The moment he left her arms, the cold rushed in. The pain was sharp and sudden, and his limbs went sluggish. She’d been using her sick magic to keep him warm. He reached for her in the dark. “Drüsje?” he called, ashamed of the fear in his voice. It was the Fjerdan word for witch, but he had no name for her. “Drüskelle!” she shouted, and then he felt his fingers brush against hers in the black water.
