Enchanted Frost (Frost Series #8) (A YA Romantic Fantasy Adventure) (6 page)

          “He
doesn't love me,” I was sobbing, whispering, shaking. “He doesn't love me
anymore – he told me so...”

          “You
were just having a nightmare.” Logan put his strong, warm arms around me. “It
wasn't real. Don't worry, Breena. It doesn't mean anything.”

          “Dreams
means something!” I cried. “Kian and I are connected, telepathically. My
thoughts are his thoughts. If he rejected me in my dreams, it's because he
doesn't want me in reality! It's because he's sick of me – he doesn't care for
me...”

          “I'm
sure that's not true.” Logan massaged my shoulders, and I could see the look of
pain in his eyes. “Remember, mortal psychology is pretty reliable. And if we
weren't in Feyland, I could tell you for sure what that dream was about. You
projecting your fears, your worries, into nightmares. You letting your
insecurities and self-doubt run away with you. I can guarantee you – Kian
will
be coming back to you. He will return to you. He will come home, and marry
you, and love you just as much as he ever did, if not more. If I weren't so
sure of that, I know, I'd...” His voice trailed off as his expression grew dark
and grim. “He's coming back, Breena. You two are destined to be. If I know
anything at all, I know that. Believe me, if anyone knows that, it's me. I
spent so long wishing it wasn't true, hoping it wasn't true. But now I know it
is. Kian and you are decreed by the magic of Feyland. You cannot stay separated
for long.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Now, Breena, it's time to calm down
and dream of far better things. Sleep well.” He tucked the blanket under my
chin. “Dream of the Mortal World for a change. And stop worrying so much.”

          After
that my nightmares had subsided a bit. The pain of Kian's rejection – played
out again night after night – became something I expected, something I could
get used to. I was able, at least, to convince myself that the nightmare was
nothing magic – that it was, as Logan said, a projection of my own fears, not
Kian's thoughts.

          But
this dream was different. This dream was far darker. I felt a tingling running
up and down my spine; I felt my body begin to convulse as my mind was plunged
into the madness of the dream. This time I wasn't myself, with Kian, begging
him to take me back. No, I
was
Kian. I was looking through Kian's eyes;
I was listening with Kian's ears. Our bodies had commingled; we were one. His
blood ran through my veins. For a few moments, I simply luxuriated in this
ecstasy. I had missed Kian so much; I had longed for him so badly. I had needed
him; I had desired him. I had yearned for him. And now magic had bound us – our
bodies, our souls. There was so much I wanted to say to him. There was so much
love I wanted to confess.

          But
before I could try to communicate with Kian, I became distracted by my
surroundings. Where was I? This place didn't look like Feyland. I – or Kian –
was somewhere else, somewhere where the mountains and plains were a uniform
shade of gray. The sky was gray, and the mountains were gray, and the rivers
were full of gray water. A cold, forbidding, cruel place.       

          I
looked down at my hands, and gasped at what I saw. The hands were not the
porcelain-white, beautiful hands I recognized from so many fervent nights
together. They were leathery, weathered with age. I walked to the mirror, and
my mouth fell open with shock. I still looked like Kian – but this wasn't the
Kian I remembered. This was an old man, with gray hair and gray beard, wrinkles
on his forehead and lips thinned with age. Only his eyes, his beautiful,
piercing blue eyes, gave me any indication that this was the man I loved.

          What
had happened to Kian? He was immortal – surely he would never age! It was
impossible! But this Kian had grown old – all too old.

         
I
must remember.
Kian's voice echoed in my head.
Until I die, I must
remember her. I cannot forget – although I can no longer see her face...
His
eyes clouded over with pain.
I can no longer remember her name. But I know
she was important to me. I cannot remember why or where – I cannot remember
anything at all – but I know that I cannot forget her. I know I must have loved
her. In the days before I came to this place. In the days before...

            Who
was I before? I don't know. I will never know. I will never escape. All I know is
that I cannot forget...

           
The voice in
my head grew panicked.
What can I not forget? What was it? Who was it that I
told myself I'd remember? No! No!

           
Kian began to
scream, to shout, to pound on the mirror. I felt his pain, his fury, his fear.
Who
am I? Who is she? Who am I supposed to remember?

           
I woke with a
start and a scream. No, this dream felt different from the others. It felt
real, somehow – real in a way even my nightmares about Kian's rejection did
not.

          The
door flung open as Logan ran in.

          “Another
nightmare?” He put a glass of water down on my bedside table.

          “Yes,”
I said, shivering.

          “The
same one?”

          I
shook my head. “No,” I said. “A different one. Really different.” I looked up.
“Logan, I think Kian's in danger.”

          “Breena,
my darling, it was just a dream...”

          “Not
this one,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “This felt different. Like
telepathy, or a premonition, or something – whatever it was, it was
magic-related. This wasn't just a dream. Kian was...being held somewhere,
trapped, for years and years. Only he wasn't immortal. He was aging, and he was
forgetting. Not just about me, but about himself. He couldn't remember who he
was, or what was happening to him. And he was scared, Logan, so scared!”

          “Hush,
Breena,” Logan held me close. “It was just a dream.”

          I
shook my head. “I don't think so,” I said. “In fact, I'm sure of it. Wherever
Kian is, I need to find him.”

          “Breena,
are you so sure that's a good idea?” Logan looked worried. “Kian said he'd come
back when he made a decision – that he needed time alone to think. Are you so
sure that he wants to be found?”

          I
nodded. “He needs me, Logan. He's in danger. I've got this terrible feeling
that, wherever he is, he's in trouble, and he needs my help. Whatever is
happening between us, Logan, it's my job to keep him safe. As his fiancé, as
his friend, as the Queen of Summer. It's my duty to protect him. And I'd never
forgive myself if...if....” My eyes welled up with tears. “If my dream was
true.”

          Logan's
face took on a dark, grim expression as he nodded. “I understand,” he said
slowly. “And I do trust you. If you say this dream was a premonition, then I'll
do whatever it takes to help you find Kian, and keep him safe.” He pressed my
hand to his lips. “Because it's the only way to keep
you
safe. We'll
find him, my darling, my Breena.” He gathered me into his arms. “I promise
you.”

Chapter 7

Kian

I
had walked
for many miles beyond the stone gates. The suns of Feyland had risen and set
time and again – I could no longer see them in the distance, but only became
wary of minor changes in the gray, still light of the place that I supposed
signified the difference between night and day. At this rate, I guessed, I had
spent four days in the ancient lands beyond the borders of Feyland. Four days
that were not days, but rather endless expanses of cold, gray light. I felt
more tired than I usually felt on these journeys – my muscles seemed to ache,
and my body longed for sleep. Normally I could go days without food or sleep –
all fairies prided themselves on their abilities to be hardy when in battle, or
on a quest such as mine – but for some reason my body was reacting with sudden
sluggishness. Perhaps it was the distance from the Winter Palace, or from the
seat of my power.

         
Or
the distance from her,
my subconscious told me. I missed her so much – now
more than ever. I felt that this ugly, white, pale place would not be quite so
cruel if I had her with me. My body still cried out for her; my arms felt empty
without her in them. My eyes were thirsty – a thirst that could only be
quenched by the sight of her face. My chest needed the small of her back
pressed against it. I missed the silky feel of her hair, the smell of
pomegranates that perfumed them.

         
No,
Kian,
I told myself.
You must overcome this. You must be stronger than
this. You must forget her. Soon, after all, you will be cured of this love,
this disease. Soon you will be free.

           
But not soon
enough, it seemed. As I trudged along the snowy banks of the path, going deeper
and deeper into the mountains to search for the White Witch whom I hoped would
be an answer to my problems, I felt my soul cleave in two. Part of me wanted to
go back before it was too late, rush back through the stone gates and into
Feyland, run into Breena's intoxicating arms and lose myself in her kiss,
apologize for my actions and beg her to take me back. Did it matter that she
wanted Logan, too? Wasn't it enough that she love me, that she want me, that
she had
chosen
me over him? Wasn't that all I wanted, deep down? Wasn't
her love – her
choice
of me for a husband - enough to make me feel like
the luckiest fairy in this world or any other?

          But
I thought of Logan, and felt anger rise hotly to my cheeks. Even, now, I knew,
the Wolf was beside her. I could sense it; I had seen it in the mirror. No
sooner was the bed cold, was the engagement canceled, than the Wolf had swooped
in to take my place. And Breena, it seems, had let him. So much for mourning
me. Evidently Breena had been all too relieved by my absence, for it allowed
her to follow up on the passion she had been clandestinely nursing all her
love. Without me in the way to interfere, Breena and Logan could be together at
last. The true star-crossed lovers of Feyland.

          And
I was nothing but an intrusion, an interference, a barrier to their happiness.
Don't
you see, Kian,
the slippery, snake-like voice within me mocked my pain.
Don't
you see that she doesn't love you? It's not merely that she's indecisive, not
merely that she's scared. She
preferred
him to you. She has made her
choice. You have lost, Fairy King. You have lost and the Wolf has won. Accept
your defeat graciously and move on without her. Do not fear that she misses
you, or that she still wants you; do not fear that perhaps she is even now at
this moment weeping for you to come home. No, she is in the arms of the Wolf,
perhaps unclad, perhaps sharing with him that act which you once thought was
reserved for the two of you alone, that thing which you thought you would never
do with another.

            She
doesn't miss you. So why miss her? Why not keep on along the path, without
stopping, until you find the White Witch, who will save you from this pain? You
are not abandoning Breena, Fairy King. Rather, you are setting her free. You
are releasing her to her true love. And if the White Witch, and all her fairy
magic, can make this transition easier, can smooth the edges of this
heartbreak, then so be it. You deserve at least that balm: not to suffer once
you've lost the woman who no longer loves you. Perhaps then you will finally
desire the beautiful woman in the village who set you on this path and
enveloped you in the ferocious force of longing that you saw in her stare.
Perhaps you will be able to give yourself over to the nothingness, to the
oblivion, of pleasure without love, slake your thirsts, satisfy your hunger,
want another. Feel something other than this agony. Feel something –
anything...

           
“Are you quite
done?” A soft, feminine voice interrupted my reverie.

          “What
the...” I whirled around in shock. There, standing before me, was one of the
loveliest creatures I had ever seen. With pale ash-white hair and bright blue
eyes that were, like her hair, uncommonly white, with shining skin and a long
satin dress, this woman radiated power and passion. She could have been young;
she could have been ancient. She was ageless – ageless in a way I found
unsettling and, strangely, alluring.

          “Hello,
Kian,” she smiled, flashing white teeth. “I believe you were expecting me.” She
looked me up and down, devouring me with her eyes. If the woman in the village
had been slightly flirtatious then this gorgeous figure was anything but
subtle.

          “Are
you...the White Witch?” My mouth fell open with shock.

          She
nodded, grinning. “Surprised?”

          “I
expected someone....”

          “Older?
A wrinkled hag?” She chuckled.

          “Well,
yes.”

          “Unlimited
magic – and you don't think I'd use any of it to ensure eternal beauty?” She
batted her lashes at me, but beneath the damsel image, I felt sure, the White
Witch was no bimbo. She exuded confidence, power, and a savage strength that
was enticing as it was frightening.