“Do you think much has happened since we left?” Buff asks.

It hasn’t been that long, maybe two weeks. Despite the short length of our excursion away from ice country, there’s only one answer to my friend’s question. “Yes,” I say. The only question we asked Wilde before we parted ways was whether our families were safe. Knowing that was enough. Now I wish I’d asked more. Like “How is the new government coping?” and “Has King Goff received his sentence yet?”

“Dazz?” Buff says, snapping me away from my muddled thoughts.

“Yah?”

His only response is a hard-packed snowball to my gut. We’ve reached the snowfields.

I respond in turn, pelting him with a slushball that’s filled with gravel and twigs. And then we’re both whooping, relishing the powdery snow beneath our boots, our legs churning, suddenly zinging with energy, carrying us up the slope. We reach a rise, laughing, panting, elbows on knees.

This is ice country. This is my home. Wilde’s revelation echoes in my ears:

The Glassies spoke of the risk to the Icers too. How now that King Goff has been overthrown they can’t trust the people of ice country either. They said they want to cleanse the lands from the desert to the mountains to the sea.

If the Glassies want to kill us, let them try. We’ll fight for our lives the same way I fought for my sister, Jolie.

They’re forcing us into a war. The Icers too. We’ll have to stand together.

Wilde’s words grate against my teeth. If it’s a war the Glassies want, we’ll give it to them. We will stand. We will fight. We will win.

“Hey, relax,” Buff says, slapping my shoulder. “Let’s get there first, then we’ll think about what has to be done.” As usual, my friend is able to read me like a book. Hiding emotions has never been my thing.

I flash a false smile and continue on up the mountain.

At some point, the snow starts falling, a handful of lazy flakes meandering on a light breeze, painting everything white. We trudge on, the hours falling under the soles of our thick, bearskin boots. I wonder where Skye is, whether she and Wilde and Siena have met up with their spies yet, whether they’re making their way back toward wherever the Tri-Tribes are camped out.

The Unity Alliance. The Tri-Tribes—the Heaters, the Wilde Ones, the Marked—and us, the Icers, joined together as one. Stronger together than apart. Fighting together is our only hope against the Glassies. Now all I have to do is convince the new government. Shouldn’t be too hard, especially considering my friend Yo is one of the new leaders, a member of the freshly created consortium. He represents the Brown District. Funny how quickly things change. Just a few weeks ago Yo was just a bartender, a businessman, a tavern owner. Now he’s helping to shape the future of my people.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice when Buff stops me with an arm. “Wha-what?” I say. Then I see it. The edge of the village, the first houses. The Brown District.

And I can’t stop my feet because they have a mind of their own, and Buff is right behind me, and we’re able to run fast now because the snow is hard-packed and trampled from people’s feet and carts and kids running and playing. Houses blur past on either side, some black and charred, still not repaired from the attack by the Stormer Riders, others being rebuilt by men who are hammering away, clinging to roofs, climbing ladders, bandying together to help one another like people should. A swell of pride fills my chest but I don’t stop—can’t stop—to enjoy it, because I’m so close…so very close.

A familiar shack of a house appears on the right, and I’m not surprised when Buff manages a burst of speed to pass me, barging through the door like a battering ram, his boulder-like frame thudding solidly against the wood. I follow him through.

A half a dozen kids are attacking Buff, leaping on his back, hugging his legs, toppling him to the floor. His brothers and sisters, welcoming him home. Only the eldest, his sister Darcy, stands back from the fray, her hands on her hips. “Buff, if you insist on charging into the house like a Yag, please at least remove your snowy boots.”

But she’s smiling as Buff peels his siblings off him, regaining his feet and kicking off his boots in the process. “Always keeping order in the chaos,” Buff says, embracing her. “What would we do without you?”

“We’d be forced to eat a lot of raw meat,” a voice says to my left. Buff’s father lifts up off the bed he was sitting on, using a wooden crutch to get his balance. His leg is wrapped tightly with thick cloth. “Your sister is every bit as good a cook as your mother was.”

He hobbles over, nods in my direction. “Dazz,” he says.

“Sir,” I say. “Good to see you on your feet.”

“Good to see you home. Both of you.” His voice cracks and I can see the deep lines of worry on his face. And then Buff’s arms are wrapped around his neck and they’re hugging like only a father and a son can hug.

A pang of desire hits me in the chest, causing my heart to speed up. I can’t hug my father, not where he is, but my mother and sister are waiting. Worrying. I can’t linger here any longer. “Go,” Buff’s father says over his son’s shoulder. “And thank you for bringing Buff home to me,” he adds, as if I was his sole protector.

As I exit into the snow, I call back, “He brought me home, too,” and then I’m running up the hill to the next row of houses, where through the light snowfall I can just make out a familiar house—and then I freeze because—

—in front of the house—

—playing in the snow—

—like she didn’t spend a week in bed recovering from a knife wound—

—like I never left her—

—is Jolie, building a man out of snow.

And then, as if sensing my presence, she turns, her nose red and her eyes clear and bright. Her face lights up in a smile that’s bigger and wider than all the countries of the earth. Her legs pump as she runs toward me and as I crouch down, and then they wrap around my waist as she slams into me.

I pick her up and spin her around and around and around as she peppers my face with kisses and says, “I knew it. I knew you’d come back.”

Chapter Four

Adele

I can tell Tristan’s offer has shocked them, because none of them are saying anything. Even Skye’s eyebrows are raised, her mouth slightly open. Gone are the accusations, fired at us with her round words and strange accent.

But does Tristan mean what he said? Can we really offer these people any help? Is it our job, our responsibility? Down below, we’ve got our own problems. The Tri-Realms are shattered, and without Tristan, leaderless. And Roc and Tawni will be wondering where we are, whether we’re dead. And my mother…my mother…

“We’ll come back with an army,” Tristan says, his words cutting into the silence like a knife.

“Come back?” Skye says, and I know from her tone and the pissed off look on her face that coming back is NOT an option…because we won’t be leaving in the first place. “Yer our prisoners. Yer comin’ with us.”

“Like hell,” I say, my sword coming up without me even having to think about it.

As casually as pushing back a strand of hair, Siena fits an arrow and aims it at Tristan, half-smiling. “Skye says you’re coming, so you’re coming.”

“But the air,” I plead, “you said it yourself: The air is bad, toxic. We’ll die if we stay here.” I’m surprised how high-pitched and whiny my voice sounds, even to me. But I’m frustrated, tired—of all the fighting, of the nonstop adventure I’ve been on. We’re supposed to be in the Sun Realm changing things, uniting the people. Who knows what the other generals are doing in our absence. If we stay aboveground…will I ever see my mother and sister again?