyone who came close, unable to get out. "You didn't choose this," she said. "Neither did I." She let the sword fall in the snow. She reached toward him with a bare hand. Her heat was rising again, the potion nearly gone. For once she did not fight it down. She let the warmth meet his cold, slow and steady, not a blast but an offering. The wolf bowed his head under her palm. His fur melted into pale skin. He stepped aside from the well. Ember knelt and filled a crystal vial with glowing water. It stayed cool in her grip. Endless cold, a gift that would last. She stood with the vial in her fist. She finally had something to bring the queen. But she understood now what the queen would truly want. Not the potion. The girl who had learned to hold her fire gently, and let someone close without burning them.