The throne room had become a winter storm.
Ruì Xuě stood in the center of it, his small chest heaving, his hands still raised. Ice crystals spiraled from his palms, spreading across the stone floor, climbing the walls, creeping up the legs of the jaguar guards who had been too slow to run.
He didn't look like a cub anymore.
He looked like domething that had been sleeping in his blood for nine years and had finally woken up.
"Mama," he said. His voice was steady, though his whole body was shaking. "Get up."
Bai Yue didn't need to be told twice.
She scrambled to her feet, dragging Tao Zi with her. Her wrists were raw from the ropes, but the ropes had frozen and snapped when Ruì Xuě's ice swept through the room. Her lip was still bleeding. Her cheek throbbed where Li Hua had hit her.
She didn't care.
"Ruì Xuě," she breathed. "Your father—he's—"
"I know." The cub's purple eyes didn't leave Li Hua's face. "I can feel him. The cold. He's close."
