Prince Nera Mossveil's Arc

Chapter 11 of 23

Nera cleared the far bank with the fawn still warm against his ribs. Behind them, hooves drummed the frozen creek's near side. The riders had reached the water. Ice would not hold horses, but it would hold a man on foot, and a man on foot would follow. Nera looked north. His woods lay days from here. Atletha's breath came short. The twins were already moving up the slope. He had crossed the creek and traded one problem for a worse one. No mount. No cover. Open snow between him and any road home. "They will dismount," the male twin said. "They will send two across," said the female. "We counted six horses," he said. "Four will ride the bank looking for a bridge." Nera weighed it. Two on foot he could handle. Four fresh horses circling ahead he could not. He needed distance he could not make on his own legs. The hound lifted its head and turned uphill. A shape came down through the pines on the ridge above them. White cloak. White wings folded tight. Angel Frostborne stopped ten paces off and looked at the creek, then at Nera. "You are the prince with the herd," he said. It was not a question. "I need to be gone from this bank," Nera said. Angel's eyes went to the fawn under his coat. "The manor is an hour's climb," Angel said. "The riders will not follow onto the ridge. My hound knows the path." Nera did not know him. He knew the twins had reached safety through him once. That would have to be enough. They climbed. Angel set the pace and did not look back. The ice hound broke trail through knee-deep snow. Halfway up the ridge, two pale shapes came down out of the rocks and fell in beside the hound. Ice monkeys, quick on the crust, chattering low. "Mine," Angel said, before Nera could ask. "They watch the lower slope." Behind and below, a horn sounded once on the creek bank. Then nothing. The riders had turned back for the bridge. The manor rose from the ridge like two frozen peaks joined at the base. Angel opened a side door built into the ice itself. Inside was cold, dry, and quiet. Glacienne Frostwhisper stood in the hall with a staff of pale crystal. She looked at Nera, at the fawn, at Atletha, at the twins. "He crossed the creek with them," she said. "He needs a mount and a map north," Angel said. She nodded once. "By morning." Nera set the fawn down on a folded cloth by the hearth. The pursuit was cut. He had a roof, a promise of a horse, and a night to plan the road back to his scattered herd. He had also walked into a house whose price he did not yet know.