There is a peace right after that final blow, a moment of indescribable joy brought on by survival, luck, and fulfilled hope.
— Balador Virs, The Snow Queen's Betrayal (Act 2, Scene 1)
Even at midnight, Rock River celebrated. Confined to one of the borrowed bedrooms in the mayor's house, Kanéko could hear cheers rise up from the street.
While she was fighting at the mill, Cobin and the mercenaries attacked the village to lure Garèo away from her and into a trap. They fought across the city, eventually ending with Cobin's death on the Burning Cloud Queen.
It wasn't until later that the villagers knew about the fight at the Lurkuklan Tower and Damagar's defeat.
She lifted her body to peer out the window at the airship grounded in the center of the town square. Lanterns hung from every hook and rope and the Queen sat in a pool of light. Children climbed over the ship as the adults sat on the deck and drank to the defeat of Sinmak's troops.
On the ground next to the Queen, the mayor of Rock River and her father were making a proclamation. She couldn't hear the words, but when the mayor lifted his hands, the crowds cheered loudly enough to rattle the windows.
Her father started a speech, but she lost herself as she remembered the words he said at the end of the fight.
“Good job.”
Those two words echoed in her head, the first she had heard them in a long time. She didn't know if her father trusted her yet but there was no question he had finally acknowledged her abilities.
Kanéko sat back down on the bed and winced. Her cracked ribs were bound tight, and the cloth bandages dug into her side. The town healer had wrapped her broken arm because Virsian couldn't heal Kanéko for another month. The feline dalpre offered to stay in Rock River until the feedback faded and she could finish the healing process with magic.
It was going to be a long wait for Kanéko. She scowled at the book next to her. She had found it as they were leaving the ruins of her home. It was the first Nash novel, but the excitement had faded with reality. The book never talked about climbing cliffs, shitting in the wilds, or the itch of bones taking their time to heal.
“Tomorrow, Maris gets all my books,” she croaked.
She returned her gaze to the Burning Cloud Queen and wondered if she could convince her father to give it to her. No one in town considered mechanical devices to be interesting, but Kanéko knew she could learn from the flying ship. She sighed, not sure if her father would ever let her continue working with machines, even after Damagar's death.
Kanéko settled back down on the bed and let her mind drift into a daydream of commanding the airship. After a few seconds, the ache of her ribs forced her to roll over. A moment after that, the pressure of her broken arm against her side encouraged her to shift positions again. She flopped on her back and let out a groan.
After a few minutes of shifting around, she gave up and decided to force herself out of bed. She only had her bag of Cobin's stolen clothes and a hastily packed sack from the rubble of the tower. The first shirt she pulled out of the latter came with a handful of rock dust and debris. She sighed and shook it clean. Dressing with a broken arm and wrapped ribs was one more thing she never read about in her novels. It was much harder than she thought possible, and by the time Kanéko finished pulling her boots on, she was sweating.
She swayed for a moment, and then headed down the stairs. The steps creaked under her, and she clutched the railing for balance. The house was empty around her, but she could see flashes of lanterns outside the door. She hesitated with her hand over the handle before opening it and stepping outside.
A wall of sound greeted her, but as she stood in the door, the people closest to her grew quiet. They looked at her, but she didn't see joy in their faces. Instead, she found distrust and anger in them. The silence rippled out down the street. She could feel their eyes on her.
She had seen a few posters with her image pasted to fences when they arrived. Their looks told her that they somehow blamed her.
Kanéko said softly, “I'm sorry.”
When they didn't respond, she said it louder. Then a third time as loud as she could.
The villagers turned their back on her and walked away to join other parts of the celebration. As they drifted apart, one person remained behind.
Ruben watched her with intense blue eyes. He wore a brown bowler with a matching vest, trousers, and tie. His cream shirt contrasted with his hat and his eyes. “Kanéko Lurkuklan.”
Kanéko's tears burned in her eyes as she watched the retreating backs. She turned back to Ruben. “Why are they upset at me? The attack on town wasn't my fault.”
Ruben shrugged and stepped forward, his small feet tapping on the cobblestones. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the mayor's home. “They blame you anyways. The same behavior was exhibited in the two years, seven months following the destruction of the first Lurkuklan Village.”
She sighed. “It wasn't my fault.”
“It will pass.”
“Just like that?” Kanéko stepped down, holding the railing as she came down the stairs.
“Yes. Nature of society. People are hurt, frightened, and confused. They need a focal point, an anchor to remain together. You are that anchor right now and the focus of their distrust and blame. Time will fade those emotions.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, right next to Ruben. She sniffed and wiped the tear from her eye with the back of her good arm. “I don't think I can do that.”
Ruben reached out for her. “You can do anything, Kanéko Lurkuklan. You possess no magical powers ...”
Kanéko tensed, and her hand froze inches away from Ruben's.
The vomen continued, “...but you still are the most capable of us all.”
She took his hand. The familiar caress of telepathy filled her. He sent an image of Maris in a nearby house. His mind traveled upstairs and faded with the lack of shared memory. He projected that the dalpre was awake and eating slowly, a difficult concept to communicate to Kanéko since neither had seen Maris take her time eating anything.
She smiled. “She's looking for me?”
He smiled and pointed to a house three down from the mayor's. “Affirmative.”
Kanéko followed him into the house and up to Maris's room.
Maris whimpered as she tried to eat. The dalpre had a stubborn look on her face as she kept on chewing. Most of her body was covered in bandages. Where the cloth didn't cover skin, dark bruises covered every inch. Maris looked up with blood-filled eyes. Her left had swollen shut, leaving her with one good eye.
“Kan?” The dalpre's voice was ragged and hoarse, like gravel encased in flesh.
Kanéko gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. “You look horrible.”
“I got hurt.” Maris coughed. “And I burned out. And I can't do magic right now. And I stopped moving too fast and things broke.” Another cough. “And I hurt inside.”
“Of course, you silly dalpre, but you are amazing. Even with that wind thing you did to stop yourself, which I never thought of,” Maris smiled at the compliment, “But, you need to stop doing this. You just—” Kanéko felt tears in her eyes again. “You just won't give up, will you?”
“You are… my friend. For pack or family, I don't know how to do anything less than everything.”
Kanéko smiled and smoothed out the blanket next to her. “You know what?”
Maris coughed. “What?”
“I like you.”
The dalpre's ears perked up. She surged forward and grabbed Kanéko around the waist. A whimper escaped from Maris's throat as she hugged Kanéko tight.
Kanéko squeezed Maris back with her one good arm.
Maris reached out and grabbed Ruben by the neck, yanking him into the embrace. He gasped for breath as she ground him into her breast.
“Mar-Maris?” gasped Kanéko.
Maris whimpered, “Yes?”
“Doesn't this hurt?”
“Yes, but I love you,” sobbed the dalpre. “And love hurts. A lot.”