“How’d this happen?” Maddy asks, breaking herown number one rule: don’t ask questions. But this is a night forrule-breaking.

“I don’t know,” I say. “One minute he wasthere, fighting alongside us, and the next he was missing. And whenwe found him he was like this. Did you see anything, Skye?”

Skye shakes her head and Maddy stares at herfor a good, long while, so long that Skye flashes her a warningfrown. “I’m sorry,” Maddy says. “I’ve just never seen anyonefrom…”

“From fire country,” Skye finishes. “Well,truth be told, until a few days past, most of us ain’t never seenany of yer kind either.”

“Please, Mads. Can you just focus on mybrother?” I plead.

The other two healers are using small knivesto cut away Wes’s shirt. At least their instruments look clean andrust-free, I think.

When they peel away the fabric, I feel ashockwave of fear lock my bones up tight. There’s so much bloodthat we can’t even see the wound. Despite the snow, which is redand melting, the blood’s pouring outta him like a bubbling spring,soaking his pants and the bed and the healers’ hands, which aredabbing at his stomach with thick cloths that fill up with blood inan instant.

“Pressure!” Maddy says and one of the healersstarts pushing on his gut with both hands, while Maddy and theother healer finish cleaning up the blood. “We need more hands!”she says, and one of the healers who was helping Buff rushes over.“Get anesthetic, pain killers, a sewing kit, and more freezin’cloths,” she orders. “The good stuff. Only the good stuff,” sheadds.

The healer runs to a cabinet and flings thedoor open, scattering vials of liquids, which shatter like crystalon the floor, spilling their contents. She ignores the brokenglass, rummages through the box, gathers the desired items andbrings them back over, setting them on a table next to the bed.

When Maddy says “More hands!” again, Fevewanders over.

“I can help,” he says.

“You know about healing?” Maddy asks.

“Yes. I have herbs,” he says. “They’ll helpwith infection and pain.”

“Whatever you’ve got, we’ll take it,” shesays.

Feve reaches inside his thick coat andextracts a small sachet.

At the same time, the assistant healer grabsthe cloths and helps to wipe away the blood, while Maddy uncorks avial of a clear liquid, tilts my brother’s head, and forces it downhis throat. He chokes, gasps, but she holds his head back, pincheshis nose, and the liquid goes down. Then she opens another glassbottle, selects a needle and thread from a small box, and wedgesherself between two of the other three healers.

“Herbs,” Maddy says.

Feve pours out the contents of a small skin,sprinkling black and green flecks onto my brother’s torn skin. Arethey magic from fire country?

“Would you shut up!” Maddy says sharply in mydirection. “He can’t hear you anyway.”

It’s only then that I realize that I’mrubbing Wes’s leg, saying, “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna beokay,” over and over again, even while I’m watching them try tosave him. I stop, noticing that Skye’s not across the tableanymore, but next to me, a hand on my back, looking up at me.

“Yer right,” she says. “It’s gonna beokay.”

Chapter Twenny-Seven

But neither Skye norI was right. We never were. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever beokay.

Wes died that night from an axe wound to thestomach. They worked on him for three, four hours, dabbing away theblood and stitching him up, both stuff on the inside and the skinon the outside. By the end of it my legs were shaking and I couldbarely feel Skye’s hand on my back, her other hand grippingmine.

The blood was gone. He was whole again. Andthen he took his last breath.

I collapsed, fighting all the way to thefloor even with Skye trying to hold me up. She lay down with me,curled up, her arm around me, holding me, as I sobbed andshook.

Sobbed and shook.

Now I’m all cried out, torn and broken on thebed that Buff and Feve carried me to. Skye’s never left my side,not once, but even her caring can’t bring my brother back. I didn’teven get to say goodbye.

And it was my plan—my stupid freezin’dimwitted plan that caused it.

So my head’s down, my face pressed flatagainst the bed, as tight and low as I can make it. I tried to getlower twice, attempting to throw myself off the bed and onto thefloor, but Skye wouldn’t let me. She held me up, her strength likea rock, bearing all the weight of my body and my grief in her arms.Then she rolled me back on, where I am now.

A few of the others, those able to walk—Buff,Siena, Circ with Siena’s help, Wilde—have come over to offer mewords of sorrow, how they wish it hadn’t happened, how they’resorry. But none of that’ll make things right, or bring Wesback.

I wish for more tears, a whole lake of them,enough to make the sum of my sorrow worthy of my brother, of theman that he was. But try as I might, I can’t squeeze one more out,my eyes burning with salt and fatigue and despair.

When Skye pushes onto the bed and right upnext to me, I finally sleep.

Chapter Twenny-Eight

I need to take abreak from my brain, but every time I try to push my thoughts away,they come roaring back all the harder, pushing against my skulllike they’re trying to burst out, flying away on wings of sadnessand winds of ache.

I’ve been awake for at least an hour, but Ihaven’t moved, haven’t opened my eyes. I don’t want anyone to knowI’m awake, because I can’t take their sorrys andregrets any more than I can take the awful memories that mybrain is spinning around.

Jolie needs you.

Wes is dead.

Jolie’s not.

Wes is.

Jolie.

Oh Jolie, Jolie—are you there? Are you reallyin the palace or did I dream up Goff holding you high on thewall?

With questions lingering still in my mind, Iopen my eyes to the sound of voices. Abe’s, harsh and definitive,rises above the others.

“You can do what you want, but I fer oneain’t goin’ back to that place,” he says. “Hightower neither. KingGoff’ll roast us alive.”

Skye, Siena, Circ, Wilde, and Feve stand in asemicircle, watching the argument.

“They’ve got Dazz’s sister,” Buff says. “He’sjust lost his brother, if we can…if we can only get her…”

“Good luck with that,” Abe says.

“I’ll go on my own if I have to,” Buff saysand I see him cross his arms across his chest. “Is anyone else withme?”

Silence. There are quick glances between thepeople of the Tri-Tribes.

Wilde says, “We’ve talked it over…”

Skye scrapes a foot on the floor, lookingdown the whole time. I notice she’s shaking her head slightly, asif she doesn’t necessarily agree with the decision that’s beenmade.

“…and we think it best to return to firecountry, to gather as many able-bodied men and women as we can, andto come back in force.”

“Nay,” I croak. I intend it as a shout, a cryof defiance, but it comes out all garbled and raspy. When everyoneturns to look at me, I say it again, even softer. “Nay.”

Buff strides over. “I’m going with you,” hesays. “We’re going to get Jolie. We’ll break down the gates andkill every one of Goff’s men, and then the king himself.”

I smile, my lips dry and chapped. “Yah. Wewill,” I say, clasping his outstretched palm. “Raising chill andkicking arse. Like always.”

“Like always,” he says.

“No,” says a voice from behind him. Buffmoves aside to reveal Skye, who’s moved within a few steps of mybed. In my mind flashes memories: we strain through the bars,touching each other’s arms, desperately trying to lock lips; shebrushes past me in the dungeons, so close I could touch her, if I’donly reached out; her warmth against me, her arm around me,providing an alternative to my grief. “You need to come with us,”she says, and the memories come crashing down like a fallenstar.