Folding the Sky

-47-

"Do you think she's okay?"

Chike paused long enough to toss an exasperated look back in Aldric's direction.

Aldric chewed his lip. "I mean, I'm sure she is. She's very capable, so I know she's doing just fine. But then—what if she isn't?"

Now Chike stopped, turning so he could face Aldric squarely. The interior of the boat was a dark and inexplicably narrow network of damp, mildew-scented corridors; both men had to hunch over slightly to keep from slamming their heads against the pipework above. "Aldric," Chike said. "I'm not usually a violent person, but if you say one more word about Zuri, I might have to smack you."

Aldric groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried."

"Oh, are you really?"

The amount of sarcasm in his voice was jarring. Aldric was personally wounded. "Chike!"

"Listen, Aldric," he said, turning back around, continuing their precarious trek through the darkness, the water sloshing against the boat's side a constant background melody. "You're only proving the point she made earlier by worrying about her so much. I'm not one hundred percent sure what happened between you two, but you know you can't protect her from everything. And that's not your job in the first place."

It was odd that it came to him here, but the image that flashed in his mind then was of his sister, Aurora. The last time he'd seen her had been winter, months ago, the snow falling in a thick and heavy blanket over all of Meathe and stifling every sound. It was dusk, the sky a purplish gray, the color of a bruise. White-blond hair clung to her chapped lips as she urged him, Don't worry about me. The best you can do for me is escape.

He'd been shaking so hard, likely from both the cold and his nerves, that all he could do was stammer: But Rory—

She shook her head. Let me fight my own fight for once. Go, Ricky.

Now, Aldric frowned at the silhouette of his shoes. Not much was different between then and now, was it?

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I think you're right, Chike."

"I usually am," Chike added, his voice soft. "It's just that you never listen to me."

"Hey. Yes I do."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"Hm," said Chike. "Very rarely."

Aldric halted in place. "Doors."

Chike stopped, too, his head whipping around until he noted what Aldric was talking about. The hall had widened enough for them to stand side by side, and the corridor was now lined with set after set of heavy padlocked doors, a sickly yellow overhead light illuminating their path.

Chike pointed at Aldric, then pointed to the left. He turned his thumb towards his chest, and jerked his head right. Still without uttering a word, Aldric signaled his agreement.

Most of the doors were unlocked, but the few that were locked Aldric took care of well enough with his ice. None of them led to anything substantial. They were maintenance closets and pantries, dry storage rooms and cargo holds. No sign of Vernon or his cursed tapestry.

Chike and Aldric converged at the single door that marked the end of the hallway. If there was nothing here, they'd have to turn back the way they had come and find a new route. Aldric found his hands trembling in a way they hadn't since he was very young. Impossibly, he was afraid.

Aldric tried the knob. It fell in with ease.

They stepped inside, Aldric preceding Chike, and the first thing that ambushed them was the skin-rippling, bone-chilling cold of the room, as if they had stepped through some arctic portal. Even for Aldric, whose abilities had gifted him a certain tolerance for lower temperatures, it was abysmal.