He rose, pulling me to my feet. “The Ice Maw runs for miles in either direction,” he said, nodding at the chasm behind us, “until it meets the Wyrmtooth Mountains in the north and the Broken Glass Sea in the south. The Hunter won’t find a way across for a long time. Besides,” he added, narrowing his eyes, “this is my realm. I doubt he’ll attack us here.”

“Do not be too sure of that, Prince,” said Grimalkin, popping into view on what was left of the shattered bridge. “The Hunter is older than you—much older. He does not care whose realm he is in when tracking his prey. If he is after you, you will see him again.”

I sneezed, causing the cat to pin his ears. Ash took my elbow and drew me away from the chasm, positioning himself so that he blocked the wind howling up from the gap. “We’ll worry about that if he ever gets across,” the prince stated calmly as I hugged myself to conserve heat. “But night is coming, and so is the cold. We have to get Meghan inside.”

“Before she turns into an icicle? I suppose.” Grimalkin hopped off the shattered post, landing lightly in the snow. “The only shelter I know of is old Liaden’s place in the frozen wood. Surely you are not taking the girl there?” He blinked under Ash’s steady gaze. “You are. Well, this will be interesting. Follow me, then.” He trotted away, making light paw prints in the snow, a fuzzy cloud gliding over the whiteness.

“Who’s Liaden?” I asked Ash.

An icy gale howled up from the chasm before he could answer, slicing into me and tossing drifts of snow into the air. “Later,” Ash said brusquely, giving me a slight push. “Follow Grimalkin. Go.”

We trailed the paw prints into the woods. Icicles hung from frozen trees, some longer than my arms and as sharp as a spear. Every so often one would snap off and plummet to the ground with the tinkle of breaking glass. The cold here was a living thing, clawing at my exposed skin, stabbing my lungs when I breathed. I was soon shivering violently, teeth chattering, thinking longingly of sweaters and hot baths and burrowing under a thick feather quilt until spring.

The woods grew darker, the trees closer together, and the temperature dropped even more. By now I was losing feeling in my fingers and toes, the cold making me sluggish. I felt as if icy hands were grabbing my feet, dragging me down, urging me to curl up in a ball and hibernate until it was warm again.