Frost Like Night (6 page)

It took another slice of the chakram to get the soldiers to hand over the keys, and with the horn still crying over them, Jesse fumbled to unlock the wagon. The doors flew open.

But when light from the torches flickered inside, it revealed only walls stained the same wine color as the outside, and a few pillows and quilts on the floor.

Jesse whirled, grabbed the nearest soldier, and slammed him against the floor of the empty wagon.
“Where is she?”
he bellowed.

“Yakim!” the soldier cried. “A Yakimian paid us for her. Paid us to take the wagon back so Queen Raelyn wouldn't know—”

Jesse's mouth fell slack. “Yakim?” He looked to the wall of trees that formed the southern edge of the palace complex, as if he could see that kingdom from here.

“What?” Mather swung forward. “Why would Yakim take her?”

The soldier waved his hands again. “I swear it! They took her!”

When Jesse turned around, Mather expected him to be livid. These men were either lying or had sold Ceridwen to Yakim for no reason he could fathom—but Jesse's face was light, almost smiling, and he released the soldier to grab Mather's arm.

“I think I know where they would have taken her.”

The soldier, still on the floor of the wagon, shot upright. “I can't let you—”

But Jesse spun, his fist slamming into the soldier's jaw. The man's head snapped backward, the jarring pop of his skull on the wood floor sending him into unconsciousness.

Jesse turned to the other soldier and chucked him inside the wagon. He relieved the man of his weapon—a bow and a quiver of arrows—before slamming the doors and throwing the lock. The wagon rocked, the one conscious soldier's shouts muffled by the wood.

Jesse looked back at Mather as he fastened the quiver to his back. “Yakim is an ally of Summer. In trade, at least—perhaps they heard of the takeover and sought to intercede.”

“But intercede for which side?”

Jesse's fingers hung loose around the bow. The hope in his eyes guttered with doubt. “The river. Yakim is a short boat ride from here, and there's one dock reserved specifically for the queen's use. They're there.” He paused. “They have to be.”

“All right.” Mather didn't need further explanation. This was Jesse's mission, and the sooner they completed it, the sooner Mather could listen to the tension in his muscles that compelled him to get to Paisly.

But Jesse blew out a steady breath. “No. You've done enough. Your queen needs you.”

Though he felt a rush of relief at that release of duty, Mather didn't move. “Are you sure?”

Jesse nodded. “Yes. I'll see you at the camp.” He flashed a smile. “Thank you.”

He sprinted toward the southern wall of trees, vanishing into the shadows. Mather watched him go, waiting for shouts of alarm from any soldiers who might have
been waiting, but none came.

He turned to Phil. “Now we—”

Every muscle in Mather's body sprang to readiness and he lifted Meira's chakram.

Phil, body rigid, stood with a blade making a threatening indentation across his neck. The hand that gripped the blade belonged to Theron.

All sensation drained out of Mather as soldiers rushed around them, filing out of the servants' entrance. But he didn't really see any of them, too consumed by the malice radiating from the new Cordellan king.

For once, Mather was grateful that Meira was far away from all of this.

The soldiers formed a ring, closing him alongside the wagon while more men worked to free their comrades imprisoned within. And when something moved on Mather's right, realization rushed back to him, letting him feel every stupid thing he'd done.

They'd been caught. They were surrounded. And it wouldn't be the dungeon for them this time, not with the madness in Theron's eyes—and especially not with the cloying smile Angra threw at him.

Angra stopped, studying Mather first, then Phil. Theron kept the blade to Phil's throat as if there was still a chance Mather might fight back, but they all knew who had won.

“Just the two of you?” Angra noted, one brow lifting.

Mather ground his jaw and lowered Meira's chakram. “You expected more?”

Angra's other brow lifted to match the first. He shook his head and a spark lit the air. As soldiers moved forward, Mather realized what it was.

Angra's magic. He'd sent a command to his men much as normal Royal Conduits sent commands to soldiers during battle—but Mather could feel this too. He imagined it snaking around each person in the area, diving into those who had already given themselves over to Angra—and coiling across Mather's skin when the magic recognized someone it had not yet possessed.

It slithered over his body, sending up images of power, strength, and unbreakable resolve. The magic whispered to him, a soft caress he fought to scrub off—fought more the urge to soak it in. If this was how Angra swayed people to his side, Mather almost couldn't blame them for surrendering.

Two of Angra's soldiers grabbed Mather and kicked him to his knees while the other two rid him of weapons. Meira's chakram—
damn it, damn it
—the Ventrallan knife, and—

“Now this is a surprise.” Angra took Cordell's conduit from the soldier who found it. He glanced at Theron. “Yours, I believe.”

Theron released Phil, shoving him to the ground. He took the conduit from Angra, the purple jewel on the hilt hazy in his palm. Mather, still held like a man bowing to
his king, twitched in defiance when Theron bent to his level.

“I think this will be far more useful in your hands. I no longer have need of it.” Theron pressed the tip of the blade to Mather's cheek, though not forcefully enough to break skin.

Mather jerked again, but the soldiers kept him pinned. Theron's threat didn't make sense—he'd let Mather keep the conduit, the
dagger
?

Theron twisted the blade. Blood trickled in a warm bead down Mather's face, and he imagined it draining the hatred out of him, releasing it to pool at Theron's feet.

A smile, and Theron pulled the blade away to lean still closer, angling his mouth to Mather's ear.

“And 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 snapped his head into Theron's temple. The Cordellan king bellowed, but when he regained himself, he made to lunge again, the conduit's blade raised high.

Angra interceded with a touch on his arm. “That's enough. We can use him.”

Mather snarled. Theron looked just as infuriated, but he pulled back, watching Angra.

“That was my mistake last time,” Angra told Theron,
but the pitch of his voice made it clear that his words were meant to be as much a dagger in Mather's flesh as Theron's conduit. “I let weak rulers live even though I had the key to power greater than anything they could fathom. This time, I will strike until only those are left who will bring about a new, awakened world. And these boys will help me force the Winter queen to pick a side—especially him.”

Mather panted. “There's nothing you can do that will make me help you.”

Angra, still facing Theron, smiled. Then he looked down at Mather.

“And what makes you think I was talking about you?”

Understanding shattered what restraint Mather had left.

His eyes moved to Phil.

“No,” Mather wheezed, then a shout, “Don't touch him!”

Phil's face broke. He scrambled back, trying to stand, but Angra's men descended on him first.

Mather wrenched against the soldiers, managing to get onto one foot so he propelled forward. But the men tackled him flat on the ground, and the wagon's wheels were all he could see, his arms bent against his spine.

He couldn't do anything when Phil started screaming.

THE QUEEN OF
Yakim had bought them from Raelyn's men.

The Ventrallan soldiers left them in a rush, and though Giselle had given her and Lekan a way out of Raelyn's clutches, the Yakimian queen never did anything without a calculated reason. As Ceridwen planted herself on the darkening street in Rintiero's south quarter, she folded her arms and glared at Giselle, who silently mounted her horse and arranged her heavy wool skirts around the saddle.

A distant yet powerful wail echoed down the street. Panic flared in Ceridwen's muscles. A warning siren? A call to arms?

She was intimately familiar with the everyday sounds of Rintiero, music and laughter and happy conversation so different from Juli's raucous bellowing. The siren called her attention to the way the noises of the city sounded
suddenly . . . different. It was night, yes, but even at the latest hours, songs played from the music guild. The only things she could hear now were distant shouting, metal rattling—the noises of war.

A cold wave washed from her head to her toes.

Raelyn's coup had spread. Was finding Meira and stopping Angra even feasible anymore? She needed to get to the palace. Now.

Lekan, mounted with one of Giselle's soldiers, pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. He understood. Whatever Giselle had in store, he could handle, and he was far safer with Yakim's uncertainty than Raelyn's guaranteed torture. Ceridwen could leave him here and—

A cold hand grasped her shoulder—Giselle, leaning down from her saddle. “Do not do anything foolish, Princess. Likely they're dead already.”

She snarled. “Then I will obliterate Raelyn.”

Giselle rolled her eyes skyward before kicking her horse. “Are you not exhausted by all this passion?”

Before Ceridwen could respond, Yakimian soldiers moved in. A few quick jerks, and they had her arms knotted in front of her, a rope tugging her wrists high where it connected to one soldier's saddle. Lekan snapped forward, but the soldier on his horse simply butted his wounded knee with the hilt of a sword, which made Lekan cry out.

“GISELLE!” Ceridwen's roar echoed off the buildings.
“The moment you untie me, I'll kill you!”

A few horses up, Giselle shook her head. “You are quite the terrible negotiator.”

“And you are quite the terrible ally. For decades you sell to Summer, and
this
is how it ends—with you taking me prisoner? I knew Yakim was selfish, but I didn't think you were heartless.”

That made Giselle yank her horse to a stop. After a moment, her party started on again, but Giselle drifted back until her horse kept step beside Ceridwen's fumbled mix of walking and being dragged.

“We are not heartless—we are practical.” Giselle's back was rigid beneath the burnished, double-bladed ax that sat against her spine—Yakim's conduit. “And we are one of the few kingdoms, might I add, not currently involved in this war. Winter is here, Summer, Ventralli, Cordell—Spring. Autumn has been invaded, or so I heard, and Paisly has never bothered to be more than mountain rats. Being practical is what will keep my people alive. Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same for your kingdom, had you the foresight to protect it.”

“I protect my people!”

“You had no idea this takeover would happen until it unfolded before your eyes.”

“At least I'm still fighting it. What are you doing? Running away to barricade yourself in Putnam?” Ceridwen
flinched. “How did you even know about any of this?”

Giselle tipped her head. “It took you far too long to ask that.”

“Because I knew you wouldn't tell me.”

“Won't I?” Giselle pulled her attention to the street. A hint of mildew tinged the air—they were drawing close to the Langstone River. “He came to Yakim. After your visit a few days ago.” When Ceridwen didn't ask who, Giselle pressed on. “Angra. He came with a proposition to unite Primoria—but unlike the rest of the world, I realized what he truly offered. And it was not freedom, as he professed.”

Ceridwen risked a glance up. Night had fully embraced them by this time, but she could still make out Giselle watching her with that maddeningly studious gaze Yakimians did so well.

“He left once I told him I would consider it, as is the nature of my people. To think and ponder and live in a world of ideas—which is the exact reason I cannot allow him to spread his magic.”

Ceridwen's jaw went slack.

“I have seen the product of his rule. The entire world has.” Giselle's grip on her reins tightened. “Spring festered for centuries—stagnant even by Season standards. And he wishes to spread the same to my kingdom? He honestly expected me to embrace something that would change my people from learned members of this world to mindless, possessed shells. I will not let my people's minds be marred by
him
.”

Giselle smiled as if she were an adult speaking to a child. “Which is where you come in.”

Ceridwen balked. “What? How?”

Giselle's smile softened. “When I asked who else was involved in his plans, he rattled off an impressive list, with even more impressive plans to choke the rest of the world into submission—except for Winter. ‘That kingdom will burn,' he said. The only reason a man would destroy something like that is if he finds it a threat. They've been at war so long, Winter must know things about Angra that he fears. And the Winter queen calls you an ally.”

“Yes. But—”

“And you have an army at your disposal.” Giselle waved her hand before Ceridwen could say no, Simon had been killed, and Raelyn or Angra would no doubt seize Summer's assets. “No, child—
your
army. The one you think hidden from everyone else.”

Ceridwen's face pinched before she tripped, slammed into Giselle's horse, and launched around so she swung as far from Giselle as she could get.

Her refugees. Her freedom fighters. Giselle knew about them?

“If you touched them—” Ceridwen spit.

Giselle stopped her with another flick of her wrist. Ceridwen wanted so badly to cut off that hand. “I care not for your survivors, but of course I know of them. Did you believe I had been selling people to your kingdom for
money
all these years? No, Princess, I sought a far greater prize—Summer itself.”

Ceridwen blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“The people Summer bought from Yakim. Some were peasants, useless enough—but most were not so useless at all.” Giselle's eyebrow arched high. “Soldiers, Princess. Spies, if you will, sent to build an army within your own walls. I hadn't planned the invasion to happen for a few more years, but recent events have forced me to reevaluate Yakim's priorities.”

Sweat pooled along Ceridwen's spine.

“You were . . .” Her mind sputtered. “You sent your people to be tortured! Why would you think they would still be loyal to you after that? Children, Giselle. You sold my brother
children
so you could conquer Summer?”

Giselle clucked her tongue. “I did not tell you this so you could question me. I told you this because you have three hundred of my soldiers in your camp, and I want you to use them.”

“Three
hundred
?”

Ceridwen couldn't see Giselle's face anymore. She couldn't see the street, or the shadows of night, or Rintiero at all—the only thing she could see was her refugee camp. The hundreds of freed slaves who lived on the border of the Southern Eldridge Forest in safety and anonymity—or so she had thought.

Ceridwen's blood caught fire.

Giselle fished for something in one of her gown's pockets and turned to Ceridwen, hand extended. “My royal seal, so you can convince them that I gave the order to fight for you.”

The seal dropped from Giselle's palm and Ceridwen caught it. A small ring with an indentation on top, metal that curved into the outline of an ax.

Ceridwen glared down at it. She almost snapped at the Yakimian queen, almost shouted what she would really do with this information. She would use the help to stop Angra, yes—but she wouldn't let a moment pass after his fall before she swayed every Yakimian slave to her side. She would tell the innocents what their queen had done to them, and she would rally them against the callous bitch who had sought to use them. Conduits and magic be damned—everywhere she turned, it seemed, she met corrupt people misusing the power she would have given anything to have.

“You're sick,” Ceridwen hissed. She tugged on the rope, drawing Giselle's attention to it. “If you did this to help, why am I your prisoner?”

They turned a corner and the docks stretched before them, long wooden fingers reaching into the blue-gray water of the Langstone River. Boats bobbed along the docks, small vessels beside large, mighty ones with sails coiled shut against the night wind and flags rippling over masts. One boat, sails unfurled, stood at the end of a short dock. Soldiers dashed across the deck and Ceridwen's eyes
cut to the flag atop. An ax on a dark background.

“If I set you free now, you'll rush back in a futile attempt to save Ventralli, and I don't care about Ventralli,” Giselle said. “You will be escorted to your camp to prepare for battle. I expect the Winter queen's own people are fast at work helping her escape as well—but even if she does not survive this night, I expect you to be an ally of Yakim. I'd accompany you myself, but I have a feeling Angra will try to worm his way into my kingdom, so I must leave.”

“You'll have to kill me if you want to get me out of Ventralli,” Ceridwen growled. “I'm not leaving anyone here to be slaughtered.”

Giselle looked down at her. “You're far too useful alive.
Conscious
, though—”

Ceridwen ducked on a hot burst of instinct. As she dropped, the soldier who had crept up behind her swung forward, the hilt of his sword swinging where her head had been.

Lekan shouted, but his soldier didn't merely strike him this time—he dug his fingers into Lekan's wound, eliciting shrieks that spiraled through Ceridwen's ears.

“Stop!” she cried.

The soldier who held Lekan sat two horses ahead, unreachable. But if the attacking soldier swung, missed her, she could use the distraction to wrestle the sword out of his hands and arm herself.

Ceridwen angled, fists to her chest, legs splayed as she
held her place. The soldier swung again, hilt of his sword arching toward her, the blade flailing behind, and she counted out beats until the last possible moment—

Thwack.

The soldier grunted, his body spasming as an arrow sank into his shoulder. The blade dropped from his grip, clattering to the street, and it hadn't fully settled against the cobblestones before Ceridwen swiped it up, holding it in her two bound hands, and whirled toward Giselle.

“Let him go,” Ceridwen demanded, her eyes flicking for a beat to Lekan. He was barely conscious now, but the soldier had stopped torturing him.

Most would feel panic that their prisoner had armed herself and someone had just shot one of their men, but Giselle looked only curious as she analyzed the street behind Ceridwen.

“I'd listen to her, Giselle,” came a voice. “I thought I'd lost her twice today. That kind of stress does things to a man.”

Ceridwen sobbed and bit her lips together before more could follow.

Jesse.

She couldn't bring herself to turn to see him, afraid she might be hallucinating, afraid if she looked away from Giselle she would lose her one small advantage. So Ceridwen stood there until Jesse stepped into her peripheral vision, a loaded bow stretched across him, one of his fingers
anchoring by the corner of his mouth.

He
had shot the soldier? And actually hit him?

That
that
was her thought made her want to laugh. But now she noticed the way he shook, the vibrations that trembled down the shaft of his arrow. Flame and heat, had he even been aiming for the soldier? Jesse was entirely useless when it came to weaponry.

Luckily, Giselle didn't know that.

“You escaped,” Giselle noted.

Jesse pulled the bowstring tighter, this one aimed at the soldier holding Lekan. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Giselle laughed. “Disappointed? Certainly not. This makes things far easier.”

She waved at Lekan's soldier, who deftly thrust Lekan off the horse.

Ceridwen sprang forward and looped Lekan's arm around her shoulder to help him up. He wobbled against her, his body cold with sweat, and she pressed him as close as she could, hoping some of her heat would flow into him. He had fallen in the center of Giselle's men, and Ceridwen struggled to keep him standing with one arm while holding the blade in her other. Jesse waited just outside the ring of soldiers.

“You will still use my boat. It will get you to the camp far more quickly,” Giselle said.

Ceridwen snarled. “You can take your boat and shove it up your—”

“Camp?” Jesse lowered his bow slightly. “You were taking her to the refugee camp?”

Giselle nodded. “Now that you're here, she won't be tempted to run off to pursue less productive goals.” Another curved eyebrow. “Unless someone else remains in the palace whom you feel the need to retrieve? Because the world is dissolving, King Jesse, and I have no qualms showing you the same force.” Giselle bowed her head toward Lekan and Ceridwen.

Jesse shook his head. “No. We have no reason to return.” He paused. “For now.”

Giselle bobbed her head. “Excellent. Shall we?”

She pressed on to the dock, leaving a few of her men to make sure no one useful to her tried to scamper off into Rintiero. Ceridwen would have spared a few more scowls for her if not for Jesse, on this road,
here
.

The darkness of night and the appearance of storm clouds made it difficult for her to grasp his image, so she could almost dismiss him as a dream. His hair swung untamed and the sleeves of his black shirt were rolled to his elbows, showing the way his forearms clenched the bow.