“Yah!”

“Oh, I guess I forgot.” Skye’s voice echoesoff the walls.

“What about the fungus?” Big asks, a hint ofsomething that I think is fear in his tone.

“Is that a spot of it on your chest?” Skyesays, pointing.

Even under the dim light, I can see Big’sface go white. “Where?” he says, frantically searching with hisfingers.

“Above that big ol’ crater you call abellybutton,” she says.

Big’s fingers find the spot, run across hissweaty skin. “Just a mole,” he says, relief evident in the way hebreathes out as he says it.

“Good,” Skye says. “I was worried.”

“Now eat your food!” Big repeats, stompingthrough the doors.

“What was that all about?” I ask Skye.

“Nothin’,” she says. “Just havin’ a bit offun. When we were brought in, the big fella was goin’ on and on’bout this flesh eatin’ fungus that’s been goin’ ’round. Seems theonly thing he’s scared of. Just wanted to put that fear to thetest.”

~~~

There’s not much else to do other thantalking, sometimes as a group, sometimes broken up into separateconversations. A coupla of times I move to the front of my cell,stick my head out the bars, look up and down the row, hoping to getanother look at one of the others—okay, okay, Skye mostly—but noneof them are ever doing the same. Well, except for Buff, who seemsto be doing the same thing, except his eyes are always on the cellI suspect belongs to the song-voiced one they call Wilde.

When I make a rude gesture he slinks backinto his cell.

So I just sit there, arms draped over thebars, waiting. For Wes. For anybody.

I picture how it’ll be when we’re reunitedwith Jolie, how her smile will fill up my heart, how she’ll wrapher arms around me and I’ll swing her in a circle.

There’s movement to my left, from the cellnext to mine. The girl sticks her head out. Skye’s sister, Siena.She glances my way, smiles a rather pretty smile, and then leans asfar to the edge in the other direction as possible, as if I mighthave the Cold and share it with her. I frown, perplexed as to herstrange anti-me behavior, but then a pair of strong arms reachesout from the cell beyond hers. She’s barely able to reach them, tograsp them, to hold them. There’s something so tender, so longing,so loving in the simple touch I witness, between Siena andCirc, that I feel a yearning in my own heart. Not for anyone inparticular, certainly not for any of my exes, not even forSkye—although she has captured my interest—but just for aconnection to someone like the one I see between Skye’s sister andthe Heater boy.

As they continue to hold hands, they whisperto each other, laugh, whisper some more, laugh some more.Everything seems so easy for them, like one was made for the other.Like they never had a choice. Almost like destiny. As I pull backinto my cell, I’m left wondering if it’s always been that way forthem.

~~~

“Psst! Skye!” I hiss through the hole in thewall.

Everything’s dark. A few hours back, Bigstomped through the dungeon extinguishing all the torches.Everyone’s sleeping. I should be sleeping. But I can’t, not withoutclearing something up first.

“Psst!” I hiss again.

“Sun goddess sear it, Icy! This’d better begood.” I can sense her face at the hole, her lips turned into afrown that could kill.

I smile in the dark.

“I’ve got something to say,” I whisper.

“Well, out with it, Icy.”

“Dazz,” I say.

“That’s what you wanted to say? To tell meyer name agin?”

“Nay, nay, I’m just saying call me Dazz. Inice country, icy means…”

“Spit it out, Icy. I’m tired.”

“Attractive,” I say.

“And yer not?” she asks. Is she asking me? Isshe saying I am…icy? What is she saying? “An icy Icy,” shewhispers, floating the words off her tongue. It’s the gentlest Ithink I’ve ever heard her voice sound.

“Uh,” I say.

“Yer smoky, Dazz,” she says, my namesounding strange coming from her. “But that ain’t nothin’ where Icome from. Not that I mind a-lookin’ sometimes.”

I almost choke on the wad of spit that’scongealing in my throat. I’ve never had a woman be so…honest withme. Not that women aren’t honest, a lot of them are, too honestsometimes, but Skye seems to say every last thought that pops intoher head. It’s exhilarating in a way, although I couldn’t imaginedoing the same. If I said half the things floating around in mybrain right now, she’d probably never speak to me again.

“Now, are we done, or are we done?” she says.“This feather-hard floor is callin’ my name.”

“Wait,” I say. “Nay, there was somethingelse.”

“Well then hocker it up like the lump thatalways seems to be in yer throat.”

Heart of the Mountain, is she reading mythoughts now, too? I gotta get control of things again, if I everhad control of them in the first place. “Look, I just wanted you toknow that I’m usually a better fighter. I really was surprised whenyou turned around and found out you were a—”

“A woman. I know. Full of curves and a mix ofhard and soft spots and all the things that guys git all woolooover. But even if I hadn’ta been a woman, or if you weren’tsurprised and all that, I’da still’ve beat you redder’n the firecountry sky. You can count on that, Icy.”

My jaw drops and I try to lift it back up butit’s dead weight. I’m thankful it’s dark and she can’t see me. “Nowwait just a minute, you’ve never even seen me fight. I’ve been inmore scraps in the last week than you’ve probably seen your entirelife.”

“I ain’t tryin’ to compete, Dazzy. I’m justsayin’ truths, which can be hard to hear sometimes. Sleep on it andyou’ll feel much better in the mornin’.”

Sleep on it? You bet your cute little arseI’ll sleep on it. And I’ll prove to her one way or the other that Ican hold my own in a fight. Certainly better than Feve, who’sprobably who she’s comparing me to.

“G’night, icy Dazz,” she says, completelydisarming me. I lay down with my own shoulder and arms as a pillow,not thinking about proving that I can fight, but about whether shemeant icy with a capital or lowercase “i”, smiling like a butcher’ssled dog.

~~~

Boredom sets in pretty hard the next day.People are used to having the right to come and go as they please,so if you take that right away from them, they get bored veryquickly. At least I do.

All of us seem energized after sleeping,though, and when morning comes—in the form of a pathway of torcheslit by a lumbering Big, still shirtless and so meaty he lookscapable of feeding a village of cannibals for a month—everyone’sready to talk some more. Buff, being Buff, suggests a game ofsorts.

“I’ve got some rocks that broke off thefloor,” Buff says. “I toss one to whoever I please, and I get toask them a question.”

“A question ’bout what?” Skye hollers downthe row.

“Anything,” Buff says. “Whatever I want. Andthe person who’s got the rock has to answer, and when they do, theyget to throw the rock to someone else and ask their ownquestion.”

“What’re we, a bunch of game-lovin’ Midderstryin’ to figure out which boy thinks they’re smoky?” Skyesays.

I laugh, starting to catch onto the firecountry lingo.

I make a suggestion. “We’ll play Buff’slittle game, but let’s stick to questions about fire or icecountry.”

“’Specially blaze about Goff, the Cure, andthe Glassies,” Skye suggests.

“I’m bored already,” Feve says.

“You shut it,” Siena says, which makes mesmile. I’d love to get a glimpse into whatever history there isbetween those two.

“I’m in,” Circ says.

“It might help us figure things out,” Wildeadds.

“Right,” Buff says. “First rock’s for Wilde.”Surprise, surprise.

There’s scuffling and scraping as everyonemoves to the front of their cells. I stick my head out andpurposely look left first, so as to not be so obvious about howicin’ bad I want to look in Skye’s direction. Siena’s head pops outbut she looks at Circ, who’s grinning at her. Feve’s on theopposite side, his bare chest sliced by shadows and markings. He’sstaring at me like if he looks hard enough he might kill me withjust his eyes. Further down the row, Wilde’s next to Feve, andshe’s looking my way, but past me, I guess at Skye.