Claus

Forty-Seven

When the train arrived in Franavik, Faryn's whole body was a bundle of nerves, as if she'd drunk too much coffee. She couldn't even remember the last time she had coffee, but she missed it.

What if Nick had already starved? What if she couldn't get the door open? If she couldn't, she'd have to find a way to contact her uncle and hope he believed she was innocent when she led him straight to Nick.

They had the hatch open before the train even stopped. Clíodhna crawled out first, and Faryn followed, landing in fresh powdery snow.

Once they were all out, they made their way through the town, keeping out of sight. None of them had their bags or wallets or passports. Faryn didn't know where in Darhafium they had left them or if they had stashed them somewhere outside of the city. They were all still in their clothes from when they fled, none of which were made for snow. Her friends had to be freezing but they didn't complain. Which only made Faryn feel worse. They were here because of her.

As they walked, the sun rose over Franavik, the rays gilding over the snow. Every step brought her closer to freedom. She'd return to Oxford, take up her classes in the term starting late spring—the Acurials on staff would make sure her abrupt absence was excused. It would be a penance for the way the Acurial world had treated her and a reward for returning Saint Nick.

It was difficult to stay out of sight as they made their way up the peak that held her grandfather's home, but as far as she could tell, they managed it. Once they reached the top, Faryn picked up the skirts of her dress and ran through the snow for the house and up the porch stairs. Even though she suspected it would be locked, she tried the door. It didn't budge.

"Stand back." Peter crossed the porch and stopping to get in position, drove a kick at the door. The wood around the lock splintered, and the door flew open. It hit the wall and started to swing back at them, but he caught it with his palm.

"Clíodhna. Cassian." Peter swept a hand through his hair, eyeing the entrance, taking in each art piece. "You should stay up here. Keep guard in case Winter or Spirit show up. I'll go with Faryn." He was the best one to teach Faryn how to open the door.

Cassian nodded. Clíodhna was already on her way out of the entry way, not waiting for the Fata.

"Ready?" Peter asked Faryn.

What would she do if Nick was dead?

Though she felt as if she would vomit at any moment, she led Peter down into the basement. The tables were overturned, and the ice sculptures were shattered, but the ice had not melted. The whitewall hiding the door was still there. Faryn pointed at it. "It's behind there."

Peter chewed on his lip. "Put your hand on the wall. It should respond to you."

"I don't need to think anything specific?"

He shook his head. "You shouldn't have to."

She took a deep breath.

All right, Morozko blood, you're going to work.

She laid her hand flat on the wall. Immediately, it began to ripple before it dissolved away, revealing the blue gem encrusted door, the silver of it gleamed.

"Like before you're going to lay your hand on it, but this time you're going to tell the door to open. Do not ask. Order it."

Right. Talking to doors. This felt like a bit of a low point for her.

She placed her palm against it, and as she closed her eyes, she felt her family's magic writhing inside the door. She was one of them, and she would find Nick.

Open.

She felt something tugged out of her, leaving her feeling lighter. When she opened her eyes, the gems were glowing. Relief but also fear seized her as the door formed a crack, and she pushed on it.

"Nick?"

She opened the door the rest of the way, and there was Nick, staring at her with an unreadable expression. But he was alive.

A tray of uneaten food sat beside him. Steam curled from the soup.

What holiday coming up are you most looking forward to?