“It’s not safe at the inn.”
“It is now. Trust me.”
Jak nodded mutely and let Astar wedge his twin out of Jak’s arms. They felt frozen in place. “Lena and Zeph.”
“They’re all right.” Astar stood, holding Stella. “Can you stand?”
“I… don’t know.” He didn’t want to move. The snow that been so bitterly hard now felt soft and cozy as a bed. “I think I’ll lie down a moment.” There, that was better. Icy crystals cradled his cheek like a pillow, comforting as drowsy sleep overcame him. When Astar pulled at him, he resisted, though without much strength.
“Jakral Konyngrr, you are shirking your duty,” Astar barked in Dasnarian. “Now get up before I toss you overboard.”
“Dad?” Jak stopped resisting, wondering how Kral had gotten there. He found himself tossed over broad shoulders, hoisted there sideways, his arm and leg on one side firmly gripped, the other side dangling.
“Can you balance Nilly without help?” Astar asked, breath puffing.
“Stella,” Jak gasped, struggling.
“She’s fine. She’s right there. If you’ll behave, you can sit with her and keep her on Gen’s back.”
“Please.” Unmanly tears wet his lashes and froze there. “Don’t keep me from her.”
“I won’t.” Astar sounded grim, then levered him onto the draft horse’s back. Stella lay face down, a shapeless, limp form in stained white fur. “Stay on. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Jak realized they’d been talking in Dasnarian the whole time and he’d barely noticed. How odd. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad I fucked up.”
“I’ll tell them you’re a bloody hero.” Astar slapped his thigh. “I’m right here. Your only job is to hold on.”
“Hold on,” Jak repeated, gripping with sluggish muscles, securing Stella against his knees as he dug numb fingers into her filthy cloak. Why did his head feel so thick and slow?
“Hold on,” Astar agreed firmly. “If you do that, I’ll buy you all the whiskey you can hold.”
“Whiskey,” Jak sighed wistfully.
“Knew that would get you. Go, Gen.”
Gen began walking, slowly at first, gathering speed as Jak found his seat. Astar, back in grizzly-bear form, strode beside them, a hulking shadow gliding in the dizzying whirl of snow.
Drowsiness swept over him in waves, and he swayed, tempted to close his eyes. Just a short nap. But he had a job. “Get tough. Hold on,” he muttered to himself, and the horse he rode whickered encouragingly.
The torches still blazed in the horrific semicircle in front of the inn, and Jak flinched at the sight. “Astar, no!” he shouted. “You don’t—”
Astar was at his knee, human face calm. “I understand, but it’s all right now. Trust me.”
A winged shadow dropped from the sky, and Jak went for the dagger in his boot, his uncooperative fingers bumbling the move, the blade dropping to the snow. Astar clamped his wrist. “It’s Zephyr. Stand down, man.”
Jak looked again, recognizing the gríobhth’s golden shine. She became Zeph, who dashed up to them. “All clear,” she said. “No luck on the scent trail. You got them both?”
“Yes, but Nilly’s unconscious, and Jak is half dead from blood loss and frostbite. We have to warm him up.”
“I’ll open the doors and Gen can just go right in. Lena’s in by the fireplace. Take them there.”
Gen bobbed her head and clomped up the wooden steps, ducking a bit to get through the double doors. The inn felt like an oven, the air too thick to breathe. Gen took them into a big common room, tables pushed back from a blazing fire.
“Down you go, buddy,” Astar said, holding up his hands. “Or do you need me to lift you down?”
“Not a lil kid.” His sharp retort came out slurred.
“Danu save me from stubborn Dasnarians,” Astar said, tugging on Jak’s arm and catching him as he tumbled.
“Half,” Jak corrected.
“The stubborn half.” Astar pulled Jak’s arm over his shoulder and pretty much dragged him to the pile of blankets and pillows before the fire.
“Not too close,” Gen said. Back in human form, she and Zeph carried Stella between them to the blankets. “Both of these two have to warm up slowly, but especially Jak.”
Astar grabbed a blanket and hauled Jak backward, depositing him on it. “Lie down now, buddy. You’re off duty.”
“Take his wet clothes off,” Gen said over her shoulder, working with Zeph to unwrap Stella. “Tell me what you see.”
“Why does everyone want to see me naked all of a sudden?” Jak wondered.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Astar grunted. “He’s cut up all over. Lots of dried and frozen blood, but no active bleeding.”
“He will when he warms up.”
“He’s really white, all over. Cold and clammy,” Astar reported.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Not surprising,” Gen called. “Dry him off. Wrap him in one blanket, loosely, then see if you can get some hot water into him.”
“Whiskey,” Jak said.
“No,” Gen replied before Astar could.
“Warm whiskey,” Jak corrected.
“No alcohol!” Gen was firm on the subject.
“Sorry, buddy.” Astar grimaced, having finally wrestled off Jak’s boots, the pants falling away in shreds like his shirt and coat had. He was fucked for clothes now. All he had left was the scarlet suit he’d worn to the ball at Ordnung a lifetime ago. Astar began rubbing him briskly with the blanket.
“Patting, not rubbing,” Gen instructed.
Obediently, Astar changed his technique.
“How do you know so much about this?” Zeph asked.
“Dad’s family,” Gen replied. “When your mossback family lives in the foothills of Mohraya and there’s no magical healing to be had, you learn a lot about frostbite and what to do with half-frozen people. All right. Maybe turn her head to the fire to get her hair dry, but otherwise keep doing what you’re doing. She needs to warm up slowly, but she should be all right. Listen to her heartbeat and tell me if it changes.”
Gen appeared on Jak’s other side, her brown hair incongruously smooth and shining. But then, she’d have shapeshifted to heal and clean up. Must be nice. “Lift him up, and lean him against you. Your body heat will help.”
Astar slid an arm under his shoulders, levering Jak into a half-sitting position, sitting behind him. Gen pressed a mug to Jak’s lips. “Drink, slowly.”
It was hot water all right. Plain hot water, with a faint tinge of bitterness, like old coffee. He swallowed that sip, then turned his head. “How is Stella?”
Gen gave him a level stare. Her eyes, usually a soft indigo, looked like the deep ocean before a storm. “Stella will be fine. You are the one we’re worried about, Jak, so do as I tell you—or I’ll have to explain to Stella why I let you die.”
Die? A joke sprang to his lips, but Gen narrowed her eyes in warning, so he obediently drank down the flat, nasty water. “Rhy and Lena?” he asked once he swallowed. He shivered, once and hard, and his bones began to ache.