breath. She stumbled backward and one of the straps on her ice cleats broke. She tore it off her foot and hurled it at the orca. Its tiger teeth embedded in his snout, and he made a strange sound somewhere between a whistle and a groan. As he tried to shake the claw off, Sonya pulled off her other cleat and threw it at his eye. This time, he bellowed in unmistakable rage. She lurched over to her snowshoes and forced her unfeeling hands to strap them onto her feet. Then she grabbed her line of fish and ran. Soon she was well out of Massa’s reach.
But she was now running headlong into the oncoming storm.
Her body felt rubbery, and her coordination was failing her. She fell several times. Each time it was harder to get back up, and each time she ran more slowly. After a while, running became impossible. Even when walking, she continued to fall, until at last she could no longer get up at all. She managed to roll over onto her back before her strength gave out completely and she grew still.
She didn’t know how long she lay there in the snow, but at last the snow began to swirl all around her. The storm had arrived.
In her increasingly addled state, Sonya could no longer feel the cold, and her circumstances were unclear. What was she doing out here in this storm? Should she try to find shelter? But she was so tired, and the storm was so beautiful. The air was thick with dancing snowflakes, and the purple clouds overhead writhed sensually. The wind sang its song of savage freedom, lulling her to sleep. She was so warm and comfortable. And so very weary. It was time for her to rest…
“My darling Lisitsa, you are as vexing as you are endearing,” said a voice as swift and cutting as the wind. “Did you think you were finished with your task?”
“No, my Lady…,” Sonya whispered.
“Good.”
Pain lanced through her eyes, shocking her back awake. But when she opened them, all she saw was darkness. It felt as though hot pokers were being driven into her skull. She screamed with a raw animal anguish as she clapped her gloves, now stiff with ice, over her face. The brutal cold had returned, and her body felt like it was on fire. She screamed again, so long and loud she was left gasping for breath.
“Sonya!”
It was Jorge’s voice.
Hands grabbed under her arms.
“My God, your clothes are stiff as a board!”
He dragged her through the snow and into the shelter he had dug for them. Once inside, he stripped off her icy clothes.
“Okay, hypothermia… skin to skin contact…,” he muttered. “It’s fine. This is necessary…”
He hurriedly pulled off his coat, then his shirt. Bare-chested, he lay down on a blanket, pulled her in close to him, and wrapped the blanket around both of them. The warmth of his skin spread across her body like a salve and she sighed. The burning sensation lessened, as did the shivering, until at last she drifted back into unconsciousness.
She woke some time later to find herself sandwiched between two blankets, while still being wrapped in a third. The shelter was impressively large. Big enough for several people, in fact. Jorge was roasting the fish she had caught over a small cooking fire near the exit where the smoke could escape into the night air. Outside, she could hear the howl of the storm as it raged.
“If you’re going to insist on keeping that fire, we’ll need to make sure the storm doesn’t completely cover the vent,” she told him in a soft, scratchy voice.
He turned and looked at her for a moment, then smiled sadly. “I’m glad you’re feeling a little better now.”
“Yeah,” she said. “To be honest, there were a couple moments where I didn’t think I was going to make it. I guess this time you really did save my life.”
His smile faded. “I’m sorry, Sonya. I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes cast about the space until they fell upon her knife. He unsheathed it and held the flat of the blade toward her so she could see her reflection.
The golden eyes of a fox stared back at her.
34
Sebastian stood in the yard and stared at the twenty cavalrymen saluting him, most of whom were older than him, and all of whom had more military experience.
Rykov leaned over and whispered, “Probably want to let them stand at ease.”
“Oh, right,” he