Read Online Moonkind (Winterling) by Sarah Prineas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Prineas
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darkness, circled the room once more. The stone walls felt rough and slightly damp under her fingers; in the dark, she traced the mortared cracks between each block of stone. Around and around she walked.
Fer hardly noticed the morning coming on, and then she realized that the stone walls had emerged from the darkness, gray and grim. She looked down at her patchwork jacket just to see a splash of color. Even the jacket looked washed-out in the dull light.
Morning. The Forsworn would have to come soon.
It was strange, though. She’d been awake all night, walking around the room, and she wasn’t a bit tired. She wasn’t hungry, either, or thirsty.
She stopped and stared up at the open trapdoor in the ceiling. A few dust motes hung in the morning light that shone in. Dust should float in the air, glinting in the light. These dust motes just hung there. Not moving.
“Oh, no,” she said, and the heavy silence swallowed up her words.
Some kind of spell was on the tower. Time didn’t pass inside these walls; it stood still. Frozen. That meant . . .
She clenched her fists, suddenly frightened. This was the power of the Forsworn, unchanging and uncaring. If time didn’t pass inside the tower, it meant she was stuck in it, like a bee stuck in a jar of honey. She wouldn’t get hungry or thirsty or tired, and no matter how long she was here she would never get any older. She would be like them—never changing.
Her breath came fast. What was she going to do ?
Fer felt a flood of despair wash through her. She had really, really messed things up.
And then she had blamed Rook for it. She closed her eyes, remembering his stricken face after she’d broken the thread of their friendship.
But no. Rook had promised to tell her exactly what he was up to, and he hadn’t. He was a troublemaker, and it was his fault, at least partly. And the thing he’d said after she’d broken their heart-thread.
Curse it, Fer, he’d said. That was the third time .
The third time the thread had been broken, he meant, and the pain of it really did have the power of three behind it. He must have broken the thread twice before, then. She wanted to forgive him for that, as she’d forgiven other things he’d done. She wanted to say, Oh, he’s a puck, he plays by different rules . But she couldn’t do it this time. Her heart hardened. He had never truly been her friend.
She sat with her back to the cold stone wall and felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her entire life. Tears streamed down her face, and she put her head down on her knees and cried for a long time. Maybe she did deserve to be here. A Lady was dead, killed because of Rook’s broken promise, but also because of her own carelessness. She was away from her land, which needed her just as much as she needed to be there. Her people would think she’d abandoned them. She was far from Grand-Jane, when she’d promised to visit more often. Weeks would be slipping past in the human world while she was stuck here in this timeless place. Weeks, or months. Or even more.
After a while, she lifted her head. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. All right. Crying wasn’t getting her anywhere.
She really was going to be alone here forever unless she did something about it. The Summerlands people thought she was at the nathe. The High Ones and Gnar and Lich wouldn’t know to look for her; once they found out about the death of the Birch-Lady, they’d think she’d run away. And Rook—he’d probably gone back to his brothers, and he certainly wouldn’t notice that she was missing.
While she’d been thinking and crying and not doing anything, more time had passed outside. The sky over the trapdoor had darkened and lightened a few times; she’d lost track of how many. Days, maybe. She had all the time in the world, but no time left to waste.
“Fer,” she said aloud just to hear the sound of a voice. “Remember what Grand-Jane said. Don’t forget that you’re human .” She had
Fer hardly noticed the morning coming on, and then she realized that the stone walls had emerged from the darkness, gray and grim. She looked down at her patchwork jacket just to see a splash of color. Even the jacket looked washed-out in the dull light.
Morning. The Forsworn would have to come soon.
It was strange, though. She’d been awake all night, walking around the room, and she wasn’t a bit tired. She wasn’t hungry, either, or thirsty.
She stopped and stared up at the open trapdoor in the ceiling. A few dust motes hung in the morning light that shone in. Dust should float in the air, glinting in the light. These dust motes just hung there. Not moving.
“Oh, no,” she said, and the heavy silence swallowed up her words.
Some kind of spell was on the tower. Time didn’t pass inside these walls; it stood still. Frozen. That meant . . .
She clenched her fists, suddenly frightened. This was the power of the Forsworn, unchanging and uncaring. If time didn’t pass inside the tower, it meant she was stuck in it, like a bee stuck in a jar of honey. She wouldn’t get hungry or thirsty or tired, and no matter how long she was here she would never get any older. She would be like them—never changing.
Her breath came fast. What was she going to do ?
Fer felt a flood of despair wash through her. She had really, really messed things up.
And then she had blamed Rook for it. She closed her eyes, remembering his stricken face after she’d broken the thread of their friendship.
But no. Rook had promised to tell her exactly what he was up to, and he hadn’t. He was a troublemaker, and it was his fault, at least partly. And the thing he’d said after she’d broken their heart-thread.
Curse it, Fer, he’d said. That was the third time .
The third time the thread had been broken, he meant, and the pain of it really did have the power of three behind it. He must have broken the thread twice before, then. She wanted to forgive him for that, as she’d forgiven other things he’d done. She wanted to say, Oh, he’s a puck, he plays by different rules . But she couldn’t do it this time. Her heart hardened. He had never truly been her friend.
She sat with her back to the cold stone wall and felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her entire life. Tears streamed down her face, and she put her head down on her knees and cried for a long time. Maybe she did deserve to be here. A Lady was dead, killed because of Rook’s broken promise, but also because of her own carelessness. She was away from her land, which needed her just as much as she needed to be there. Her people would think she’d abandoned them. She was far from Grand-Jane, when she’d promised to visit more often. Weeks would be slipping past in the human world while she was stuck here in this timeless place. Weeks, or months. Or even more.
After a while, she lifted her head. Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. All right. Crying wasn’t getting her anywhere.
She really was going to be alone here forever unless she did something about it. The Summerlands people thought she was at the nathe. The High Ones and Gnar and Lich wouldn’t know to look for her; once they found out about the death of the Birch-Lady, they’d think she’d run away. And Rook—he’d probably gone back to his brothers, and he certainly wouldn’t notice that she was missing.
While she’d been thinking and crying and not doing anything, more time had passed outside. The sky over the trapdoor had darkened and lightened a few times; she’d lost track of how many. Days, maybe. She had all the time in the world, but no time left to waste.
“Fer,” she said aloud just to hear the sound of a voice. “Remember what Grand-Jane said. Don’t forget that you’re human .” She had
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