Frost Like Night (12 page)

But I don't care. It's all a part of me, every horrific, squirming shadow—it's all
me
, and I will not hide from it anymore.
I do not deserve to be crippled by it
; I do not deserve to harbor this guilt, because yes, I messed up, but I learned from every mistake.

That was how I blocked Hannah. I outgrew her, because I am all of this. I am mistakes and victories and death and life. I am competent and powerful and
strong
, and whatever this war brings my way—even death—I will face it like the queen I am.

I shout at Rares.
I DON'T CARE.

My magic beats with each breath, but I don't fear losing control. I
am
my magic, and it is me, and it will obey me as much as snow and ice.

I flick my wrist and a blade snaps into my hand from the storage bin, glinting as rain bounces off it. Oana's serenity drops into an amused glower and she rises to her feet.

When I fling my body at Oana, sword slashing, I let my body move, years of Sir's training rising from my memory; I let my magic flow, years of stifling it broken.

Oana pulls down small crackling bolts that dance between us as I stab at her, forcing her back. I'm too close to her for
another large lightning strike, unless she wants to be fried herself. As I dance around each bolt, her smile widens, true effort showing in the way her eyes tighten and her breath comes in gasps.

She backs into the storage bins and teeters off-balance for one beat, two—then her hands go up. Not a call for another lightning bolt.

Surrender.

Because my blade is pressed to her throat.

Oana smiles, and in that smile, I feel what I did.

I didn't lose control of my magic. I didn't need to fuel myself with anger or negativity. I let everything happen, trusting in myself—and I won.

My arms fall limp and the sword thumps into the mud. At that moment the sky responds. The rain abates, the thunder stills, and all threat of lightning disappears as the clouds roll back on themselves in a ripple of blinding blue sky.

A slow, heavy applause starts off to my left, and I turn. Every muscle aches, stiffness spiraling through me in pain I'll feel for days. But it was worth it. Every bruise and cut—I'd take them a hundred times over to feel how I feel right now. And it didn't come through seeking gratification from Sir or Hannah or even Rares.

I
made me whole.
I
am enough for me.

I face Rares on the stairs in front of the castle's main
door, my grin relentless. Mather and Phil stand next to him, Phil looking completely horrified yet amazed, and Mather . . .

Awed, stunned, bewildered—there is no word to describe how he looks at me. His eyes dart over me, from my soaked hair to my mud-stained robe, absorbing me in jerky motions as if he can't catch all of me at once. When he meets my gaze, his shock ebbs away in favor of a look I've never seen on him. One I always dreamed of seeing.

He's looking at me now like he loves me, and he doesn't care who sees.

Mather hobbles down the steps, his movements still a little delayed. As he starts toward me across the yard, my eyes catch on something in his hands.

I jog to meet him halfway, a new disbelief rushing through me.

“This was given to Phil,” he says, lifting my chakram. “It was meant to be another threat, I think. But I'm not even sure you need a weapon anymore—that was amazing.”

I reach out, fingers hesitating over the worn wood handle curling through the circular blade. With this much power, I don't need anything—and I could let that consume me.

But I want to need things, and people, and that choice feels far more powerful somehow. Choosing something regardless of what it can do for me. Regardless of who it can make me.

Choosing it because
I
want it.

I take the chakram, my eyes on Mather. “I'm not me without it, am I?”

A smile flips across his face before he shakes his head. “You're perfect the way you are.”

And it thrills me to the Klaryns and back that I couldn't agree more.

DESPITE THEIR INTERACTION
the night of their arrival at the Summerian refugee camp, Ceridwen had found dozens of things to keep her distracted from Jesse. The largest of which was the one she had expected—and feared—the most: the news that Angra had seized Summer.

It had taken all of Ceridwen's not considerable store of patience to keep from screaming at the messenger who had shown up explaining that Angra was setting up a strong presence in her kingdom—mainly because she knew how receptive Summer would be to his magic. Every upper-class Summerian was so used to a constant influx of magic that Angra's would be no different—until their eternal joy was traded for the mindless terror and compliance Angra had unleashed in Rintiero.

But this gave her an advantage. Blindfolded, she could find any building in Juli. And if Angra was there, it would
be easy—no,
enjoyable
—to sneak in with a small contingent of soldiers and end his reign of terror.

So that was exactly what they'd do: sneak into Juli and assassinate Angra.

They all knew—some had even seen firsthand—how Angra's magic spread. It didn't matter what kingdom anyone was from—it could affect people without limitation. But Ceridwen had been in Rintiero, and had left unscathed; Jesse and Lekan had done the same. So it was possible to resist Angra's magic. And of anyone in the world, Ceridwen's Summerian refugees had the most experience resisting magic. They had trained themselves to break free of Simon's stifling joy.

It was mad, to be sure, but possible—as long as they could use every tool at their disposal.

“What are you going to say to them?” Lekan asked, dust kicking up under their feet as they walked toward the Yakimian quarter of the camp.

Ceridwen's fingers tightened around the seal in her palm. She hadn't been able to bring herself to reveal it to the Yakimians when she'd confronted them; she wasn't Giselle's lackey, and any good that came from this would be her doing. But it was all she could think of to convince them to fight with her now.

“They're Yakimians. I'm sure standing against Angra will speak to their rational side as much as it did Giselle's.”

Lekan grunted. “But will they agree that their first move
against him should be to help you reclaim Summer?”

“No—of course they won't. They're Rhythms. They'll laugh in my face, and I'll probably end up punching one of them.”

The three hundred Yakimian soldiers had only revealed themselves once Ceridwen had stood on a platform and shouted Giselle's plan at her entire camp. As she had expected, not every Yakimian was aware of their queen's intent, so before an uprising could occur, the soldiers had stepped forward and spent the past two days trying to make their countrymen understand. This was an issue among the Yakimians, so Ceridwen had allowed them that time.

She came to a dead stop. The intensity of the plains' sun beat down, but the heat didn't have its usual comforting effect on her. Burn it all, what
would
she say to them now?

“Then you shouldn't present it like that,” came a voice that did even less to comfort her.

Ceridwen spun around to find Jesse on the road behind them.

“Shouldn't you be with your children?” She squinted to hide her surprise.

Jesse's smile might have been hurt, but most of his face was covered with a mask crafted from burlap, the best he could do to hang on to Ventrallan tradition here. “They're asleep, and well watched over by the Winterians who brought them here,” he said. “Which is why I thought I would join you. I heard you're off to confront the Yakimian soldiers? A
Rhythm monarch's presence could be useful to—”

“I can handle a few angry Rhythms,” Ceridwen snapped.

“Handle them, yes. But convince them to fight for you?” Jesse pursed his lips. “I'm merely offering my presence as support. Nothing more. I won't say a word.”

Lekan cleared his throat and didn't exactly whisper, “Having him there isn't a bad idea.”

Jesse tipped his head. “Thank you, Lekan.”

And that seemed to be all the permission he needed. Jesse walked around them, heading down the road toward their Yakimian meeting.

Ceridwen swung on Lekan when Jesse was out of earshot.
“Isn't a bad idea?”

But Lekan didn't look the least bit apologetic. “We don't have time for your stubbornness. Who knows how long Angra will even be in Juli? This plan has to go into action
now
, and we need them on our side, Cerie. You know that.”

“I'm sure they'll see our logic,” Ceridwen countered as they continued walking, Jesse still a few good paces ahead. “Assassinating Angra will end all this.”

Lekan gave her an exasperated look. “You expect a
Yakimian
to see Season logic? You're more stubborn than I thought.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He cut his eyes toward Jesse's back, then raised his brows. When she shrugged in confusion, Lekan snorted. “You were willing to risk winning over the necessary support all
because you don't want to have to deal with Jesse yet.”

Her lips parted in an instinctual hiss. But Jesse didn't so much as turn to look back at them, and only the many people who clogged the area saved her from yelling at Lekan. Refugees moving about their day, scurrying to one of the market tents or carrying buckets for chores.

Ceridwen kept her voice low. “You want to talk about this
now
?”

Lekan angled closer to her. “Would you rather we talk about it while his children are around? Or Kaleo—I know he has opinions on your relationship too, but since this is the first time you and I have been alone since we got back, yes, I figured we should talk about this now. Because like it or not, Cerie, I love you, and I've watched you suffer far too long to let this go unaddressed. What exactly have you planned to do about Jesse?”

“Just because I wanted to handle this meeting without him doesn't mean I'm avoiding him,” she spit. “My stubbornness has never been an issue before. I run this camp—”

“Kaleo runs this camp,” Lekan cut in. “You won't get out of talking about Jesse this easily.”

Ceridwen quickened her pace before he could dive back into that subject. Now Jesse did glance over his shoulder. She swallowed, then dropped back a beat, sweat breaking out across her spine.

After a moment, Lekan caught up with her, his gaze shooting across the tents around them. They were
drastically different than the ones in the Summerian section of camp—heavier, perfectly defined angles with square frames. The Yakimian area.

“I just want you to be happy,” Lekan whispered.

Ceridwen's grip on the seal was so tight that her arm all but went numb. “I know.”

Lekan fell silent, waiting, perhaps, for her to open up to him, but what could she say?

I haven't really spoken with Jesse since the night we arrived.

I want a life with him. But I've taken no action toward that, because I'm afraid that his strength isn't permanent. That this will all get taken away from me again.

I've trusted weak men before.

That wasn't a fair comparison. Simon had never even been aware of how he “betrayed” her—he'd simply lived his life, ruining their kingdom, while she waited in the shadows for him to realize his folly.

But Jesse had realized his.

He looked back at her again, as if her thoughts spiced the air around them. One small smile, and he turned a corner, leading them on.

No—she didn't have room for such weaknesses. That was part of the reason she had been endlessly glad when Jesse's children had shown up with their Winterian escorts, a distraction that had taken all his time. She had her own distractions—planning their attack on Angra; Meira's fate to hope for; and she had spread word for the
leaders of the Yakimian soldiers to meet them outside of camp.

She, Lekan, and Jesse emerged from the Yakimian area into the thigh-high golden stalks of the prairie. She almost expected to find it as empty as always—why would the soldiers listen to her?

So when she stopped on the border of the prairie and the handful of Yakimians waiting there turned with looks of hatred, she almost laughed. They had come—but come to murder her, it looked like. If they were surprised to see the deposed Rhythm king, they didn't show it.

One soldier stepped forward. “We've spent the past two days cleaning up a mess
you
made. You owe us an explanation.”

Oh, yes, murder was what they'd come for. A few had weapons on their belts, their hands taut around the hilts of swords. But under each of their left eyes a brand sat, their flesh burned into the grotesque
S
that proclaimed what they were. Summer's property.

Ceridwen frowned. “The mess I made? Wasn't it your queen who sold you into slavery in the first place?”

The lead man's expression darkened. “Do not pretend to understand why a
Rhythm
queen would—”

Ceridwen lifted the seal to silence him. “I know the reason Giselle did what she did. She was the one who revealed your existence to me. She gave me her seal as confirmation
of her new order—that you are to serve under me as we fight Angra.”

The soldier narrowed his eyes. No retort yet.

“We don't have the numbers to stage an outright battle,” she continued, and motioned to Lekan. “But my leaders and I have begun altering the tactics we used to rescue slave caravans. We're planning a small, direct attack while Angra is in Juli—”

The soldier laughed. “Juli? You expect us to risk our lives to reclaim Summer—for whom, exactly? Your brother is dead. Our queen revealed her plan to you, so you must know of her intentions, and if you expect us to retake Summer for
you
, a Season royal—and one of the wrong gender, at that—you're sadly mistaken.”

Jesse stayed quiet beside her, true to his word, but she felt him tense, and she couldn't help but glance over at him. She wasn't used to him in these situations—it had always been Raelyn or his mother who had overseen similar meetings in the past. But now he stood here, arms crossed, eyes spitting daggers in her defense.

Was she dreaming?

The Yakimian soldiers grunted in agreement with their leader, a few fists thrown in the air.

“Steady, Cerie,” Lekan murmured on her other side.

Ceridwen bit down on her tongue. Lekan was right—screaming at these men would do nothing. They were
Yakimian; they would respond to reason and logic.
Calm
reason and logic.

Flame and heat, that went against everything her Summerian blood begged her to do.

“The Spring king has risen up as a threat not only to Winter this time—he threatens the world,” she started, her tone surprisingly level. “He has already taken Ventralli and Cordell, not to mention Winter and Summer. Summer is the closest and newest of his acquisitions, and the one that gives us the best chance of taking him down. My fighters know that kingdom better than Angra does. With your help, we can defeat Angra while he is there and, ultimately, keep him from adding Yakim to the list of kingdoms he's subdued.”

The soldier took two quick steps forward and snatched the seal from Ceridwen's hand. He looked at it for a moment and then turned to his men. “The seal is Yakim's,” he announced, as if Ceridwen might have forged it. He swung back to her. “And we will defeat Angra—but not for you. This war will only be won if those skilled in warfare lead. You will let my men and me take charge, and when Angra is killed, it will be done by Yakim's hand.”

Ceridwen's calmness slipped away, a raging current sucking a boat downstream. “Absolutely not. My fighters and I are the ones who know Juli best, and I have far more experience in warfare than you.”

“And how was anything you did warfare?” the soldier
returned. “The only thing you did was the usual Season barbarism. You know nothing of strategy or else you would have realized my queen's plot long ago. Now the threat facing us comes from
another Season
, and you expect me to let you lead the fight? That is the definition of pointless.”

Not even Lekan's stern hiss could stop her. She lunged at the man, a hand's width from his face, so incensed she thought smoke should be billowing out of her mouth.

“You will not conquer Summer. I promise you, Giselle's plan will fail. I will never yield to that Rhythm bitch.”

The soldier reared back, fist wound, and would've blackened her eye—

If not for the hand that stopped him, grabbing the soldier's wrist.

“You will not raise your hand to her.”

The confrontation with the Yakimians had drawn attention. Heads poked out of tents, people lingered on the streets that led from the perimeter. But Jesse ignored them, his assertiveness making Ceridwen's mouth drop open.

Not a single speck of doubt emanated from anywhere in his posture. Even his mask did nothing to lessen the intensity of his glare.

He released the man. “I have seen the evil that started this war,” Jesse told the soldier. “I watched Angra tear Ventralli apart. I know what it will take to defeat him—it will take leaders like Ceridwen, who have proven their resilience against oppression. She will stop at nothing to make the
world a safe place for
everyone
, and someone like that is exactly who you want leading us. This war will not care if we are Rhythm or Season. It will affect us all, and so we must face it with a mind to save and protect equally.”

Jesse shifted to Ceridwen and smiled at her.

“The world is changing.” Jesse still spoke to the soldier, but his eyes remained on hers. “We cannot deal with problems as we have in the past, or we will always end up where we started.”

The soldier shook his head. “Never thought I'd see the day when a Rhythm king would defend a Season royal.”