Ice Like Fire (28 page)

Mather sheathed his dagger, swept his mother’s body into his arms, and ran. The Thaw fell in behind him, all of them equipped with weapons they didn’t entirely know how to use. But they gripped the swords with such lethal determination that Mather pitied any Cordellans who tried to stop them. But stop them from what? Where would they go?

The palace. William was there.

But Meira. Noam had irrevocably turned on Winter—had he opened the magic chasm? Had Meira failed him somehow? Was he here in Jannuari, or had he sought her out?

Was she still alive?

Mather bit back thoughts that threatened to cripple him under the body he carried. No, he couldn’t think yet. Meira had to be alive.

And nothing in Primoria could protect Noam if she wasn’t.

The palace’s front steps flew under Mather’s feet and he jammed his shoulder into the door, sending it banging into the wall. The lateness of the evening meant the main halls were empty, all workers returned to the cottages outside or
to rooms deep in the palace. Seven pairs of feet thundered across the ballroom, up the marble staircase, down empty halls of ivory and silver that wrapped them in the encroaching shadows of night. The hazy grayness gave everything a dreamlike feel, encouraging the idea that this was wrong,
wrong
, and Mather could fix it. . . .

They sprinted down the long walk to William’s office, the cold air of the balcony snapping around them. The door stood ajar and Mather stumbled to a halt paces from it, his arms cramping from how tightly he gripped his mother’s body.

She’s dead, William. Cordell killed her because you wouldn’t listen to me, because you let them stay here, because I didn’t try hard enough to protect Winter.

She’s dead because we’re both weak, William. Because I am your son in every way.

But none of those words came out as he walked into William’s office, because William stood with his back to the door, facing Brennan, who held a sword pointed at him.

“. . . for too long,” Brennan was saying. “But my master no longer has need for this kingdom’s freedom, and he has at last instructed me to take control of what rightfully belongs to Cordell. Congratulations—you are the first Season Kingdom to become a Cordellan colony, with Autumn soon to follow. I’m sure you’ll see it as an honor.”

A growl bubbled in William’s throat. “I’ve heard men talk about their king as you do.
‘My master.’
That is not
Cordell. You don’t serve Noam, do you?”

Brennan clucked his tongue. “Noam has his uses, but we all choose a rising sun over a setting one.”

A rising sun? My master?
Who did Brennan mean? The only men Mather had ever heard talk about their king like that were men who served Angra.

But Brennan had said,
What rightfully belongs to Cordell
. . .

It didn’t matter—all that mattered was the weight in Mather’s arms, the body still warm against his.

“William.”

Mather’s own voice shocked him by how worn it sounded. It scratched against his throat like dry air on a hot day, and when it did William looked over his shoulder, for a moment ignoring Brennan and his still-poised blade.

William’s eyes barely glanced at Mather before they locked on Alysson’s body. Whatever emotion William had been feeling sunk back into his face, the muscles relaxing, his brow drooping.

Mather had seen William react to death before, to their soldiers who stumbled into camp only to die hours later. He had been stoic in their passing, showing his pain through small gestures—putting a hand on their forehead, bowing over their corpse.

But this was how death truly felt, the way William gazed at Alysson’s body like he could force some of his own life into her through sheer need. Like he couldn’t grasp the image of her, one of those fleeting blips of dreams before
dawn. Like he had already planned her murderer’s death, from the first blade drawn to the last moan from the soldier, a quiet, tortured plea.

Mather dropped to his knees, Alysson’s body sliding out of his arms as William turned on Brennan. A knife appeared, the blade pressed between William’s fingers. He ducked, grabbed Brennan’s hand where he held the hilt of his sword, and twisted until Brennan screamed from the pain of his fingers dislocating. As Brennan moved to retaliate, as Mather felt the Thaw behind him draw a collective breath, William swiped his hand against Brennan’s throat.

Brennan staggered back, slammed into the bookcase, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He grabbed at the gash in his neck, and William watched him, standing over the Cordellan captain as the man slid to the floor, blood pulsing between Brennan’s fingers on gagging spasms.

When he slumped against the wall, Mather shuddered with a single thought.

He died too quickly. He should have suffered—ice above, I wanted him to suffer.

William crouched over Alysson’s body, Brennan’s blood tainting his hand red. Mather couldn’t deduce anything from William’s face—he’d see more staring at a wall. Meira had said that about Mather too, a few times. She’d thought it a conscious decision, but it wasn’t, it was just
him
as much as it was William now, and Mather wanted to grab William’s shoulders and shake him until real emotion tumbled out.

“You’ll leave,” William said. Mather blinked at him, the words not processing as William scooped Alysson’s body into his arms and stood. “The queen will probably be in Ventralli by the time you reach it—head to the Feni River. You’ll travel faster by ship—get aboard whatever you can. Do anything you have to, Mather.
Anything
.”

Mather leapt up as William laid Alysson’s body on his desk. Her head bobbled to the side, white hair cascading over her cheek, some of the strands clumped in tangles of blood and dirt. Her eyes sat open, staring unseeing at the study crowded with the Children of the Thaw.

How long ago had Mather stood in this same spot and called his mother a coward? She hadn’t said a damn thing to stop him. Mather clenched his fists, trying frantically to remember everything she
had
said to him. He should’ve written it all down, should’ve branded it on his skin. Should’ve, should’ve,
should’ve.

“I’m sorry,” Mather moaned. That broke him. Not seeing his mother murdered, not the still-sounding horns of Cordell outside, signaling the ensuing takeover.

William spun away and grabbed Mather’s arms, fingers digging like vises into his muscle. “You cannot afford to be weak. You will go to our queen and make sure she is safe.” William shook him as Mather moaned, damn it, he was still so weak. “Do you understand me?”

Mather shoved out of William’s hands. No, this man did not get to pretend he was the strong one. They both knew
who was the strong one, and she was
dead
.

He wanted to say all of that to William. Damn it, his mother had just died, and he wanted William to be a parent now, to pull him into his arms and assure him that they would get through this together.

But they wouldn’t. This was who they were, had always been, and would continue to be.

So Mather turned his sobs into a snarl. “You aren’t allowed to break either. If I sense weakness
—
” Could he do this? Could he threaten William? “I’ll kill you. I swear, William—you already let this takeover happen. You don’t get another chance. I won’t let Winter fall again.”

William turned away without a response and Mather pushed out of the study. The twang of a blade being drawn filled the air behind him—William arming himself.

The Thaw followed Mather silently, and he exhaled thanks that they didn’t try to talk to him. This horrified them too, he knew—their freedom had been so short-lived. But Mather pressed on, weaving into the dark streets, avoiding soldiers as chaos unfolded. Here Cordellans had to fight to subdue Winterians—there Winterians raised their hands in surrender. Here Cordellans barked threats—there Winterians fell to their knees and shouted compliance.

It made Mather sick, how many of them bowed without a fight. But he couldn’t stop an entire army with only seven warriors. Their small number made sneaking out of Jannuari easier, but that was all they could do. They needed Meira.

He needed Meira.

“You’ve fought for Winter so spectacularly, and I am more proud than I have ever been to call you my son. But don’t forget to fight for yourself as well—there is no shame in that.”

Mather may not have remembered everything Alysson had said to him, but he remembered the last thing. He pulled those words like armor around him along with the promise he had made William—he would not let Winter fall again.

Meira

CERIDWEN CROSSES HER
legs where she sits next to the coil of tubes in my room, the barest waves of heat licking off into her skin. Being in a room full of Winterians was “like being dunked into a bucket of ice water,” she’d said, and after so long watching me pace back and forth and spewing nonsensical explanations, I figure she needs some comfort.

“So wait.” She bobs her finger through the air as if pointing at all the information I laid bare. “When your mother’s locket broke, you became the conduit. I understand that, I think. But these keys we’ve been finding are
also
conduits? And they’re interfering with your magic somehow?”

“Not interfering.” I lean against one of the posts that holds the canopy over my bed. “More like interacting. The Order made them as tests to help the finder with . . . something. My heart has to be ready, but I can’t figure out what
the things I saw are supposed to make me ready to do. Or what any of it has to do with the magic chasm.”

“Are you sure the keys were made by the Order?” Conall now, cradling the splint that cups his injured arm. “You said Angra might be Spring’s conduit, as you are Winter’s. What if all this is him? He was in the first visions you saw. This could be a trick.”

“There’s been no word of him anywhere, though,” Henn counters.

Garrigan shrugs, his shoulders grinding against the chair he squeezed into alongside Nessa. “It
has
been more than three months since his fall. If he’s alive, why wait so long? It doesn’t make sense. It has to be the Order. Besides, the chasm entrance was hidden until a few weeks ago. How could Angra have set all this up without our knowledge?”

“He did have free rein of your kingdom for sixteen years,” Ceridwen says.

Dendera shakes her head. “He didn’t touch the mines. When we reopened them, they had clearly been unused for more than a decade—filthy and dangerous and unstable. I don’t think this is him.”

I fiddle with my locket as they toss ideas back and forth. They’ve all handled this so much better than I could have hoped, taking in everything I know about Angra and magic and the chasm and Cordell with curious gazes and patient nods.

Well, almost everything.

I only told them I saw Hannah and Duncan in my last dream. I didn’t tell them what Hannah said would happen if I die.

A shudder jerks my hand off my locket and I cross my arms to hide the tremor. I’ll find another way to make my people strong. This world doesn’t need an entire kingdom of conduit-people—I love Winter, but that’s too much power for anyone.

What Hannah said doesn’t matter. I don’t have to die for this. I
won’t.

Henn scratches his chin, pacing in front of where Dendera sits on a bench against the wall. “I agree. I think these keys are our best chance at getting any answers. Once we have the last key, we’ll have more leverage over Cordell to keep the chasm shut.”

“Will that be enough?” Conall leans forward, wincing as he puts pressure on his injured arm. “Noam could forcibly take the keys from us. How will Winter having the keys stop him?”

“We could get the first key from the prince,” Garrigan offers. “Open the chasm. Retrieve enough magic to—”

“No,” I say. “We’ll continue to Ventralli, but we aren’t opening that door. It isn’t a risk we will take—there are other ways to unseat Noam. I can try to gain Giselle’s support, or Ventralli.”

My words seem weak now, and when Ceridwen shifts forward, I feel my fragile surety break even more.

“Hate to rain fire on your ice, but Yakim won’t fight off another Rhythm for you. I’ve been begging Giselle for years to support Summer—to sell us food or supplies instead of people. She refuses.”

“What if I prove useful to her? I’ll give her whatever she wants. Snow, I’ll give her as many mines as she demands.”

“And what happens once she finds out that Cordell already has the magic chasm? She’ll feel tricked, and you’ll have two Rhythms mad at you.”

I groan, pushing out my frustration. I hadn’t had much hope for Yakim after my conversation with Giselle, anyway. “What about Ventralli?”

Ceridwen laughs. “You know who Noam’s wife was, right? She may have died under Noam’s care, but flame and heat, if the Ventrallans don’t love Theron. Ventralli would no sooner go to war against Cordell than Simon would renounce wine.”

“Both Yakim and Ventralli offered to host Winter, though.” I squint even as I talk, recognition flaring back up through me. I realized the folly in our trip before, and now it makes every muscle in my body go slack so I drop onto the bed.

“I responded to their invitations.” I rub my temples, eyes shut. “They invited me as a ploy to test Cordell’s hold on Winter. Cordell responded with a treaty of unification, and I responded by
bringing Cordell with me
. Whatever door they might have opened . . . I not only slammed it shut, I built
a damned Cordellan barrier over it. And now Winter’s only ally is . . .” My eyes go to Ceridwen and she splays her hands.

“Hey, put me in a room with Noam and I’ll end your problem real quick.”

I snort. “Tempting. But that would cause even more problems.”

Dendera stands. “What is our plan, then?”

I look at her, my mind swirling through everything.

No help from Yakim. No help from Ventralli. Paisly is too far removed to offer assistance. I have thin support in Summer, and an even shakier alliance with Autumn—but I don’t think Nikoletta would rise against her brother, no matter how much of an ass he is. Unless he were to seize Autumn outright, but I can’t believe he’d be that stupid.

Which leaves . . .

“The Order,” I tell everyone. “They’re our only chance at finding a way to seal the chasm door, or even get rid of magic altogether. Either one would halt the spread of Cordell’s power and give us better leverage against them—or at the very least, give us a bargaining tool to negotiate Winter’s freedom. We have to search for the final key and the Order, and if they say there is no way to seal the chasm permanently or stop Cordell without magic, I’ll open the door myself. But let’s not plan on that until we know for sure.”

A slow smile creeps over Henn’s face. “A thoughtful
decision, my queen. Where do you think the final key is? Ventralli, of course, but where?”

I bite my lip. “What stands as a symbol of Ventralli? Summer’s was wine, Yakim’s was books. The chasm clue that led to Ventralli is a mask. But the key we found in Yakim was wrapped in a tapestry, which is another symbol of Ventralli’s affinity for the arts.” I meet Henn’s eyes, mind wrapped up in thought. “Maybe . . . their museums? We’ll start there. Their guilds might also be a good place to look, so we can move on to those next.”

Dendera nods. “Good. We have a plan.”

“Yes.” Part of me itches to dive into a battle, to physically hack away at this threat with the chakram now strapped to my back. I’ve cast off all the shields I’ve built around myself—but I can keep some things, choose the beneficial parts and use them to strengthen who I am. I let Ceridwen, Conall, Garrigan, Nessa, Dendera, and Henn in, told them about the issues I’m facing; I will remain calm and careful, but let myself be reckless when I need to be. I will learn from my mistakes.

Unlike Hannah.

Unlike the way she lied to me and had everyone keep that lie for my entire life. Unlike the way she
still
kept things from me—for
three months
she could have told me the rest of her plan. Maybe if she had learned from
her
mistakes, we’d all be better off. Maybe, if she had never told any of those lies to begin with, we’d have been free years ago.

I straighten.
No
. I don’t need to think about her—what she wanted doesn’t matter.
What she wanted doesn’t matter.

“We should sleep,” Garrigan says. “It’s nearly morning.”

“Wait.” My eyes lock on Henn. “Will you return to Winter?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Why, my queen?”

I force the words out faster than my stomach can cramp with remorse. “Because Theron and I—things have changed. We’re no longer as unified in our goals as we once were, and I don’t know if . . . I mean, he wouldn’t be that cruel, but he was our strongest Cordellan ally. Though that didn’t do much for us. But now . . . just check on Winter, please?”

Henn grows solemn and bows his head in a slow nod. “Of course,” he repeats.

Dendera rises to kiss him, quick and soft. He squeezes her shoulder and disappears into the adjoining room to pack for the trip, taking Garrigan and Conall to receive final departing orders.

Ceridwen stands and crosses the room to me. “I’m sorry.”

I rise too, thumbs hooked in the straps of my chakram’s holster. Snow, it feels good, having it back with me, so good that I can pretend I don’t understand Ceridwen. “For what?”

She gives me a look half annoyed, half knowing. “Rhythm boys will break your heart,” she says, but her face tightens with her own regret. “I stand by what I said, though. He
wasn’t a proper lover for you. You’re too good for him.”

Heat instantly surges up my neck and I throw a glance at Dendera and Nessa, the only other people still in the room, but they’re both whispering quietly by the door.

“He wasn’t my
lover
,” I hiss. “Snow above, is that all you Summerians think about?”

“Trust me, when you find the right person, it
will
be all you think about.” Ceridwen grins weakly.

I tip my head, voice low. “I’ve told you my secrets. Will you ever tell me yours?”

She blinks at me but recovers quickly. “That wasn’t part of our deal, Winter queen.”

And she leaves, brushing past Nessa and Dendera without another word. I stare after her, stunned, but shake it off when Nessa comes up to me.

She’s been quiet through everything I said, like she’s piecing it all together in her own way, and as I stand before her, I’m overcome by the prickling certainty that she will be the one to see what none of us have been able to.

Nessa wrings her hands together. “Are you still afraid of it?”

I touch the locket, the shell of what once was. Again my hesitation answers for me.

“I would be too,” Nessa says. “Don’t feel guilty for what you did; I don’t think your magic is as bad as you think it is. After all, it’s done a lot of good. It healed us, it helped save us, it fought off Angra in Abril. I know it doesn’t make
it any less frightening, but—” She pauses and shrugs. “It’s a weapon we have, and we need all the weapons we can get.”

I smile. “You really are too astute for your own good, Lady Kentigern.”

Her cheeks flush and she backs away, skipping out the door, Dendera in tow. I’m left with the gears and knobs and twisting copper pipes of the Yakimian bedroom, the faint rays of the rising sun peeking through the curtains. I don’t know how long we were up talking—hours, half the night, all night. I feel the exhaustion now, and my mind starts to sway and pull, the gentle fog between sleep and waking. The time when thoughts rush through my head, patching together meanings I missed.

Which is why Nessa’s words resonate so strongly in me.

“It’s a weapon we have, and we need all the weapons we can get.”

I was right. Nessa did see the missing piece—the magic has done a lot of good. I’ve pushed it away for so long, feared it for so long, but . . . maybe it can help me, even in its unpredictable state. It’s still magic; it’s still power.

I have to at least try.

My gown pulls taut over my knees as I kneel on the bed. The Lustrate’s key still sits on the quilt, silent and dark, and as I stare at it, everything I know about conduit magic rolls through my mind. How it came into me after Hannah died and Angra broke the locket. How it lay dormant inside of me until I knew it was there, a passive magic founded in choice. And back before that, how Hannah grew
so desperate that she surrendered herself to it so she could learn how to save Winter.

I frown.

She asked the magic how to save Winter. And this magic is about choice—she
chose
to ask about Winter.

A ready heart,
the key-magic had said. Readiness is a type of choice, being prepared and accepting of things to come—is this what it wanted me to see?

Because . . . what if Hannah hadn’t asked how to save Winter? What if she had chosen to ask how to stop Angra, or the war, or how to defeat the Decay? Would she have gotten a different response?

What do I need to be ready to ask?

I lean back into the pillows, my chakram pressing against my spine. The hazy vacancy of sleep ebbs over me, the events of the past few weeks unwinding in this one night of release. But I push past it, reaching out to the magic. A soft, careful touch, the beginnings of a bridge between it and me, and across that bridge I send a single thought.

What is the right question?

My chest grows cold, the magic responding with gentle fingers of ice that spread through my body like growing designs of frost on a window. When it speaks, it’s not like Hannah’s voice, not clear words that ring in my head. It’s like the key-magic, my own emotions, waves of conviction that fill me with knowledge as if it had been there all along. I’m left with a heavy, persistent thought that rocks me into sleep.