The Arcana Chronicles 3: Dead of Winter

As Aric had done for me?

Inner shake. “Thank you, Matthew. You got me here safely.”

With his brown eyes as adoring as a puppy’s, he asked, “The Empress is my friend?” He used to declare this. Now he had to ask.

Was I still pissed that he’d covered up Jack’s lies? I’d been furious when he’d taught Aric how to neutralize my powers, but Matthew had probably saved my life by doing that.

Maybe I needed to accept that he did everything for a reason. I’d trusted him to steer me through a minefield (talk about a team-building exercise). I’d relied on his mysterious guidance to escape Death.

But trusting Matthew completely would be like falling backward. A free fall. Was I ready?

Life had been too short for grudges before the Flash. Now . . . “Evie is your friend.” I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tight. When I pulled back, I said, “Matthew, where is Jack?”

“The hunter is nigh.”

“How do I get to him?”

“Horse.”

A nondescript middle-aged man approached. With a wary glance at the wolf, he took the mare’s reins, promising to care for her. Oh. Horse.

As the guy led her to the stable, I made a mental note to grow her a treat. “Who are all these people?” Some cleaned weapons beneath a bright tarp—the kind you used to see at raucous tailgate parties. Others were heating water and doing laundry.

“Humans. Jack collects them. I like their soup.”

“Do they know what we are?”

“Jack lets them think we’re gods. They call this Fort Arcana, established Year 1 A.F.”

“What about keeping ourselves secret? You told me Arcana and non-Arcana mix poorly. You told me humans burn what they fear.”

A glimmer of something unsettling crossed Matthew’s features. “There aren’t enough humans left to consider.”

I’d have to think about that later. “Matthew, I need to get to—”

“The watchtower!” He stepped onto a narrow board path that ran through the muddy camp like a freeway. A plankway. Off he went.

“The what?” My legs were so tired, I could barely balance as I tried to keep up.

Cyclops padded along beside me, his frizzy black fur shimmying. His scarred snout was just to the right of my head, his filthy whiskers almost brushing my cheek. His enormous paws sloshed mud up my pants.

Was that a finger stuck in the knotted scruff under his chin?

I trailed Matthew to the far side of the fort. “Did you send me a vision of my mother? Or did I dream?”

Over his shoulder, he said, “Our enemies laugh. Smite and mad. Fall and struck.”

That was his answer? Sometimes I wanted to grab him and shake him.

“We’re here.” Along the back wall stood a three-story structure, clad in metal sheeting. Matthew climbed a ladder to the top.

I followed, leaving the wolf to prowl below. At every rung, I wheezed and winced. “Can we . . . please talk about . . . a rescue for Jack?”

At the top level, Matthew tilted up a license plate, revealing a small slot. “Empress.” He motioned for me to peer out.

“Okay, what am I looking at? Oh, wow.” We were high up on a blustery vantage with a sheer drop-off. A river that looked as broad as the Mississippi coursed below. An amazing sight. Before the rains, there’d been no bodies of water like this.

“The placement of this fort is genius.” That minefield moat bordered three sides of the wall, while this steep bluff and river protected the fourth.

“Jack,” he said simply. “Fort Arcana grew from you. The mission . . .”

When he couldn’t find me at Death’s, Jack had targeted the Lovers for me—and for him. He’d had his own vendetta against the Milovnícis.

I gazed across the water at an opposing bluff. Fires dotted the area. Tents stretched for what seemed like miles. A few rock ridges jutted upward, offering protection from attack.

“Is that the Army of the Southeast?” It was huge. I tried to imagine where Jack was being kept. To be this close to him . . .

“Half of the Azey. Azey South. Azey North’s not too far away.”

Which meant Violet wasn’t too far away either. How to get to Jack before she did? “I don’t suppose this wind ever dies down?” I could launch spores from here, putting all the soldiers to sleep. Then I’d take a boat across, stroll into their camp, and drag Jack out.

“The winds go all night. Which is all day.”

There went that idea—

Shots erupted from across the river, lots of them at one time. My stomach dropped as the sounds echoed over the water. I whirled around to Matthew. “Not him?”

“No. Daily execution.” How the Milovnícis kept the rank and file in line.

I sagged with such relief, I almost felt guilty. Then I wondered how those shots had affected Jack.

“He believes no help is coming,” Matthew whispered. “Knows he can’t escape. Thinks his friends are dead.”

The idea of Jack alone, with no hope, gutted me. “Is he . . . is he scared?”

“Certain he’ll die. Surprised by how unfrightened he is.”

“You can tell? You always had trouble reading him.”

Nod. “Three months’ practice.”

“But you can’t read his future?”

Matthew’s brows drew together. “Never wanted this to happen.”

“Can you tell him we’re coming for him?”

Without a word, Matthew crossed to the ladder and climbed down. I clumsily followed. Back on the ground, he said, “Your alliance is injured.”

Did he mean that my allies were benched, or that my alliance was shaky? “Are you taking me to Finn and Selena?” I hadn’t seen them in months.

“Across the courtyard to the barracks.” Matthew started away again, heading in a different direction, balancing on the boards.

With Cyclops at my side, I tromped along the mud-caked planks through a central area, like a quad (courtyard might be a stretch).

When Matthew stopped in front of a tent, I bade the wolf stay outside. He snuffled indignantly, plunking down in the mud.

Taking a deep breath, I tugged down my poncho hood and entered, Matthew behind me.

Selena and Finn lay on cots. The Archer’s arm was in a sling—her bow arm. An arrow stretched over her lap, and she petted the feather fletchings, the sound like riffled cards. She stared, seemingly at nothing.

One of Finn’s legs was splinted, elevated on a bug-out bag. A metal crutch leaned beside his cot.