Seven days down, twenty-three to go. Walking laps around the Frozen Chamber helps keep the cold at bay during the day. At night, a small fire and multiple layers do their best. Through the bars at the top of the Frozen Chamber, the sun gleams in its cold stare. Snow drifts here and there up above, but an invisible barrier keeps the little flakes from forming hills inside the single-cell prison. Nighttime smoke, though, has thus far been able to escape and not poison me in my sleep. The bars tease and taunt, the space between them enough for someone to slip through if they squeeze. But getting up to them is an impossible task.
The surrounding stone sits smooth in its surmounting circle. Scaling the walls proved to be a fruitless endeavor long ago. A fight that left broken noses and bruised ribs a few years ago landed me within these walls, though it had been summer and this place’s moniker had been Baltevmt’s Maw at the time. I had only spent one day baking in the heat then, and I had thought it could not be any worse. I never thought winter’s bite could cut to my bones so effortlessly, even with the layers. That’s a mistake I won’t soon forget.
The sun’s light wanes. As the moon takes over and fills the land with its own luminescence, my stomach begins to beg. The tray Cy left behind for my afternoon meals sits patient and empty near the ring of rocks and ashy remains of last night’s fire. My bedroll and additional blanket wait there as well. A waste hole is quarantined by the entrance, an iron door with a tiny square barred window.
Snow crunches from beyond that door, but the darkness of the little window is too much to show who approaches. Metal jingles a high jig for a moment before scraping into the iron door. The lock there clicks, the hinges screech in protest, and through the doorway steps the figure. With a snap of two fingers, the small fire pit lites and comes to life. Cy points to the empty tray, and I fetch it for him without hesitation. For it he hands me a new one, this one carrying a fresh bowl of soup and half loaf of bread. He steps back toward the door, pausing within the frame to remove something from his pocket. A miniscule vial makes his huge hands look even bigger; its odd pink contents pour into the waste hole before returning to his coat pocket. Without a word, Cy closes the door and locks it once more. His footsteps fade after a few steps, and I return to solitude.
The soup brings warmth with its flavorful vegetables and broth. I take it slow in front of the fire, let myself enjoy the thawing of my limbs. Despite my careful rationing, the slices of bread soak up the liquid remainders all too soon. I relax back against the wall, stomach full and body warming up.
Crunching returns from outside, this pair of feet lighter on the snow. Just as soon as it comes, it disappears. My eyes glue to the iron door. Why is Cy back and trying to be quiet? Has the Baroness changed her mind and decided to let me back inside early? What spurred on this sudden change? Did Wassim come clean and take responsibility for his actions? Seems unlikely, in hindsight.
Something brushes against the outer wall, but the sound comes and goes so quick that I wonder if I had heard anything at all. My eyes stay on the door, ready for it to creak open once more and reveal Cy’s wide and tall frame. But there is only silence. Not even the wind cuts through the dark of night with its eerie whistling. Only the crackling fire remains.
“Psst…” The hushed attention-grabber draws my eyes upward. Legs dangle over the edge and in between two of the bars. Wrapped in a thick coat and sitting atop the wall is Kym. She gives a little wave with a gloved hand, and I simply stare in wonder. Pushing herself from her perch, she lands with precision and ease near the door.
“Hey,” she says with a cool little smirk.
Wide but blank eyes just stare at her. This isn’t real. She isn’t real. My mind has finally snapped after a week-long bout of isolation and has begun hallucinating. At least it went with something nice and calming instead of diving headfirst into nightmare territory. Perhaps that will come later, when I least suspect it.
“You really oughta spruce up the place,” she jokes as she looks around. “Get some flowerpots or something. Install a window at the very least.”
“I’ll get right on that,” my voice finally returns to me. A lopsided grin grows on my face, a puff of cloud riding out of my mouth with the small chuckle that escapes me.
Kym steps closer, rounding the fire and taking a spot next to me. We sit, silent, watching the warm glowing dance before us. She reaches over and takes my hand, her gloved fingers slipping between mine. She scoots closer. My heart lightens and races at the same time.
“How long you got left?” she asks, the sound a welcome addition to the crackling fire.
“About three weeks,” I tell her. “The Baroness gave me thirty days, and I’m only a week in now.”
“Think you’ll last that long?” Her question comes with the flavor of humor, the taste of a smirk mixed with the words.
“Probably not,” I joke back. “It’s really boring in here. Nothing to do but keep the cold from killing me. I don’t even get a book or anything. I would hang myself from the bars up there if I could figure out a way to get up there.”
Kym laughs and smacks my shoulder. She wraps her free arm around mine, hugging my arm and resting her head where she hit me. I relax my own head and let it rest on hers, and we settle back into the comfortable quiet for a while.
“How did you even get in here?” I finally ask when my curiosity grows too great.
“Magic,” she says, simple and nonchalant, as if I should have known, as if it was obvious. I can’t tell whether she’s joking or if she means it; the truth hides in her delivery.
“Magic?” I repeat. “Found a flying spell in the library?”
“Found loads of spells,” she nods. “Found one to give someone nasty warts. I might do that on my last day.”
“Sounds fun,” I say. “You’ve got plenty of worthy candidates. Do it to them all if you can. They’ll probably go into a huge panic to figure out what happened. It’ll be funny. They’ll talk about it for years, make you a legend.”
“Then we’ll both be legends one day,” she says. The lightness in her voice, the playful jest, withers for a moment. She tiptoes toward gravity, a heavier and darker sincerity. She hugs my arm a little bit closer, a little bit tighter.
“Word’s been going around lately,” she says, hushed as if someone might overhear. “People are saying you tried to kill Wassim. First time Sister Signe had ever seen someone beat up like that since she worked with the Brawlers Circuit.”
“You’re making it sound like I actually did it,” I note.
“Going with the lie is better than revealing the truth sometimes,” she shrugs with a light sigh. “I’m still surprised you took the fall for it.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” I ask with a faint smirk. “Let you spend a month in here instead? Then I’d be stuck with just Max, and I don’t think he would be the biggest fan of moments like this.”
“Just pretend you’re Augustin and maybe he would be okay with it,” Kym returns to a humorous tone.
“I’ll have to dye my hair first, grow it out a bit,” I suggest. “Don’t know if I have the time for all that.”
The crackling of the fire takes over for us for a long while, allowing us to ease back into that familiar comfortable quiet. The flames continue their performance for us, formless orange ballerinas. That old thought returns: now is the time for that first sweet kiss. She’s already so close, closer than ever before. Perhaps the way she clings is a sign of her readiness, of her want for the same thing. Just lift her chin and her face will be right there. I even have a free hand to help get us there. All it takes is that simple motion, that soft nudge. Just take control of the moment, help it become what I want it to be. It would be so easy…
“I really appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Kym confesses. Small, sheepish, grateful. All new things for her, or at least seldom and unfamiliar. I return the notion with a simple kind word, and we relax back into the silent fiery observation.
In time, yawns come from us both. Slowly, we trade them back and forth. We pass them off, waiting to see which of us will break first and declare bedtime. A matter of willpower, I tell myself, of which I have plenty. Though we have equal offerings of the tired sigh, I shall prevail. Kym will succumb first. I just know it.
I blink. Previously sitting upright, I find myself laying on my side and my thick blanket draped over me. For a moment, my visitation seems like a dream. After all, it had been too good to be true. But underneath the blanket, I am not alone. Nestled under the blanket’s warmth and protection, back to my stomach with my arm around her, lies her figure. Cuddled up close, keeping a tender hold, she sleeps. Or I think she sleeps. Her face remains hidden out of my view, and she makes no noise. But I can feel the slow inhale and release through our coats.
“Kym?” I whisper.
“Yeah?” she returns the tone.
“What happened?”
“You passed out,” she answers, adding a breath of a giggle. “So it’s bedtime. Shut up and sleep.”
“Shouldn’t you get back to the Tower?” I ask. “Won’t they notice you’re gone?”
“I don’t care,” she shrugs, adjusting her position to get more comfortable and close. “I’d much rather just sleep here. I’ll head back in the morning before any of them wake up. Easy.”
My eyes refuse to stay open any longer. As I drift off, Kym says something too far away for me to understand. The Frozen Chamber fades, leaving only false memories, fabricated lifetimes, indecipherable hidden meanings, and subconscious yearnings. They come and go, gentle as the midday tide, swapping characters and scenery at random to fit the jumbled mess.
And when I awake, Kym is gone.
* * *
The day passes with its hours stretched like taffy. Boredom is my new worst enemy as the sun makes its daily trek across the cold sky. For a while, I stare at the smooth stone walls, doing my best to figure out how Kym was able to get out. The door remains locked from the outside. No pillars could assist in climbing to the top. In the end, the only explanation that sounds somewhat reasonable is the possibility of jumping and catching the bars or the edge. Try after try after try, my legs launch at the wall and attempt to project me upward. Even with my longer frame, it’s not enough for my hands to reach the bars. More times than not, there is not enough power in my jump to get far at all. Magic, I resign, must be the answer, of which I have none.
Cy makes his regular mealtime visits, delivering trays of food and taking back the empty ones. He tips out the pink contents from his little vial on the way. He comes and goes, wordless as ever. After the incident, what does he see when he looks at me? Does he still see the scared little boy I had been when I first came to live at the Tower of Lost Children? Does he see me as the violent monster the rumor mill depicts? Or am I something in between, perhaps a mixture of the two?
Darkness falls, and the night has begun. Another serving of soup (this time a beefy stew), another helping of bread slices, another lonely dinner. Eight down, twenty-two to go.
“Psst,” the sound comes, sending my heart into a frenzy. Atop the wall, as with the night before, is Kym. Donned in her thick coat, she hops down from her perch and effortlessly lands a few feet in front of me.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” I tell her. “I heard you last night.”
“What can I say?” she shrugs as she approaches. “I’m getting better at being quiet and sneaky.”
A strap runs across her front from shoulder to catty-cornered hip. Reaching behind herself, she reveals a knapsack. She takes a seat next to me and digs in. Rifling through its contents, she first pulls out a pale blue book and hands it to me with smiling eyes.
“The Riveting Tales of Sir Goodwyn Braithe of Tart-tangle,” I read the spine. My own smile shines. “How did you know?”
“I notice things,” she answers, a charm to her vagueness. “Like your interest in heroic stories.”
“Thank you,” I say, wrapping my arms around her in a warm hug. She returns it, eager and welcoming.
“You’ll probably finish that by tomorrow night, I’m guessing,” she says as we part. Going back to her knapsack, she reveals another book. She holds it in her lap, opening to a dog-eared page. “I’ll bring you something new whenever you finish. That way you’ll have something to do during the day.”
Kym smiles, bright and eager. I can’t help but mirror it. Such a sweet girl, such a good friend. I would do anything for her, if the situation with Wassim was not proof enough. And her showing up two nights in a row leads me to believe she would do the same for me. The fire is nothing compared to the warmth she gives.
The two of us lean into one another as we read by the fire. When the yawning returns, this time infecting Kym first, we put down our books and return to our snuggling position. We wish each other good night, and soon set sail for Slumberland. In the morning, Kym has disappeared once again, but knowing she will return come nightfall fills me with a happy excitement.
Tyler Gohde 
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