Chapter 18 Some Stories Don't Wait for You to Catch Your Breath.
The sea stretches on forever. Or at least, that’s how it feels. Each step across the frozen expanse sounds the same — a hollow crack that echoes under my feet like the sea is groaning about my poor life choices. Gilfred rides on my shoulder, tail wrapped tight around my neck, occasionally chirping like he’s checking to make sure I’m still alive. I can’t tell if it’s comforting or annoying. Maybe both. The horizon doesn’t move. It just sits there, taunting me. Endless white meeting endless blue. I walk, and I walk, and my mind won’t shut up. I keep thinking about Serel. About Vasra. About Eddie. About how fast everything went wrong. I wanted to help. That was it. Just… help. But help turned into an underwater grave, and now the ocean is frozen beneath my feet, quiet and cold and still. Maybe that’s what happens when people like me try to fix things: we make everything stop moving. The wind bites at my face and I try ignoring the cracks forming across the ice where the sea tries to remember how to be water again.
“I don’t think people were meant to have this much power,” I tell Gilfred. He chirps once, like no kidding.
“I mean it,” I go on. “The world’s already broken enough. People just make it worse trying to glue it back together to their own vision of perfect.”
But then I think about Travis. About how he helped me. How he gave me food and kindness and didn’t look at me like I was a freak.
“Maybe not everyone,” I mutter. “Maybe some people are still good.”
Gilfred nuzzles under my chin, which I choose to interpret as agreement rather than an attempt to steal warmth.
It’s hard to tell how long I walk for. Time blurs into movement. The sky starts to change, from deep blue to the faint grey of approaching dawn. The world shifts from night to something that isn’t quite morning yet. And then I see...something. At first, it’s just a blur on the horizon, a darker shape in the pale distance. I stop, squinting, and hope stirs in my chest. Land. Trees. Something that isn’t ice.
“Gil,” I whisper. “We’re not alone.”
He chirps, half in disbelief. As I get closer, I can make out the faint shimmer of treetops, a forest, dark and sharp against the horizon. The relief hits me so fast it’s dizzying. I actually laugh, breath fogging in the cold air. Land. Humanity. Warmth. Maybe even food. But then I notice the smoke. At first, it’s a small wisp curling lazily into the sky. Then another. And another. Until the horizon is smeared with grey, twisting upward in long, ugly plumes. My stomach drops. That’s not campfire smoke. That’s something burning. I pick up the pace, feet slipping slightly on the slick ice. The air grows warmer, unnaturally so, and the faint smell of ash creeps in, sharp and sour against the salt. By the time I reach the edge of the forest, the dawn light has just begun to bloom, soft pink bleeding into the smoke-stained sky. The trees are skeletal here, their branches blackened at the tips like they’ve been touched by fire before. I'm quietly wondering if I want to brave the land, or stick it out on my icy solitude path, but then I hear a sound that grabs my attention. It sounds like...footsteps. Running. Fast. Towards me. I freeze, heart leaping into my throat. Something, no, someone, bursts through the treeline.
A girl. She’s sprinting full tilt, her skirt snagging on branches, a wild cloud of pale hair flying behind her. Her gown is… gods, it’s ridiculous. A shimmering blue thing that glitters even in the half-light, like it was stitched from spells and moonlight. She’s barefoot, breathless, and moving like hell itself is chasing her. I take a step back just as she barrels past me, nearly knocking me over. Gilfred squeals indignantly, flapping his tiny tail. The girl doesn’t even glance my way at first because she’s too busy running. But a few metres ahead, she skids to a stop. Turns. Sees me standing there, probably looking like a half-drowned ghost wrapped in clothes that’s more ice than fur.
“Oh,” she says, as if just realising she’s not alone. She catches her breath, eyes wide and bright, and lifts a hand in the most casual wave imaginable. “Hi!”
I blink at her. “…Hi?”
Behind her, through the trees, the smoke thickens, orange light flickering between the trunks. Gilfred chirps nervously, tugging at my collar. The girl flashes a smile that’s all nerves and adrenaline. “So… funny story.”
I fold my arms. “Does it end with something on fire?”
She winces. “Uh. Several somethings, actually.”
Of course it does. I eye her warily. She’s breathing hard, soot smudged across one cheek, her ridiculous gown snagged and torn in half a dozen places, and yet she’s smiling like she just won an argument with fate.
“Is there a good reason,” I ask slowly, “for several somethings being on fire?”
The girl laughs, rubbing the back of her neck like she’s only just realised how insane this looks. “A really good reason, actually.”
I raise a brow. “You’ll forgive me if I need a bit more than that.”
She straightens her skirt, or tries to; it’s more ash than fabric at this point, and nods seriously. “Because,” she says, “I will not accept a man trying to marry me, and whisk me away into his dumb, stupid castle, just because I’m poor, and he’s rich, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. That, to me, does not fly.”
I blink at her. “You set a castle on fire because someone proposed to you?”
She holds up a finger. “No. I set it on fire because someone tried to lock me in it.”
That gets my attention.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “He tried to lock you in a room?”
“Girl,” she says, pointing at me with wild-eyed emphasis, “he tried to take me from my parents’ house, which, granted, wasn’t exactly a palace itself, but still, simply because he liked the way I looked. Like I was a pretty little trinket to keep.”
I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s short, dry, and completely humourless. “Hence,” I say, nodding toward the growing glow behind her, “fire.”
She grins, unrepentant. “Exactly.”
Gilfred chirps beside my ear, his little head tilting between us like he’s trying to determine which of us is more unhinged.
The girl notices him and gasps. “Oh my gods, is that a gecko?”
“Technically,” I say, “he’s a pain in the ass.”
She laughs again, that bright, chaotic kind of laughter that sounds like freedom and trouble all at once.
“Well then,” she says, brushing ash from her sleeves. “I’m Ashlyn.” She holds out her hand and looks me up and down. “And I just know you’ve got a good story behind you too.”
“Trust me,” I say quietly. “It’s not the kind of story anyone wants to hear.”
Ashlyn grins, unbothered. “Perfect,” she says. “Those are always the best ones.”