Frost Like Night by Sara Raasch
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
“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.
17
Meira
I SPLIT MY concentration among filling the Thaw with just enough magic to combat the nausea of travel, placing us close enough to Preben Palace but not so close that we catch Angra’s attention, and keeping a shield around my mind so Angra can’t feel me coming. But he could have the entire city in a barrier of some kind, waiting for me to break through—especially if he’s already caught Ceridwen and Sir. He’d know I’d come for them, and he’d be waiting for me.
If he knows I’m coming, though, no amount of preparation will help.
The amount of magic I have to use to do everything I need saps my energy before I’ve even gotten us to Juli. The tributaries that branch off from the Feni sparkle in the fading sun, adding light against the endless orange and gold of Juli’s sandstone buildings, and as I deposit everyone in an alley on the outermost ring of Juli, I fling another wave of iciness back at myself—strength, energy, keeping myself alert through the strain that makes me want to crumple in the dust.
The Thaw stumbles as we land, each of them gaping with awe and terror. Except for Mather and Phil, who clutch their stomachs and sigh in relief at the absence of vomiting.
“What now?” Mather asks, preventing the Thaw from lingering on anything but the task at hand: saving our friends. And getting the keys from Angra.
I shake my head at myself. Saving everyone is my first priority—if we can get the keys too, then we will, but not before everyone else is safe.
I step forward to peek out of the alley. Last time I was in Juli, parties raged up and down every street, wine and music and gyrating bodies oozing from the buildings.
Now evening approaches, but already the streets around us are almost empty. Shutters bang idly against windows; unattended flames simmer in the fire pits that line the street. Across from our alley, one lone wanderer flings himself into an inn and slams the door as if evil might follow; the building next to it shows only the faces of women and men pressed to the windows, watching the street with eyes that scream fear. They look so like the people I saw in Abril, long ago—hiding from the world, hoping the problem of fixing it will fall on someone else’s shoulders.
If I had wondered before what Angra wants, the sight before me now would confirm it. He has taken the joyous, chaotic, beautiful riot of Summer and stamped it out until it resembles his controlled, fearful Abril.
I turn back to the Thaw, hands balled at my sides. “We need to get to the palace—that’s where Angra will be, so that’s our best chance of finding Ceridwen or anyone with her. And maybe, if we get close enough, I can use my magic to sense where Sir is.”
“We’re just going to traipse through Juli?” Trace’s brows pinch over his nose and he tugs at his shaggy white hair. “We don’t exactly blend in.”
My eyes drop to the ground as I think—and the answer presents itself.
Summer’s orange sand sticks everywhere—to the walls of buildings, the clothing of travelers. It coated everything we’d had when we passed through a sandstorm on our first visit to Juli—maybe it can serve as camouflage now.
I bend and start scrubbing the particles into my arms, my cheeks, my hair, and the Thaw follows my lead. Soon our Winterian features are covered, and by readjusting a few of our wraps and scarves, we might just go unnoticed. The empty streets work even more to our favor—if we hunch over and scurry from shadow to shadow, we could actually make it.
I take a deep breath in and lead everyone out into the nearly deserted streets.
Mather sidles up beside me, everyone else falling into line behind us. “What are we going to do if they’ve already been caught?” he whispers, his voice low against the eerie stillness around us. Wind whistles between buildings, causing Phil to hurry closer to us.
“Get them out,” I reply, as if that’s enough.
“Once Angra has been defeated, they’d be freed that way,” Mather returns. “You know William would tell us to finish the war before saving him.”
I glance over my shoulder, taking stock of the Thaw. “I don’t think he— Oh, really?”
Mather turns to see what catches my attention. Phil, Hollis, Feige, Kiefer, and Eli crowd behind us, but back a few paces, Trace stands near the building with the faces pressed to the window. The front door is open, a girl leaning out, the drooping orange fabric of her shirt pushing recognition through me. That place is one of Summer’s brothels.
And Trace is leaning against the doorframe, chatting with her as if we aren’t trying to infiltrate an enemy city.
In panic, I fling a burst of magic at him, protecting him even more from Angra’s Decay. I’ve been protecting all of the Thaw, though, haven’t I? I refocus on keeping them safe, just in case, a cold funnel of magic pushing out of my chest and into them.
Trace doesn’t react to
He jolts and looks at us, his eyes jerking from Mather to me. He chokes, realizing what we think, and waves his apologies to the girl as he jogs up the road toward us.
“I didn’t—I mean, she was pretty, but—I figured she could help us,” he says. “Tell us where Angra is, that sort of thing.”
Mather frowns. “Did she?”
“Seems there’s a gathering up at the palace tonight.” Trace grins. “An announcement or something—guess Angra’s been making such announcements every few nights. The first night, he presented the Summerian people with his magic, hence all the . . .” Trace waves at the desolate city. “The second night, the advisers, or whoever has been in charge of Summer since the king died, gave control of the kingdom to him. Tonight’s supposed to be another one.”
“Angra’s held three separate gatherings since he’s been here?” I squint. “It seems a little . . . excessive.”
“Maybe.” Mather tips his head. “Or maybe it’s taken him that long to secure his power?”
“So it isn’t a trap?” I press. “He hasn’t been staging these gatherings to draw us out?”
Mather smiles in a way that’s more a wince. “That’s a given. Everything he does is probably, in some way, meant to squash his enemies.”
I grunt but push past my worry—we know it’s a trap. We knew from the beginning that this whole mission would be dangerous. Nothing’s changed.
But it seems like every time I find out information that appears not to change anything, it does just the opposite.
The palace grounds echo the fear and apprehension that choke the city. Servants flit in and out of the gates, preparing for whatever gathering will be held tonight, which makes their panic easy to slip into, and we hide in a shadowed overhang by the stables. We stand in a tight group, the Thaw pressed in around me, and I reach out to my magic, the constant coldness reminding me that I’m keeping a shield around my Winterians and myself—Angra won’t be able to sense us, and his Decay won’t be able to infect us.
But we’re here, on the grounds, and I’ll have to risk using more magic now.