Zyryxa and Natazia sat outside of the tent, the little fire hissing between them, a cold wind sighing. They didn’t have enough tinder to do much more than slowly thaw the frost from what remained of their ravaged garments. Since the qione died, this region of Nix Tezyk was no harsher than any other in Southern Volqor and the day was better than most for those who liked sunny skies and a little less chill. Lexyn’s cold was one within her.

  Taking a note from Lexyn, Zyryxa had made a bed of pasque and calidex, using Lexyn’s own supplies. They’d stripped her out of furs soaked from layers of ice and laid her down with whatever dry furs and blankets they still had. Few remained after the blizzard, the qione’s snow and ice finding their way into the drake’s saddlebags. The last thing they could do was offer her their warmth. Pelzyq stripped down, volunteering himself to take on her cold. Zyryxa wasn’t about to be involved in that again, so she left the tent. All there was left to do was wait. And worry.

  If only the process wasn’t so awkward.

  Natazia stared into the fire. Every few moments, she’d take out a strand of qione hair and run her fingers through it. She only had one spear left and no trees were within sight. With a sigh, she took the Leverian vintage out of Xilliax’s saddlebag. The label was illegible, but Zyryxa knew it was a Celvine Frostwine. Her mother had shared a drink of it with her on her last day before she turned sixteen.

  Zyryxa lowered her head, patted the drake named after Zyrthalla. It was a rare moment indeed when a coldscale didn’t avoid a fire, let alone rage at it. Zyrxl suffered the qione’s cold too, or she knew how much Zyryxa needed her right now that the only person she could rely on for warmth was probably freezing to death. Everyone important died. Zyryxa didn’t know how to move forward in a world like this.

  Natazia uncorked the wine, took a few sips, let out a soft sigh. “I think she saved us,” she said under her breath.

  Zyryxa looked up, tears in her eyes. During the battle, Natazia’s front had been torn to shreds. Now, the old scars remained beneath her tattoos, while the fresh wounds had faded. Her own arm was mended where the qione’s claws had slashed straight to the bone. They’d all found vigor when the cold had all but finished them. Zyryxa didn’t know what Lexyn did, or even if it was Lexyn, but they were alive because of a miracle. And it wasn’t Qoryxa who provided it. “Lexyn is devout to two Divine,” she said. “Qoryxa and,” for once Zyryxa didn’t feel the urge to gag when she uttered the name, “Leverith.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Natazia snorted. “We owe our lives to the Goddess of Kisses and Flowers? Not a chance. I’m certain she invoked Qoryxa.”

  Zyryxa shook her head. She knew what Qoryxa’s blessing felt like. She remembered feeling ice’s judgment empowering her. This wasn’t it. It had been Lexyn’s touch she felt as the ice threatened to entomb her. She looked toward the tent opening. “No. It was the Divine of Love.”

  She felt soppy for saying it. Leverith was the softest of the Thirteen Divines. She didn’t like bards in general—in case you hadn’t noticed—but she always felt nauseated by stories where the power of love and friendship overcame superior strength. That wasn’t how the real world worked. Or was it?

  What else but love had gotten her this far when her strength would’ve failed her a dozen times? Was it strength or love that kept her moving after her mom died? What about when she herself spent several days in a frozen coma wrapped in flowers? Did her power defeat Matyxal in the burning homestead? It certainly wasn’t what slew the qione. Perhaps the bards were onto something.

  Natazia took another sip of frostwine. When she came up, her gaze was upon her own feet. “You fought well.” She offered the bottle, and far more.

  Zyryxa hesitated, not sure if she wanted to open her heart to Natazia again. These last days had been a strain and while she was tired of their fighting, she couldn’t trust her the same way again. Not yet at least. Still, what other option did she have? If Lexyn never woke again… No. She couldn’t contemplate that. Lexyn had to survive. Besides, she’d avoided thinking about that frostwine ever since Natazia bought it. She couldn’t taste it again without her grief flooding through the weak walls that held it outside. With Lexyn on death’s door, it was too painful to consider. Even with tears in her eyes, she couldn’t let Natazia in.

  “I can’t right now.”

  Natazia took a deep breath, then a long swallow of the wine, and turned away from Zyryxa. After that, the only sound between them was the hiss of the flames interrupted by the cold wind’s sigh. Natazia with her front exposed, Zyryxa with her back, but neither one willing to show their vulnerable side.

  That was the longest day of her life. If only the night weren’t even worse. If only the little hiss of flames was the only sound when darkness fell.

  The moonlight shining blue fell behind a shadow. At first, she hoped it was Amarzallax. But this shadow wasn’t her beautiful, graceful twin. No. If only.

  Natazia whimpered, disappearing into the empty tent, muttering, “Not now. Not again.”

  Coryza soared through the night, a blue shadow occluding the moonlight. Hatrox came for what remained of their brood.