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“Elena?” she says again. “You look…pale.”
Her words echo in my mind, but they make little sense. I’m dizzy.
“Elena!” she continues to call, but I’m paralyzed.
What’s wrong with me?
I take a step forward, stumbling, falling, and as I hit the ground, the world around me fades to black.
25
GRIXIS
The whole of my life has been dedicated to Tempest.
Starting when I was given to the barracks and continuing after my exile. The hope of fathering children was lost, but I could still bring honor to my name.
Now, I find myself caring very little about that.
I’m still fond of my men, and the ways of my people are not lost on me, but since I left Elena, there’s a hollowness to my existence, and it becomes harder to do my duties with each passing day.
I tell myself that I must, because if a time were to come when her people needed our help, as chieftain I’m better positioned to ensure they receive it.
I watch from afar. The Penticari women have done well on their own, moving further inland to the mouth of the cave I’d taken Elena to. Of course, I’m discreet with my spying, which would not bode well with my people, but I cannot leave them to fate.
It’s obvious I’m not the only person mourning the loss of the women. Eddard is especially foul, and even proud Ulof can be found staring off in the direction of the shore with sadness in his eyes.
Fenrick is regarding me with contemplation. I wish he’d leave me be, but if he’s gone through the trouble to seek me out, I cannot turn him away.
“The cold is coming strong.” His tone is deadpan, lacking joy and sorrow.
The coming of the cold was always a welcome blessing, as it was a stepping stone towards regaining our honor. But now, with Elena and her tribe so slight of limb, with delicate flesh that is unable to shield them from the encroaching frost, it brings me despair to know it is my people that would bring her harm.
“So it is.”
“The women—”
“Are not of our tribe.”
“Surely we cannot leave them defenseless.”
Of course, I have no intention of leaving them defenseless, though I hadn’t thought to include anyone else in my pondering.
“Perhaps trade is an option. They’ve withstood a few turns of the moon, and our people can hardly call them weak,” I say, studying his reaction.
“But our people seek to doom them.” His voice has a frantic edge. “They must, if Tempest is to rise again.”
He’s right. With the coming of the cold brings the hopes of claiming the land as New Tempest, the sole reason for our continued existence, and with that, all unworthy must fail.
“Then what would you have us do?” I ask bitterly.
“It is possible they could survive the cold season.”
I sneer. “This one, perhaps. The next will be worse. And the one after that will surely see to their demise.”
“There has to be a way—”
I cannot hold back any longer.
