Claus

Twenty-Eight

That night, Faryn laid awake in bed, every moment from dinner playing through her head. In the morning they would leave for Ruhnerium by train. This time there would be no flying needed from Cassian. No mishaps on the ice. She'd board the train and be trapped inside with her cousin.

She wanted to go home. The Hilary Term would start soon, and she was losing hope she'd make it back in time. If she came out on the other end of this free and alive, how was she supposed to explain this leave of absence to her very-human professors?

I was accused of kidnapping—possibly murdering—my mother's husband and had to go on the run from the authorities while I tried clearing my name.

They'd probably call the police on her. She buried her face in her hands. Exhaustion weighed on her, but her mind wouldn't stop cycling through every word she'd spoken at dinner.

Something shifted in the air. It thickened as if the air itself held its breath.

She sat up. The moonlight that streamed in through her window was enough to illuminate the frost creeping over her window.

She scrambled for her knife under her pillow.

He wouldn't.

Faryn climbed out of bed. The guards, they should be right outside her door. She had seconds before Jack would be in her room. If she screamed would Jack only kill her quicker? She pulled open the door, and the two waiting guards turned toward her, expressions blank. Relief flooded her until there was the sharp prick of ice against the back of her neck.

"Close the door," her cousin whispered into the air, hidden from the guards behind the door. "Or I'll pay the Leprechaun and the Fata a visit after I'm done with you."

Faryn shut the door, Jack's icicle piercing into her skin. Would the guards come in or would they only think she had been trying to escape?

"Where is my uncle?"

Faryn closed her eyes. "What is it going to take to convince you I don't know?"

"The evidence points to you."

"If you kill me, they'll know it was you. Are you ready to pit the Winter Court against Mother Nature?"

Something trickled down her neck. She didn't know if it was water or blood.

Jack used his other hand to grab hold of her hair and yank her head back. Pain flared at the base of her skull. "I should cut out each strand of white hair."

"Let go of me."

"You should have thought of that before you bleached your hair."

"I didn't, Jack."

His grip loosened. "What?"

"This is how my hair is."

"It's only ever been black."

"I dye it."

"You don't have our magic."

"My hair says otherwise."

"Then use them now," he sneered beside her ear. "Save yourself."

She didn't move.

"Well?"

She didn't know what she needed her power to do. She didn't know how to control it or what it could do. What its limits were.

"If you're that in love with her hair, grow yours out." A tired voice cut between them, and Jack turned them toward it with a jerk. Clíodhna sat on Faryn's windowsill examining one of her own knives.