Frost Winterborne's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Frost reached the ridge by dusk. He had ridden hard with the fire maiden beside him, Ember, the one whose touch let him feel real heat. She was the only warmth his cursed skin could hold. Then the storm hit. Wind tore the trail apart. A slab of the path broke free and slid into the dark below. When the snow cleared, Ember stood on a narrow ledge across a black gap. She could not jump it. He could not reach her. "Go on!" she shouted. Her voice barely carried through the wind. "The pass seals tonight. You'll never reach your mother if you wait for me." Frost stared at the gap. Cold already bit through his coat. Without her hands against his, the climb would freeze him before dawn. But leaving her meant crossing alone into weather that would kill him. He needed her, and she was slipping into the dark. He pulled the iron grappling hook from his pack. The forged prongs were heavy and cold in his glove. He tied the rope, swung the hook twice, and threw it across. It clanged against rock and slid loose. He hauled it back and threw again. This time the prongs bit into a crag near her feet. "Wrap the rope around your waist," he called. "I'll pull you." But she had stopped moving. She sat against the rock, arms tight around her knees. Her fire had dimmed to a low flicker. The cold was drowning her too. Frost had one thing left. Inside his coat he carried a gift she had given him before the ride. A sealed amber keepsake, warm gold with frost lacing its edge. She had told him not to open it unless he had no other hope. Her confession waited inside. He drove an arrow shaft through the rope loop, tied the keepsake behind the point, and marked the frost-white fletching. He drew back and let it fly across the gap. The arrow struck the snow beside her. She lifted the amber to her face. Its glow caught her eyes. Her lips moved as she read. The flicker in her chest brightened. She got to her feet. "You kept it," she called. "Wrap the rope," he said. "Now." She knotted it at her waist and stepped to the edge. Frost braced against a boulder and pulled. His arms burned. The rope cut his gloves. She swung across the gap and slammed into the near wall. He hauled again until her hands caught the ledge. He gripped her wrist and dragged her up. Her palm pressed his. Heat flooded his skin. He gasped at the feeling he could never keep alone. But the storm had won the trail. The pass behind them lay buried. The way to the convent was sealed until spring. His mother waited on the far side, past reach. Ember held his hand and looked at the buried path. "We're trapped," she said. "Together."