The Emerald Sea by Richelle Mead

Author:Richelle Mead
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2018-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

THE BLIZZARD SUBSIDED BY MORNING, AND I AWOKE to Jago’s arm around my waist and cold oilcloth against my face. Feeling me stir, Jago opened his eyes and yawned, first looking at me and then to the dipping tarp. He poked at it and said, “It’s got snow weighting it down.”

Sure enough, when we managed to emerge from our den, we found everything covered in about two feet of new snow. But the wind had stopped, and the sun came out. I helped Jago take down the horse shelter, and Pebble and Dove greeted us with small whickers as they pawed eagerly at the ground. Jago tended to them with his normal affection, but it meant more to me now that I knew his history.

As we checked to make sure nothing had been left behind in our hasty camp, Jago started to put his arm around me. After a few seconds of reconsideration, he removed it. Seeing my puzzled expression, he chuckled and climbed into the sleigh’s seat.

“Don’t look at me like that, Tamsin. You can’t expect me to know what to do.”

I took the hand he offered. “You knew plenty well what to do last night.”

“Oh, that was pretty straightforward,” he said cheerfully. “Now? I’m not sure what you want.”

I averted my eyes. “Me either.”

“Then I’ll proceed accordingly.” He picked up the reins, and the horses zipped away over the unbroken snow. “Off we go.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what “proceed accordingly” entailed, but mostly, he seemed to be regular Jago, easygoing and witty. And chatty. But he didn’t talk about last night or try to figure out what it had meant. My own self-analysis was unproductive. I almost hoped I could view what had happened as a superficial, lust-driven act. But while it was to some degree, I found I was just as interested in being with Jago as I was in being physical with him. And that wasn’t sustainable.

The fresh snow let us make good time, though the land wasn’t so flat and empty anymore. There were more trees than there had been to the north, and as we drew nearer the foothills, the terrain sloped up and was dotted with buttes and other oddly shaped formations. That afternoon, we came upon another road, the first we’d been on in a few days. Not long after that, we began to pass scattered homes, lone rectangular or round houses with barns and grazing animals.

“Is this Kerniall?” I asked.

“These are just outlying farms. The town’s farther ahead—you can’t miss it.”

I leaned forward, hands clasped, eager to finally see this Icori town. The sleigh followed the road as it curved through a copse of elms and oaks, and when the trees thinned out, Jago said, unnecessarily, “That is Kerniall.”

Yes. There was no way you could miss it. The land gently swelled up into a wide, rounded hill with a blocky stone fortress—more in keeping with something from ancient Osfro—perched on top. Around it and scattered on the hill’s sides were clusters of much smaller buildings, most perfectly round.

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