Frost Like Night (17 page)

IT ISN'T UNTIL
we leave Juli that the full weight of what happened settles over me.

Ceridwen's group stashed their horses in an abandoned barn south of the city. Now there are five riderless mounts, providing transport for the Thaw and me, who partner up to take them because we don't have our own. Mather eases up onto the saddle behind me and settles in, his arms loose around my waist. No one mentions how the former riders of these horses were left behind, bodies now at Angra's disposal. But I see Ceridwen stare at the horses as we ride out, her eyes tear glazed in the shadows.

As grim as a funeral procession, we head east, to the only Season that Angra hasn't had a chance to infiltrate yet: Autumn.

Angra was counting on us being in Juli. If he laid a trap
for us there, did he know we'd try to go to Autumn too?

I swallow the question. It doesn't matter. I'll do what needs to be done.

I will find a way to get those keys without having to kill Theron.

One afternoon later, the sun casts light over a long swath of something on the horizon—trees. And not Summer's dead, spindly trees, but plump ones bursting with red and yellow leaves. Beneath them lies crisp green grass and tangled brown undergrowth—such a welcome array of colors that I actually whimper.

As our horses burst into the Autumn forest, the air sweeps over me in a rush of coolness that, compared to Summer, feels like getting plunged into an ice bath.

Ceridwen pulls her horse to a stop in a small clearing.

I nod into the forest. “We should find water,” I say. “Replenish our supplies before—”

But Ceridwen isn't looking at me. Her eyes narrow into slits looking over my shoulder, a frown wrinkling her brow before she pulls a dagger from her belt.

That's all the explanation we need—Mather draws a sword, the Thaw arm themselves, Sir and Henn and Ceridwen's remaining Summerians spin in their saddles, trying to find the source of the attack.

But it isn't an attack—at least, not immediately.

I guide my horse to face what Ceridwen sees, Mather pressing his body flat against my back, his sword held before me in defense. I'd thought all my adrenaline had been sucked dry by Summer's heat, but fresh energy surges, my muscles coiling for a fight.

A man moves out from the trees. He's Autumnian, his dark eyes wide against the smooth brown of his skin, his night-black hair tied away from his face in a frizzy knot. His armor is the heavy leather plating and his weapons the simple mix of wood and metal that Autumn is so known for—nature in its purest, deadliest forms. More warriors follow his lead, materializing from the trees around us, some on horseback, others, like the man, on foot.

He looks at me and flexes his hand against the hilt of a spear. “Queen Meira?”

I keep my jaw clamped shut. My horse paws at the grass under the tension.

If the Autumnians are on Angra's side, anything I say could feed back to him.

Sir pushes forward in my stead. “What do you want?”

“A darkness has fallen over Primoria,” the man says. “My king wishes to know if it has affected the Winterian queen.”

Sir's expression doesn't change, but I feel my own face flash with confusion.

“Your king?” Sir presses, just as I would have.

I stare at the side of his head. Sir, acting as my general.
This is how we're supposed to be, and it feels familiar—yet uncomfortable even so.

The warrior nods. “Caspar Abu Shazi Akbari.”

Relief lets my muscles relax and I sag in my saddle. Mather twitches against me, and when I turn to him, he gives me a look like I've lost what's left of my mind. But Sir relaxes too, and he meets my eyes with a nod.

“Angra's Decay hasn't taken him,” I explain to everyone else. “If it had, he wouldn't recognize Caspar as his king. He'd say Angra.”

“Then why are we surrounded by armed soldiers?” Mather asks.

I turn back to the Autumnian. “We're also free of the Decay. Angra isn't our king either.”

The warrior steps back, letting his spear drop against his shoulder as he puts his hands up in surrender. The others sheathe their weapons.

“We had to make sure you could be trusted. King Caspar has tasked us with watching the border. We received word to look out for you, but that you had gone to Juli—such a trip, so close to Angra, could have resulted in your being poisoned with his magic.”

That grabs me. “You knew we were coming? How?”

The warrior smiles. “Caspar received word of you from several hundred refugees.”

“What?” I ask. “Are they all right? Where are they?”

The warrior smiles again. “My king will be able to answer
those questions. He wishes to speak to you immediately.” He bows his head. “If you please, Queen Meira, I'll take you to the Autumn court.”

As we head into Autumn, the warrior explains that the Cordellans stationed in Oktuber turned on the Akbaris shortly after they received word of Theron's betrayal. The court managed to escape and regroup with half of their forces in the southern part of the kingdom, nestled against the Klaryns' foothills, stretching our trip to a day and half.

When I finally push my horse around one last aspen tree and catch a whiff of campfire smoke on the air, I sigh in relief. A few paces later, a group of Autumnian warriors stands on a narrow path, spears in their hands, swords at their waists, leather armor covering their chests and hanging in pleated skirts to their knees. They turn, alert.

“More refugees?” one of the warriors on guard calls. He motions to his right. “They've started a camp off in the—”

He pauses, his eyes catching on me again. My chakram, my locket.

He stiffens. “Queen Meira.”

I smile, the last of my worry vanishing.

They've opened their kingdom to our refugees, who are no doubt still trickling in just as we are, creating a tight pocket of people who oppose Angra, tucked away in Autumn's forest. Even Sir's stoic face ripples slightly, and
I catch him studying me, a slight tilt to his mouth. In that moment I can almost see our past in his face—the last time we were in Autumn was years ago, when we were scraping by in our nomadic existence to hide from Angra. Now we're here, riding into Autumn as welcome allies.

Lifetimes have changed in what feels like heartbeats.

I tip my head at Sir and he straightens, pressing forward without a word.

The full bulk of Autumn's camp begins as a few orange and brown tents that camouflage into the earthy tones of the forest. The longer we ride, the more frequent the tents grow until blocks appear, carefully arranged streets, tents pressed into market areas and barracks and narrow houses. We see more people too, warriors mostly, men and women sharpening weapons or standing guard or eating at short tables along the road.

We slow to a stop just outside a large ruby-red tent. I slide off my horse, my eyes on the elaborate designs stitched into the fabric, leaves fluttering off trees and bonfires raging.

As the warrior who led us here approaches the tent, noises swarm out.

“Shazi, wait—”

A crash, the squeal of a child.

I laugh. At least this war hasn't dampened the Autumnian princess's spirits.

The tent flaps part, held by tiny fists.

“MEE-WAH!” Shazi screams, and I can't tell if she's
pleased or in dire pain. She launches at me and hooks her arms around my waist. I can only clutch her and laugh again.

Nikoletta flies out of the tent as if prepared to sprint after her daughter for what could have been the tenth time today. The moment she sees me, her brown eyes light up, drifting to Mather, Ceridwen, Sir, and the beaten group around us.

Shazi pulls back. “Mama! Mee-wah!”

Nikoletta stumbles forward. She says nothing at first, simply folds her arms around me, pressing me into the purple velvet of her outfit, the cozy aroma of wood fire lifting up off her.

“We heard terrible things,” she whispers. “My brother . . . and Theron . . . and they said you'd gone to Juli. . . .”

Her voice fades, and I can't help but think she's embracing me now because she needs it, not simply because she's glad I'm alive. I hug her back.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper, and I hate how many times I've had to say that.

Nikoletta pulls away. Tears rim her eyes, and as more people exit the tent behind her, her features stand out. Gold hair and pale skin against the darkness of Autumn, marking her even more as Cordellan, as Noam's sister, as the aunt of Angra's latest puppet.

She lifts Shazi, who clutches the ring that hangs from the chain around her neck.

“Stwong, Mee-wah!” Shazi cheers. “Stwong!”

I smile. “Strong, Shazi.”

She gurgles deep in her throat and buries her face in Nikoletta's shoulder.

Caspar emerges from courtiers and stops beside his wife, his eyes filled with a severity that sends a tremor through me.

“Your warrior told me you haven't sided with Angra,” I start, and I feel my group move closer as I ask the one question that has been spinning around my mind since we entered Autumn. “But what are you planning?”

Caspar inclines his head. “Now that you're here,” he says, “we're planning to beat him.”

Checking for approaching enemies and throwing up a barrier has become instinctual now, and after sweeping the perimeter of the camp, I'm able to focus on the meeting awaiting me.

The main room of the tent is a large rectangle, lined with clusters of fabric and piles of pillows and dusty rugs unrolled over the floor. Incense releases rivulets of smoke that swirl around the ceiling. The air is cool, letting me breathe easy.

I hold that breath, reveling in it. We have allies; we're tucked away in one of the few kingdoms that Angra hasn't yet completely overtaken. We even know where the keys are, for the next step in this war.

We might just be all right.

Mather and Hollis stand in the corner; the rest of their group was sent away to assist our refugees. Apparently the Thaw designated themselves something of my own personal guard, taking up shifts watching me—and when Mather smiles at me from where he talks with Hollis, I find I don't mind.

Both Mather and Hollis shift when one of the tent's flaps rustles and Sir ducks inside. Mather instantly spins toward him, and I don't realize until I see his eagerness that I'm reacting the same way.

“No problems getting here,” Sir says. “The refugees split into three groups. The farthest one has not yet arrived—should be a few days.”

I swallow. The memory of Ceridwen's pain is vibrant: how she never had the chance to repair her relationship with Simon.

We should do our best to make sure none of us falls apart,
I said.

I rub at my chest absently, lips pinched together.

“We can go after them,” Mather offers. “Escort them safely in.”

Sir nods. “I was going to suggest the same thing.” His attention flicks to me, hesitation clear on his face. “If my queen wishes it.”

I almost laugh. This is how we've been acting? Has it always sounded so absurd?

I smile at Sir. A real, normal smile, like the old me. “Of course. Who should go?”

Sir's face doesn't reveal anything he might be thinking. “You and I will be needed for whatever decisions must be made. I was thinking of sending Henn, along with—”

“We could go,” Hollis offers. “A few of the Thaw, at least—if it's of importance to our queen, we should be involved.”

Sir considers, then nods. Spots of pink stain Mather's cheeks, a rise of pride as he squares his shoulders.

“I'll send them out as soon as we're done here,” Mather says.

As if on cue, the flaps part again and Caspar and Nikoletta file in. Moments later, we're joined by Ceridwen and Jesse, Dendera, Henn—representatives of four kingdoms; leaders of the armies of two. And a half. If our few hundred Winterian, Yakimian, and Summerian soldiers can even be counted as an army.

Caspar surveys the room, eyes moving from Mather to Sir, Dendera to Henn, like he can see each of their strengths and weaknesses written in vibrant ink across their foreheads. When he gets to me, I stiffen my spine to keep from withering.

“What was the last you heard of Angra's conquests?” he asks, straight to the point.

“In addition to Spring, he now has Ventralli, Summer,
Winter, and Cordell.” I separate my emotions from my words, talking low and hard. Because I don't stop there—I've already gone too long without telling everyone the truth behind our war.

I explain what Angra is now, a host for the Royal Conduit's magic as well as the Decay, and how that magic will spread out from Angra and infect every living soul in Primoria until everyone is a slave to fear and their darkest desires. How I am a host for Winter's magic too; how Winter and Cordell discovered the entrance to the magic chasm. Nikoletta seems shocked to learn that we actually found the entrance, but Caspar doesn't even flinch, either because he doesn't care or because he already suspected it. I tell them about the keys we need to open it, about the labyrinth of three tasks built by Paislians.

And then I take a deep breath.

“Once I get through the labyrinth and reach the magic chasm, I can defeat Angra,” I say. “But doing so won't just rid Angra of the Decay—it will rid the world of all magic.”

Caspar is the first to understand, and he blinks slowly at me.

“We have to destroy all magic?” he asks. “Why? Couldn't we simply kill Angra?”

I shrug halfheartedly. “I would be the only person who could even get close enough to do that—but it wouldn't be guaranteed that the Decay would end with his death, and how many lives would be lost in the attempt? This way,
though, is definite. It
will
end his reign.”

“How is this definite?” Caspar asks. He isn't defensive; his tone is simply curious, though the expression on Nikoletta's face is more like horror.