Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,123

of snow. She still had her bag by some miracle, strapped across her shoulder and secured against her hip.

Cole sat with his back against a nearby tree stump, head hanging low. Blood stained one side of his shirt, and he held Gravekeeper loosely in one hand. Zoe’s clothes were also bloodstained, nauseating swirls of red and black; none of which, she realized to her horror, were hers.

“Cole!” She scrambled toward him, relieved to find him breathing, though unconscious. They were both shivering and cold, and if Cole was any indication of how she looked, they were both going to have to stay warm within the next few minutes if neither wanted hypothermia. A painful-looking gash dominated Cole’s right hip, where his shirt had been torn away. There was another longer slash across his shoulder. None of the wounds looked deep, both not bleeding as profusely as she feared. None of the others were in sight. Were they still fighting the marsh king’s toadies?

Toadies. Did she just make a joke Ken would be proud of, or was this her mind’s way of telling her she was about to black out again?

Move. Keep moving, keep warm, or you’re both dead.

Snatching Ogmios, she struck at a nearby trunk, not stopping until she’d flayed off a good deal of bark. She pulled in as much heat as she could through the tip of her whip, striking at the pieces like the Ogmios was a flint. It took three tries, but fire sparked, sputtered, then burned as the rest of the bark took hold.

She wasn’t as efficient as the firebird was.

She knew it wasn’t enough. It was too cold, and their kindling too meager, and Zoe hadn’t the energy to summon more lightning.

“You’re too damn heavy,” she griped instead, dragging the boy closer to the fire. She tugged off his cloak, blanched at the thought of having to remove his pants despite the severity of their situation, and elected to shed her jacket first, pulling off her blouse until she was down to her undershirt. The fire was too small, but their wet clothes would kill them faster than the winter.

Her hand brushed against a lump in her pocket. Zoe drew out the small sack of glyphs the priestess had given her and stared at it. The woman had said they were going to need it before they’d even reached Maidenkeep…

Appraisers and experts who knew the exact value of so precious a commodity would have told Zoe that even one glyph would be too precious to use, even to save two lives. She begged to differ.

The main problem right now was how to use it. Zoe had nothing to go by but historical accounts, most of which varied widely as to implementation. Did she have to make the wish out loud? Was there a ritual she had to complete, or did she make some kind of invocation? And if she was successful, how would she know what the consequences would be?

All those questions were answered immediately as soon as she took one of the smaller glyphs out from the pouch.

Everything—the snow, the trees, Cole—disappeared. Instead, she stood at a crossroads of sorts, a wooden pole of various road signs looming above her, each pointing in a different direction.

Seek warmth, one read, and lose your tears.

Heal him forever, another spelled out, and lose your life.

Stand at Maidenkeep, and lose your sight.

Find your friends at the cost of one.

Wield the hottest fires, and endure the coldest winters.

The guideposts wavered, shifted, ebbed away and returned in parallel to where her thoughts raced as she discarded possibilities and considered more.

In the end, there was only one choice she could live with.

The glyph in her hands shimmered, as pale and as bright as a silver dollar, and vanished in a faint puff of smoke.

Cole groaned.

Zoe dropped to her knees and felt his forehead, but he was no longer trembling from the cold. He was warm, and she was warm, and she didn’t have to strip either of them naked, and historians and spellforgers would probably lament the waste of a good glyphstone, but for now the heat was all that mattered.

Cole’s gray eyes opened, unfocused, flinching at the light before finding her face. Zoe tugged at the Gravekeeper, but his grip tightened instinctively.

“Nottingham,” she said urgently. “Nottingham, this is…this is Carlisle. You’ve been hurt. I can help, but first I need you to let go. Do you understand?”

Cole hesitated, then nodded. His grip slackened, the weapon hitting the ground, as