Ice Like Fire (11 page)

A figure staggers in, swaying like he’s caught in a gale.

No, no,
no.

Just one glance at Mather, and it’s enough to undo the control I’d built up this night. All I am now is the truth underneath: trembling and aching and frantically terrified. Was it only a few hours ago that I was glad for the way his presence unraveled me?

“What are you doing here?” I growl, but I frown when his bloodshot eyes have trouble locking on me. “Are you
drunk
?”

Mather pinches the skin above his nose and chuckles like he’s shocked he made it. “Wait, wait—” He moves two fingers up to me. It takes me a moment to realize he’s mimicking what he used to do when he snuck up on me as a child, two fingers on my neck in place of a weapon. “You’re dead,” he declares, sure enough. “And I’m allowed to drink.”

I wipe away the nostalgia. “You climbed up my balcony while drunk?”

“I was perfectly steady,” he slurs, and stumbles forward a step, bumping into the foot of my bed. The laughter on his face sloshes away as he remembers something serious, dark. “But why should you worry? I’m just one of your supplicants, humbly basking in your presence.”

“Mather—stop it! Why are you here?”
How long have you been here? What did you see?

A chill rushes through me, and my body feels light and heavy, tied down and floating.

He waves his arm out in a bow. “I’m sorry, my queen. My lady fair. My serene ruler. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you pain. It’s nothing you haven’t done to me, if it’s any comfort.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t—”

“Oh, you
haven’t
?” Mather pitches toward me, a fierce anger dancing with his drunkenness to create this wounded, vicious animal before me. “Philip—Phil—and those Bikendi camp boys, they’re all ignoring their pasts, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I thought I wanted to forget, to just numb it all, but I don’t want that, Meira—I want
you
. And I thought you did too—damn it all, today I thought we . . .” He stops, laughs brokenly. “Ice, I’m an idiot, because I come here, and even after what Theron did, you still want
him
.”

I strangle the moan that eats at my throat, barely keeping myself together as splintering fragments dig deep. “I don’t know what you saw with Theron, but that wasn’t—”

“I messed up,” Mather cuts me off, his face severe. “I know I messed up. I missed my chance, and damn it, Meira, I was fine to sulk off and lick my wounds and
forget
you. But Noam—the magic chasm—all these threats, they should be
my
problems. I hate that they’re yours now, but I can’t take it all back so you’re safe.
I
can’t do anything
, Meira. There’s a reason it’s been three months since we’ve talked, and I need to force myself to see that reason. I’ll still do what I can for Winter, but I can’t live like this. I need you to
know that I’m done. I’m not waiting for you to come back into my life.”

All the pain and surprise of him being here explodes in me, sending shards darting out to every limb. But not shards of sorrow or grief—shards of anger.

He has
no idea
what is going on. And the worst part is—I might have told him, if he hadn’t come here yelling at me, drunk, ripping holes in my already fragile shell of composure.

“I’m sorry you’re miserable,” I snap. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I thought I could talk to you because I
needed
to talk to you, and I didn’t think about it more than that. But that’s what got us into this mess, me not thinking things through, and I should have known better. So don’t—”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean
you
got us into this mess?”

My head hums, body quivering in uncontrollable waves. “No, you don’t get to sneak into
my bedroom
and yell at me and deserve any explanation at all.”

I turn to the door, ready to shout for Garrigan and Conall to yank Mather out of my life. I shouldn’t have talked to him earlier. Despite all he’s undergone, all the things he’s suffered, he’s the only person I know who is still
himself
, who hasn’t let our past change him. He’s the Mather I grew up with, the Mather I fell in love with, and that makes me forget my own masks and want to stop trying so hard to contain myself.

The world blurs, warps, and I’m falling forward, bracing myself on the door.

I can’t be around Mather. I can’t afford to be around anyone who makes me feel like Meira the orphaned soldier-girl—which is why it’s better for me to be around people like Theron and Sir. Who they are makes it easier for me to be queen.

Everything I’d been holding on to so tightly rushes free and I turn back to Mather, searching for his eyes through my haze of tears. He hunches forward like he expects an argument. Why wouldn’t he? We’re always wrong, him in one place and me in another and both of us screaming because we would only work if we went back to how things were.

Things didn’t even work then, though, did they? He was the king and I was a peasant. Now I’m the queen and he’s a lord, but he’s still . . .

Completely, annoyingly, magnificently uncomplicated.

I pinch back a gasp. “I’d choose you if it wouldn’t unravel who I need to be.”

Mather’s body loosens. All the fight drains out of him and he gawks at me, staring for a few beats of complete motionlessness before he jerks his head to the side, the muscles in his face tightening. The hole he’s rending in me deepens as I notice he’s holding back tears, that maybe the smallest part of him wanted me to fight for him and how it should have been. Meira and Mather, no titles or responsibilities.

His chest caves, a breath that deflates him. “I think if we wanted to . . . I think we could have survived being unraveled.”

I gasp, my own tears burning my cheeks.

His alcohol-reddened eyes meet mine long enough that I see the sorrow there, the reality dropping onto him.

“My queen,” he says.

I fumble behind my back for the knob and open the door to the confused faces of Conall and Garrigan, who only grow more confused when Mather walks past me, out into the hall.

He leaves. Just like that. No final good-bye, no last, lingering glance.

Like we never loved each other at all.

Meira

MUFFLED CRIES RESONATE
from a room beyond mine, yanking me out of sleep. Before I can do anything to help, the main door to my room opens and Garrigan slips in. He eyes me but I wave him off.

“Nessa needs you more,” I say, and he eases to the door that connects mine to the one Nessa claimed as her “proper maid’s quarters.” When he opens it just enough to enter, her desperate screams fly out to meet me.

“Shhh, Ness, shh,” Garrigan’s calming voice tries.

I roll onto my side, eyes shut, hands around my head, motionless in the dark. Over Nessa’s continued weeping, Garrigan talks. But it isn’t more reassurances—it’s a song, one that pins me to the mattress.

“Lay your head upon the snow,”
he sings, uncertain at first, but with more confidence as he loses himself in the lyrics.
“Lay sorrow in the ice. For all that once was calm, sweet child, will belong to you
tonight. Lay your heart upon the snow. Lay your tears in the ice. For all
that once was still, sweet child, will belong to you tonight.”

I gasp when silence rushes in. Pure silence—not even a whimper from Nessa. After a few long moments of that delicate peace, the door opens again and I roll upright to face Garrigan.

He stops when he sees me, his body going stiff. “My queen?”

His concern catches me awkwardly before I feel warmth dripping down my cheeks. I’m crying and I don’t know why, lured by Garrigan’s gruff singing.

“Where did you learn that?”

He steps forward, his shoulders slackening a bit. “Deborah found the sheet music in the rubble of the palace and played it one day, and—” He chuckles, a quiet, hushed sound so as not to wake Nessa again. “I remembered it. I think our mother used to sing it.”

An image hits me. Something urged by the remnants of Garrigan’s song on the air; something I see every time I look at him or Conall or Nessa, but can never admit.

Garrigan’s life, how it should have been. Him singing that song to his child, raising a family alongside Conall’s and Nessa’s. And their parents, alive and happy.

“Do you . . .” My question wavers. “Do you regret who this war made you?”

Garrigan’s face flashes with first wonder, then hurt. “No, my queen. Do you?”

“I . . . never mind.” I shake my head. “Good night.”

Garrigan hesitates, but he doesn’t press it. “Good night, my queen. If . . . Nessa has more nightmares, I’ll be just outside.”

I hear the words he doesn’t say:
if you have nightmares, I’ll protect you just the same.

I smile, something true and simple, and he leaves with a bow. I’m left alone in perfect, unbroken stillness, even the magic in my chest blissfully quiet.

Garrigan doesn’t regret who he is now. Sir doesn’t; Dendera doesn’t; Nessa, Conall, Alysson, Theron—they’re all hurt by what happened to us, but none of them seem at all anxious to do anything but move forward. Find the keys, open the chasm, create a new world.

I prod at the magic. It doesn’t flare up at my gentle curiosity, maybe because I’m so exhausted.

Once, this would have been something I’d talk about to Hannah. She would have helped with this—or given me cryptic, maddening advice that I’d only figure out at the precipice of our destruction. But she was still someone I could lean on, someone resilient and strong.

Like Mather.

I ease back onto my bed, curling tight against the darkness.

No. I’m strong enough on my own,
I tell myself.
I’ll find the Order and win allies for Winter—all as Queen Meira. This is me
now. And if I keep trying, someday I won’t have to fight so hard to be queen. It’ll just be a part of me. It won’t hurt.

Someday.

Four days later, the palace is a flurry of departures.

The Autumnians prepare to return to their kingdom while Noam oversees the preparation of a caravan to take his son, myself, and an amalgamation of Cordellan and Winterian escorts around the world. He already sent word to Summer, Yakim, and Ventralli to expect us, still holding strong our guise of meeting the world for Winter’s benefit. He has made no mention of Theron’s new plan, which eases only a small part of my anxiety as I descend the steps that bright morning, dressed in a starchy travel gown of wool and layered skirts. Dendera’s idea.

People pack the area in front of the palace, a mix of workers rebuilding and the departing groups at the end of the yard. Winterians gather too, those who will be staying in my stead—Sir, Alysson, Deborah, Finn, and Greer. Horses and wagons stand before them on the dirt road, the snow cleared into piles as more flakes drop from the clouds. I quicken my steps down the narrow path, my body thrumming with a need to get this journey started.

Theron swings down off his horse when I approach. “I have—”

A cry of delight cracks the air. I glance over my shoulder
in time to see a few Winterian workers grunt in shock as they fall out of the way of an unseen force carving a path from the back of the courtyard to us.

The source of the cry flops out from under one unlucky worker’s legs, moments ahead of a rather flustered maid. The whirlwind doesn’t pause to see who she might be barreling for next. She leaps through the snow, launches herself at me, and once her short arms lock around both of my legs, she gapes up, all brown eyes and flopping green fabric and a large, gummy grin.

“MEE-WAH!” she squeals, and hugs me so enthusiastically it’s a wonder my dress hasn’t ripped off.

I widen my arms, unable to stop the smile that spreads over my face. “Hello, Shazi.”

Theron grins as well. “I think you’ve made a friend.”

“I’m not sure how good of an impression I made when I dragged her and her parents on rather long tours of Jannuari, but she doesn’t seem to hate me too much,” I say, and Shazi squeals deep in her throat.

Her commotion draws the attention of the Autumnian courtiers, and one pulls away from the crowd. Nikoletta drops into a crouch and opens her arms to her daughter, who releases me and jumps at her mother, sending them both toppling into the snow. But Nikoletta giggles just as much, if not more than her daughter.

Nikoletta sobers slightly and pulls to her feet while Shazi stomps on the snow, laughing at her own footprints.
Theron beams down at his cousin, an adoration that mimics the emotion of the Autumnian courtiers, still readying their horses. All these people’s hopes heaped upon this one tiny head, with her infectious grin and the small sauce stain on her dress. Autumn hasn’t had a female heir in two generations, and without a female-blooded conduit, they were almost as badly off as Winter. Shazi won’t be able to use her conduit for at least another ten years, though, until she’s able to understand it and consciously push its power into her kingdom.

She feels me staring and clutches something at her neck. “Meewah,” she declares, and waddles back over, trying to hand whatever is in her fist to me, but the chain holding it around her neck doesn’t let it go far.

I drop to my knees and she plops a ring into my palm, a gold circle holding a pyramid of teardrop jewels and a small diamond. The cluster emits an auburn glow—Autumn’s conduit.

A gasp sticks in my throat the moment it touches my skin. Images swarm at me, patchy things pouring from Shazi’s memory into mine, exactly like what happens when Noam touches me.

Caspar chasing a giggling Shazi around a pale yellow tent. Awakening to the tearful face of Nikoletta as cannon explosions echo in the background, and people scream, urging them to hurry. Caspar kissing Shazi’s head and pulling away with teary eyes, and some small jolt of terror slashing
through her, knowing that if he leaves he might never come back.

I jerk to my feet, the conduit falling from my palm and dropping against Shazi. But she smiles and tightens her fist around the ring. “Stwong, Meewah!”

My eyes flick over Shazi’s face.
Strong.
She wants her conduit to make me strong—she’s probably been told since birth that it will make her strong someday.

I smile at her. “Thank you, Princess Shazi.”

She grins again, satisfied with my response despite the lack of emotion that makes my words dry. Part of me feels like laughing—a toddler is trying to comfort me. Is my panic that obvious, or is Shazi already that observant?

“Thank you for coming,” I tell Nikoletta, because I need to talk past the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry your visit couldn’t be longer.”

Her smile is worn, as if she understands. And since she grew up with Noam for an older brother, she just might.

“We hear that you are heading to Summer.” Nikoletta eyes the crowd before stepping closer to me. “My nephew showed me a most intriguing treaty. It is an ambitious goal, but know that Autumn will help however we can.”

My eyes widen and I snap my head to Theron as his hand drops to the small of my back.

“Autumn signed,” he explains. “Shortly after I did. They are aware of its delicate nature.”

I roll my eyes. I hate having to translate political-speak.

Caspar signed the treaty after Theron did—secretly, no less. Theron tried to show it to me yesterday, but I . . . well. Lying to Theron about what I think of his goals is hurting more and more, and I didn’t want to have to fake added support of it.

But this is only the beginning.

“Yes,” I manage, voice thin. I turn back to Nikoletta. “I . . . hope it will be fruitful.”

Nikoletta nods, considering, before her demeanor softens. “I know how difficult it is to be a young ruler. It gets easier, I promise you that.”

My chest cools a little. I wish I could tell her how grateful I am that she is nothing like her brother, but the ramifications of that are far too obvious. “Thank you,” I tell her again.

They leave shortly after, winding out of Jannuari and back to their kingdom, the first of many departures today. Their absence urges me into motion—I want to leave before I lose my nerve, and as I check the supplies on my horse, a task Dendera chastises is “unbefitting of a queen,” two sleighs roll forward.

I turn and fist a handful of my skirt when I catch Noam analyzing the sleighs, a grimace hardening his face. But he doesn’t argue with their presence; he doesn’t demand that the spoils within be moved to his coffer.

“I can’t believe he’s accepting of this now,” I mutter.

Theron double-checks the straps on his own saddle and
shoots me a sympathetic gaze. “He isn’t—he’s just taking advantage of the situation.”

“How very Cordellan of him.”

Theron winces, but he doesn’t counter me, and I don’t apologize.

Noam strides to us as if on cue, his arms tucked behind his back. “One of my ships will be waiting on the Feni.”

“So kind of you,” I bite, teeth clenched.

Noam cocks his head. “Do not forget what we discussed, Lady Queen. The conditions of your return are nonnegotiable.”

Bring me the keys or Cordell’s charade of caring for Winter is over.

Fury burns from my stomach straight up my throat, but I say nothing. A queen wouldn’t.

Noam pivots away, heading to his own caravan, one bound for Gaos so he can inspect the magic chasm entrance himself. I hope he tries to reach the door. At least once.

I heave myself onto my horse as Sir approaches me.

“Everything will be taken care of, and you’ll be informed of any changes,” he says.

I blink at him. Just orders now, orders and duty and
pride
, that’s all Sir is.

The wind blows at me, swirling snowflakes through my loose white curls. I fight to keep the smile on my face, but the longer Sir stands there, spewing information about my absence, the more I can’t hold on to my resolve. One moment of truth, and I’ll go back to being an obedient
little queen. I’ll be perfect and calm and emotionless—someone Sir will continue to be proud of.

“I understand why you did it,” I whisper, cutting off his explanation of which new mines will be opened while I’m gone. “I understand why you hid everything from me and Mather and why it’s all backward now. But what I don’t understand is why you hated who I used to be so much. Why you knew how badly I needed you to love me, yet you refused to give me that. Did you blame me for everything?” I gasp, the air thin. “Maybe it was my fault. I caused a lot of our problems, I know I did, but I swear to you—I’ll be a better queen.”

Sir’s frown slides off, his face blank, a stone statue come to life. “This is not your fault.”

I wait for him to say more. To tell me he doesn’t hate me, he never did.

“We will await your return most anxiously, my queen,” he says with a bow.

I don’t bother seeing whomever else wishes to bid me farewell. With a flick of my reins, the horse moves forward, winding toward the head of the caravan.

As I ride, someone pulls his horse alongside me. He leans across the space between us and puts his hand on mine, a small gesture that makes me glance at him, at his soft smile and the way his golden hair waves in the snowy air.

“It’s going to be all right,” Theron promises.

“Doubtful.”

He shrugs. “We’re the most capable people I know. We’ll find the keys, and we’ll win against my father, and the world will be at peace.”