Frost Like Night (14 page)

Mather nods and swings his hand toward the horizon. “Lead on, my queen.”

I squint. “Don't you dare.”

“Don't I dare what?”

“Keep calling me that.”

“What else should I call you, my queen?” Mather's voice lightens.

Phil stands, adjusting his travel pack. His horror seems to have retreated, at least as he eyes Mather. “I can think of a few things you want to call her,” he mutters.

Even in the dark, the blush that creeps over Mather's face is the most adorable thing I've ever seen. And this is the first bit of levity Phil's shown since he appeared in Paisly.

Mather bumps Phil's shoulder as he passes, trudging through the grass.

“Come on,” he says. “We should cover as much ground as we can tonight.”

I grin, nearly bursting with how good it feels. “As you wish, Lord Mather.”

That makes him roll his eyes, but he smiles, slow and small, and keeps marching to the left. Phil starts after him, and I fall in behind.

We spend two days walking, foraging for resources, and sleeping. We split into shifts to keep watch, one of us always alert for approaching enemies or lights on the horizon, signaling a camp.

Back in Paisly, for however brief a time, it didn't feel like the world was falling apart. Rares told me what Angra was doing, but I could still remove myself from it—here, though, each step I take draws me closer to war. Who knows what Ceridwen endured under Raelyn? I still don't know the state of Winter. And Theron . . . Angra has him.

Why would Angra ally with him at all, though? Cordell does have one of the most powerful armies in Primoria. But Angra wouldn't need Theron for that—the Decay's influence could sway anyone. Keeping Theron alive is a far bigger threat to Angra, because yet another person remains who is connected to pure conduit magic—the only way he can be defeated.

I haven't asked Mather what happened to Theron's conduit. Last I knew, Mather had taken it after Theron tossed it away in Rintiero's dungeon, but I doubt very much Angra let him keep it once they were captured again.

But that still poses the question—why would Angra want Theron at all? Angra loves having puppets to carry out commands for him—Herod was proof of that, Raelyn too. Is he planning to use Theron that same way?

My heart sinks. There's only one thing I can think of that Angra might need Theron for: me.

Theron knows things that could weaken me. Theron
himself
could weaken me, just by being who he is—someone I care about, possessed by the one thing I hate above all else.

And Angra knows that.

I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. Grass tangles around my boots, the sun beats down on me, but of all the emotions I could feel now—discomfort; fatigue; racking, consuming, fiery guilt—I only let myself wallow in one: acceptance.

This war will force me to confront Theron. I'll have to face whatever Angra made him into—someone just as cruel as Herod, just as dark as Angra. And I'll have to be ready.

Phil makes an
oof
as I bump into him. But he looks ahead, gaze fixed on the horizon.

Ahead of us, tucked around a bend in the line of trees, stand hundreds of tents in yellow, brown, and earthy green
to camouflage against the plains and forest. Tendrils of smoke lift from campfires, movement shifts within, and the hum of voices hangs light on the air.

Mather spins to us. “That looks like a camp, right?” But he's already walking backward toward it, relief chasing off his discomfort at the plains' sweltering heat.

Phil throws his fist into the air. “Civilization! Well, sort of.” He rushes forward, legs pumping over the grass.

Mather keeps walking steadily backward. My eyes roam past him to the camp, but I can't seem to make myself move.

“We're here,” I say, throat dry. I grip the straps of my chakram's holster.

Suddenly
We're here
sounds more like a threat than the relieved statement it should be.

Mather steps toward me, his hand out.

War may loom, but I'm not alone.

I put my hand in his and let him lead me on.

All noises cease the moment we enter the camp. Conversation and laughter snuff out like candle flames guttering in a windstorm; pots clang idly over campfires as their users gape in shock.

I pull my shoulders straighter as I walk between Phil and Mather down one of the many makeshift roads, the grass worn by foot traffic in patchy stretches. People stare as we pass, mostly Summerians with their flame-red hair
and tanned skin, but also Yakimians, even a few citizens of Spring. A hodgepodge of blond hair, brown hair, dark skin, light skin—but one common feature links most: the
S
brand of charred skin below every left eye.

We only make it past a few tents when the voices kick back up.

“Is that . . .”

“She's wearing the locket—look!”

“It's the Winter queen!”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying with all my remaining strength not to wither under their assessments. I have no idea what these people think of me. What rumors have they heard? That I'm the girl who freed her kingdom only to have the same attacker come roaring back into the world? The girl who betrayed her only ally by seeking other allegiances behind his back? The girl who let these people's own savior, Ceridwen, become imprisoned?

My hand tightens around Mather's, drawing strength from the way he and Phil stay beside me.

More reactions come, echoing out from people as we pass. I stiffen, expecting the worst, but the people around us throw their hands in the air, shouting praise.

“Down with Angra!” they cry, and even more strongly, “We are Winter!”

That phrase hooks into my heart. These people have no reason to rejoice at my presence—their own problems have never intersected with mine. But that phrase—
We are
Winter
—only two people I know could have taught them that.

I tear ahead of Phil and Mather, hurtling into the camp. My heartbeat tramples my lungs, more people catching the cheer—
“The Winter queen is here! Down with Angra! We are Winter!”
—until those shouts are all I hear.

I spin around one more tent, sweat slicking down my back.

In the middle of the road, sprinting toward me, is Nessa. Behind her, Conall follows at a slower clip.

A beaming grin overtakes my face.

Nessa sees me and pushes faster just as I do, both of us racing until we collide in a tangle of arms and laughter and questions.

“How did you get here?”

“How long have you been at camp?”

“Where have you been?”

“Are you all right?”

I pull back and survey her for any injuries. She's fine—not even a bruise or a healing cut. Conall looks the same, and I tuck my arms back around Nessa.

“I'm so sorry,” I gasp to her and Conall. “I'm so sorry I left you.”

“You should be,” Nessa snaps, but when I jerk back again, she's laughing. “You better have a good excuse for it.”

I smile. Even her threat sounds delighted to see me. “I do, I promise.”

“Meira!”

Dendera engulfs me, breaking her embrace only to give my shoulders a firm shake. “Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me?
Never again
.”

Her command sobers me. I wish I could promise her that I'll never again leave without warning, but the lie gets stuck in my dusty throat.

“I missed you too” is all I manage.

But she's already moving past it, her eyes shooting to Mather and Phil, who hurry up behind me. Her face brightens and she tucks her hand into mine.

“Follow me,” she says to us.

Nessa takes my other hand, bouncing alongside me as we turn down another grass-trampled road. Around us the cheering has dissipated, but the news still spreads—eyes watch me with interest, people point and call to friends that the Winter queen has arrived. I'm so distracted by the spreading news that I don't immediately realize who surrounds me.

Winterians. Dozens of them, holding bowls or food or buckets, but all turn toward me, staring with just as much wonder as I stare at them with.

“They're here.” I tug at Dendera's hand.
“How?”

“Henn heard about the camp while we were in Summer,” Dendera explains. “He thought it would make a good safe spot for those who escaped the takeover.”

“How many escaped?” I dare to ask. “Where is Henn? And—”

Did Sir not make it out? What about Finn and Greer and Deborah?

Dendera squeezes my shoulder. “William made it out. Finn and Greer—” She closes her eyes in a soft sigh. “They'll be free soon enough. William and Henn left yesterday morning.”

“Left? For where? Are they going back to Jannuari?”

Mather closes in on one side, his expression just as dark as mine feels. My gut starts to throb as Dendera reads our concern and shakes her head.

“Not Jannuari. They'll be fine! You act as though they've never gone on a mission like this before. They went with Ceridwen and a small group of Summerians and Yakimians to Juli—it's Ceridwen's plan to assassinate Angra while he's—”

The noise I make is half a scream and half a sob.

“No,” I say. “Tell me they aren't going to face Angra. Dendera, no—”

She squints, her pride in their mission flaking off the more I shake my head.

Ceridwen, Sir, Henn, and a group of soldiers went to Juli to face Angra. Without any magical protection.

They're all as good as dead.

MATHER LATCHED ONTO
Meira's plan before she'd even spoken. All she did was look up at him, and he knew—they were going to Juli.

They had to do what they could to help William and the rest, who would be walking into a kingdom overtaken by Angra's Decay, possibly even more so than Ventralli by now. Ceridwen's group had more than a day of travel on them and could reach Juli the next night. They could attempt to face Angra and end up possessed by his Decay before they'd even raised their swords.

Meira whirled away from Dendera, her eyes going to the sword at Conall's waist. She pointed at it. “I need weapons,” she told him. “Enough for—”

“Eight people,” Mather cut in. “The Thaw and I will go with you.” He nodded at Phil. “Go find them. They have to be here somewhere.”

“I'll show you!” Nessa offered, and raced away so fast Phil had to scramble to keep up. Conall dispersed as well, ducking into a tent to start gathering weapons.

Meira pressed on. “We'll need medical supplies too—I can't heal any non-Winterians.”

“Horses?”

“No, we'll travel as we did from Paisly.”

Mather grimaced. “Great.”

“Stop!”

The Winterians around them watched as Dendera stood with her hands spread.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, her voice low as she noted their audience. “If you wish to join them—”

Meira's face hardened. “Not join them. Save them.”

Dendera blew out a breath. “What don't they know?”

But Meira shook her head. “No time to explain. Who's in charge of the camp in Ceridwen's absence? Send for whoever it is, now.”

Dendera stood frozen for as long as it took Meira to turn away from her. Then she moved, her years of training as a soldier compelling her to obey orders even as Mather saw the gray hue of terror engulf her face. He knew what she was thinking, one worry pulsing like a brand across her mind—
Henn. He's in danger.

Mather ground his jaw.
William. He'll die too.

He growled at himself and spun after Meira.

Minutes later, Hollis, Feige, Trace, Kiefer, Eli, and even Jesse had gathered in the middle of what had become the Winterian section of the camp. There was little time for a reunion as a pile of supplies was deposited outside one tent. Mather and the Thaw picked through it, suiting up as best they could for battle. Meira knotted a sword's sheath to her belt as Dendera joined them with a man Mather didn't know, a Summerian who had the familiar
S
brand below his left eye.

“This is Kaleo Pikari, leader of the camp,” Dendera introduced him. Her worry had been replaced with resolve, something she held as tightly as Meira gripped the sword she shoved into her belt.

Meira nodded. The way she stood there, head high, shoulders squared, she was every raging stubbornness from their childhood. She was the girl who had never relented in her arguments with William. She was the ferocity that had both terrified and entranced Mather as a child. She was all of that at once, fierce and bold and daring.

She was a queen.

Mather knew he was gaping. But ice above, looking at her was like staring at a snowbank under a midday sun—blinding and mesmerizing.

“I don't mean to come in and question your authority,” she started to Kaleo, eyes softening. “But Ceridwen and her group are unaware of the severity of Angra's threat. All of you are—which is why you must trust me, though I realize
this is a large request: you have to move this camp.”

Mather shouldn't have been surprised. If anyone who knew of this camp's location became possessed by the Decay, they wouldn't hesitate to turn over that information to Angra.

More surprising still, Kaleo nodded. “We're already in the process of breaking down the camp. We were going to move for the same reason I suspect you have—if anyone in Summer who knows of this camp falls into Angra's hands . . .” His voice tapered off and he cleared his throat. “We figured it was safest to relocate.”

“Where?” Meira refitted her chakram's holster over the leather vest she'd taken from the supply pile.

“Summer.” Kaleo smiled sadly. “There are barren places there that not even Angra would dare go. It will be uncomfortable, but not impossible, living in the desert—and hopefully Angra won't think to look in a kingdom he's already overtaken.”

Meira considered, her cheek caught between her teeth.

Kaleo pressed on. “We considered moving to Yakim, for instance, but we didn't want to risk becoming Giselle's prisoners when Angra falls.”

“Angra won't fall so easily,” she whispered. Kaleo's dark face paled enough that Mather recognized it as the same fear Dendera had shown—someone he cared about was in Ceridwen's group. “My soldiers and I will assist Ceridwen in Juli. Your camp should relocate, but I worry that
anywhere in Summer will still be too close to Angra's reach. Anyplace you hide there will be known by
someone
in Juli, won't it?”

“Where do you suggest we go?” Kaleo's voice was clipped.

Meira turned to Dendera. “Did Henn and Sir pass through Autumn on their way here?”

She nodded. “They avoided main roads, so they didn't have much to say about it.”

“Has anyone received word of them? Has Caspar sided with Angra?”

Mather heard the words she didn't say:
Has Angra killed Caspar yet?

Kaleo was the one who answered. “We sent scouts who told us that Cordell turned on Autumn—but the royal family was never accounted for. So while the capital is under Angra's control, the rest of the kingdom is less certain. You want us to go to Autumn?”

Meira tipped her head, as though she was piecing together a plan as she talked. “An uncertain kingdom is better than one that Angra has definitely taken, and no one outside this camp will know any hiding spots there.”

Mather expected Kaleo to show resistance, but clearly he had experience taking orders from young, passionate royals. Nevertheless, Kaleo weighed her words in turn, his lips parted.

“We can split the camp into small groups, able to travel faster, and take different routes through Summer to
stagger our travel.” He scratched his chin, thinking. “We'll make for the foothills—we'll go as far into the Klaryns as possible.”

“How many soldiers do you have here?”

Kaleo sighed, and then he rolled his eyes. “Apparently Ceridwen had a conversation with the Yakimian queen. Giselle has been hiding soldiers among the people she sold to Summer. Seems she was planning to seize control of our kingdom—until Angra beat her to it. She's disgusted by the idea of a magic that infects her people's minds, so Yakim is no ally of Angra's.” Kaleo waved at the camp. “There are three hundred Yakimian soldiers at our disposal, on her offer. Ours to use to defeat Angra.”

Meira's eyebrows launched up. “You're joking.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Kaleo grunted. “But we have them, in addition to the hundred or so Summerian soldiers who stayed behind. Ceridwen only took a dozen with her. Since we'll split the camp into smaller groups, it should make patrolling easier.”

“All right. Dendera, Nessa, Conall?” Meira turned to them. “You'll oversee the Winterians?”

All three nodded and instantly peeled away to help the Winterians around them.

“We'll reconvene with you once we get out of Juli,” Meira told Kaleo.

Kaleo looked like he wanted to protest, maybe push her for more details, but his eyes slid up to the sun, noting the
time. He pressed his lips together.

“Bring them back, Queen Meira” was all he said, and he vanished back into his camp. Jesse followed, offering his assistance, which left Mather, his Thaw, and Meira standing over the unused supplies.

Meira stared down at the pile, her eyes shifting back and forth. Mather stepped forward, close enough to take her hand and give it a protective, reassuring squeeze.

“We'll be in and out so fast, Angra won't even know anyone was there at all,” Mather promised everyone, but mostly the girl whose icy blue eyes latched onto his. “This could be good, actually. Angra will be there. He'll have the keys.”

Meira twitched in his grip as if she'd forgotten the bigger plan—get the keys, get to the chasm, destroy all magic and Angra with it.

“Yes. But—let's just make sure everyone's alive. That's all that matters.”

Were those tears brimming on her lashes?

Meira pulled her hand free. Mather blinked in confusion as she turned to Nessa, who helped a Winterian family nearby pack their supplies. Meira glanced over her shoulder once and her eyes connected with Mather's again. The look that took over her expression—he knew that look like a fist to the gut.

Regret.

There was something she wasn't telling them. Something
that made her body sag as she turned around to talk to Nessa.

Phil stepped up next to him and shifted his pack, the one that made Mather's gut cramp even tighter. Within it lay Cordell's conduit—Mather couldn't yet decide what to do with it. Keep it? Get rid of it? Forget about it? Not that it would do much to help them. In truth, he wanted to destroy the damned thing and Theron's smugness along with it.

“Every time you see it, I want you to think of her with me. I want you to know that when I win this war, I will do so
without
this weak magic. And when this ends, and Meira is mine, there won't have been a damn thing you could have done to stop me.”

Mather's gut lurched. Would Theron be in Juli too? He almost hoped so.

“You all right?” Phil asked.

Mather sniffed away his stony expression. “Yes.” He looked over Phil again, noting the sunken circles under his eyes. “Are you?”

Phil shrugged. “Just not particularly looking forward to seeing Angra.”

A stone nearly bored a hole in Mather's stomach. “He won't catch us again,” he promised. “I swear. We won't be just the two of us this time either—we've got everyone now.”

The Thaw, who had been talking quietly among themselves, turned to them. Trace looked like he might ask what
had happened, while Hollis and Feige stayed silent and patient, Kiefer crossed his arms and wore his usual glower, and Eli looked almost excited to leave.

“So.” Kiefer was the one to talk first, his voice sharp. “We're a group again? You're not going to leave us?”

Mather frowned. “We've always been a group. We've always been
her
group.”

That made Kiefer blink, as if it had never before occurred to him that their purpose was to serve Meira as much as it was to serve Winter.

“But we're still us,” Phil added. “We're still us, first and foremost. The Thaw.”

“And we won't be defeated,” Feige said.

Mather smiled at what had become their group's rallying cry. He looked at Phil, who toed the ground, but when he felt Mather watching him, he cracked a smile that looked a little too forced.

“We won't be defeated,” Phil echoed. “I know, I know.”

Meira stepped up beside Mather, joining their circle. Most of the group shifted at her presence, the unfamiliarity of being around their queen still making them unsteady. But there was determination behind their nerves, and even Kiefer stood with alertness.

Phil was the only one who didn't snap to attention, instead absently studying the grass. Mather nudged him, pinching his brows into an expression of concern.

Phil shook his head. Nodded. Forced a smile again.

Angra's torture was still too fresh. Mather almost told him to stay, but Phil made no move to leave the group, and indeed seemed to stand straighter with them around. He needed to be with them—even if that meant facing Angra again.

“I'll put us as close to Juli as I can,” Meira said. “I don't want to risk getting too close to Angra and having him sense my magic.”

Hollis frowned. “My queen?”

Mather stepped in. “About our journey—it won't actually be a
journey
so much as a . . .”

Phil moaned, his head thrown back. “Kill me. Someone, kill me now.”

“Reassuring, Phil, thanks,” Mather said.

But Phil just extended his groan. “Let's just get this over with.”

Something in his reluctance made Meira's eyes widen, and she looked up at Mather before encompassing each of the Thaw with the same wary look.

“I wish I had time to explain what I'm going to do,” she said. “I know the only magic you've ever been around was Angra's, in Spring, in the camps, and I— This isn't the same. It will hurt, but I promise, I'm not trying to change you, or force anything on you, and I—”

“It's all right, my queen,” said Hollis, and he offered a smile. “We trust you.”

She nodded, but she still looked loath to use her magic.
Even so, she held out her hands, encouraging everyone in the group to form a linked circle. Phil was the last to enter, his hand shaking as he grasped Mather's.

Maybe Meira can give him strength,
Mather thought, but before he could ask her, she tightened her fingers on his. Mather staggered, unable to brace himself as her magic swept over them in a rush of frost and snow and sharp, stinging daggers of ice.