The pull of the ground disappears for a split second. A pause in the fall, where no gravity exists, where my entire body is weightless, floating, hanging by invisible threads.
And then that gentle hover, that pillowed air, it abandons me with a violent turn. The carriage flips, end over end, and this time, not even my ribbons can brace for impact.
I’m tumbling, I’m tossed, I’m rolling like a ball of snow down a slick hill, gathering weight, picking up speed, no hope of stopping softly, no chance of control. Just the grim realization that I’m in this fall’s clutches, and only a crash can stop it.
Like a ragdoll, I’m flung, blows landing to every part of my body. For a moment, I worry that the flipping will never stop, that I’ll be trapped in the fall, forever spinning in the dark, no hope of an end.
Glass flies, wood splinters, gilded edges snap. And then with one final flip, the carriage groans and slams against a mound of snow on its side, where my head smacks against the wall in a sickening crack.
I feel an explosion of pain, a flare of that red, red fire burning behind dimming eyes. And then I black out, the sound of those voices still there, like a turbid presence infecting the air and engulfing me completely.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Strands of a long-forgotten sun soothe over my eyes, golden streaks caressing my closed lids.
I hum in my sleep, joy leaping up, nostalgia pulling at me. I turn my face toward that shining warmth, but I can’t quite make it, can’t quite feel it.
Another silken graze over my brow, and I manage to open my eyes, only for a burst of pain to greet me. I blink against the pulse that triggers through my skull, as two of my ribbons fall away from my face, moving to caress my arms instead, as if those are the next things they aim to rouse.
Not beams of sun, then, but my persistent, protective ribbons. The comforting glow was only in my head.
Groaning, I sit up to gain my bearings, just as everything rushes back. My entire body stiffens as I catch up to the present, and I look around at the still, broken carriage lying on its side.
Snow is crowding in beneath me through the broken window, already numbing my legs where I landed against it. I manage to pull my feet beneath me, my eyes adjusting to the near pitch-black as I attempt to get up. The door is above me, and I slink slowly to a stand, my fingers coming up to feel for the handle.
Grabbing hold of it, I flinch at the sound of fighting outside. There’s the unmistakable clashing of swords, guttural groans of the injured, shrieks of the women. It makes me cower for a second, the noise making me want to curl up into a ball and shove my hands over my ears.
But I force myself to stay standing, despite how badly my knees shake, regardless of the dizziness that sweeps through my head. I push through it because I can’t pass out again. I can’t cower or hide.
Sail is out there. The other guards, the other saddles… So I tighten my hold on the handle to steady myself and then lift my head out of the empty window frame. Just a bit, just enough to peek over.
But all I see when my eyes lift is a man climbing onto the carriage, a heavy thump marking his ascent. I flinch back, smacking my already sore head against the window frame as I try to pull myself back into the carriage, as if I have any hope of hiding. But before I can fully scramble back, the man leans down, a pair of eyes latching onto me as I try to sink down, his hands snatching at my arms, hauling me right back up.
I shriek and struggle, but he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, as if my fight doesn’t hinder him at all. The man pulls me out of the carriage, the hold brutal against my arms, my waist scraped against the jagged edges of the broken window pane.
I’m barely out of the carriage and standing on top of it with him before he turns and tosses me carelessly over the side.
I don’t even have time to pull in a breath before my body tips headfirst, and I fall into the snow pile on the ground. I land cold and hard, on a hidden rock buried beneath the white. My shoulder and lip smack into the sharp edges, and I instantly taste blood in my mouth, wincing at the pain.
Dazed, I hear the person on the carriage jump down nimbly behind me, and then he’s yanking me to a standing position by the back of my coat, the fabric pulling tightly against my throat.
By the veiled ethereal light of a hidden moon, I can just make out one of the horses dead in the snow, still attached to the broken carriage. The other one is gone, pole strap snapped free, reins abandoned.
Sail is nowhere in sight.
Fingers wrapped in thick white bandages grab my chin and turn my face, forcing me to look at the man holding me. The first thing I notice is that he’s dressed head-to-toe in white fur. Blending in with the landscape around us, except for the blood-red cloth around his face—the notorious band of the Red Raids.