The sickness had come from the man my mate had trusted. She had tried to help him by giving him shelter, offering him kindness. And in return, he had left us with something invisible. Something deadly.
He had asked for just one plant, and we had shared its gift freely. Allowed him to harvest it as we tended to our ailing little one. But when we went for the winter star to save our snowling, we were met with horror.
We tore the hidden cavern apart, dug through the soil, overturned every rock, but the man had taken them all.
Just one, he had said.
He had lied.
I blink away the past, cursing myself. I should have known she had come for the plant. She had come to take it, and she had come to leave. Just as the human had before her. Memories and grief bury me in an avalanche of pain. The darkness tries to pull me under and my beast thrashes, tearing at my skin, searching for my light in the darkness.
No, it roars.She is different. She is mine!
My hands curl into the ice, anchoring me in the present. The past does not own me. Not anymore.
Now I see just how blind I had been. The gods had not cursed me; they had given me a gift. Rare and precious, like the first breath of spring. Like something I had not dared to hope for. With her eyes the color of its petals, and her fire bright enough to stand against the storm.
She will not break like the snowling. She will not wither like my mate. She survived me. She will survive this.
And Ben?
Ben will not.
The mountain has already begun its work. The storm is rising, the wind shifting like a living thing, curling through thevalleys, whispering through the trees. Echoing my heartbreak. My rage.
I close my eyes, feeling the air tremble. The ice shifts beneath my feet, a warning. The land knows. It has already judged them. And when the time comes, I will not whisper.
I will be waiting.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dahlia
This morning, I’m the one waking Sita at first light. We pack in silence, our movements automatic, mechanical. Even our exhaustion feels quieter now, settled into our bones, past the point of complaint.
We eat as we walk, even skipping tea in favor of hitting the trail. Today feels significant. Whatever this journey holds, it’s about to end. Because I don’t know if I have another climb in me after this. Today has to be the day.
I can’t help but wonder if this will be my happily ever after or another epic tragedy. But the mountain doesn’t care about stories, only survival. And right now, the grueling trail takes all of my concentration, leaving no room for fear—or hope.
Within a few hours, Sita points out another landmark. The jagged rocks rise like frozen sentinels, watching over the narrow pass ahead.
“The whispering gorge is the passageway to the Migoi’s territory. After this, we only need to find the frozen falls whichmark the entrance to the cave,” she says, then pulls up her hood, motioning for me to do the same. “It will be…loud.”
I don’t question her strange instructions, especially for something called the whispering gorge; after all she has gotten me this far. I just follow, tugging my scarf tighter as we step between the towering cliffs. As I adjust my hood, something bright catches my eye. A vivid streak of red against the muted landscape.
I kneel, brushing away snow and loose stones until my fingers close around it—a scrap of lace, half-frozen in the ice. My breath catches, recognition sparking in my chest.
“He’s leaving me a trail,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sita. The thought of him watching over me, guiding me, wanting me to find him, has tears pricking at my eyes.
Sita glances over, brows lifting in curiosity. “The Migoi?”
I nod, holding up the torn lace from the panties I had on the day he rescued me from the avalanche. A laugh bubbles out of me, half delirious with exhaustion, half giddy with hope. Yes, he had carved my name into the rock but this confirms it.
“He knows I’m coming for him. And if he’s leaving clues,” my voice trails off, excitement rising. “It’s like he wants me to find him.”
She tilts her head, considering, then offers a faint smile. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”
With renewed purpose, we enter the gorge, and the mountain unleashes hell. Wind slams into us, a howling, living thing—not a whisper, but a scream. It shrieks through the narrow passage, funneled between the towering cliffs, a relentless, deafening force that vibrates in my skull. I stagger as the gusts shove at my body, tearing at my clothes, clawing at my exposed skin.
