Followed by Fros(29)

Sadriel crossed his arms and patted his shoulders. “Too soon dethroned,” he repeated. “But when you are, I’ll be waiting. My palace is far grander than anything mere mortals can devise.”

He faded to nothing. I tried to ignore his words, but they gnawed at me as I crouched by the tray, too heavily clothed to frost the floor. The wine froze in my mouth after one swallow, and I had to peel its frozen petals from my lips. The grains of rice were small enough that I could swallow them with little chewing: little drops of ice washing down my throat. Even through the bite of the cold I tasted the strong spices, and though they made me cough, I didn’t mind.

It tasted so much better than frog.





CHAPTER 12





My storm clouds made dawn seem early. The first serving woman I met in the palace—Aamina—woke me, dressed in several layers and multiple scarves. She had more clothes for me from Kitora, meant to keep me warm, she explained. I thanked her without correcting her.

Outside, my personal troop of soldiers also wore multiple layers. Coats had been unheard of in Zareed before my arrival, at least ones thick enough for a Northland winter. All of the men wore indigo as their top layer, and their peculiar animal helmets were either held under arms or fastened to saddles, their scales and feathers unseen. I noted that the camel prepared for me—the one with the most blankets—was the same beast I had ridden in on. Imad no doubt hoped the animal would not shy from me a second time.

I spied Lo near the head of the animal line, his goat-horned helmet—Imad had mentioned it portrayed a beast called an ibex—nestled in the crook of his elbow. He had shaved his beard, save for the dark hair around his mouth. Besides one other soldier, he was the only one in the group with any facial hair. Most Zareedian men, I noticed, wore their faces clean shaven.

Lo shook snow from his hair and noticed me from the corner of his eye. He pointed to Eyan and directed him to the front of the line before approaching me, his strides heavy as he waded through snow.

He looked especially tall and dark, a shadow, and it took all my willpower not to cower in front of him.

“We will ride in a diamond formation, with you in the center,” he said, and my mouth parted in surprise. He spoke to me in fluent Northlander, his accent crisper even than Imad’s, his voice deeper. “First we will go north, to Kittat, then around the range to Ir and Shi’wanara. Are you prepared to leave?”

I nodded, dumbfounded and shivering.

He said nothing more, only turned from me and jogged to the front of the line, pulling his helmet over his long coils of hair as he went. I bit my lip. I couldn’t imagine surviving a long journey with him at the helm, and I had no idea how far these strange-named cities were.

“Don’t let him frighten you too badly,” Eyan said in Hraric from his camel as he rode up beside me. The scorpion on his helmet watched me from his pommel. “He can be hard, but he’s fair. We’ll be back before you know it.”

I swallowed against my cold throat and approached my camel, my old, tattered schoolbag slung over my shoulder. A serving woman had offered to replace it, but threadbare as the bag was, I couldn’t bear to part with it. The animal shifted uneasily as I approached, but she let me board, and with a little encouragement from Eyan, who was quick to help with some gesturing and tongue clicking, the camel stood without throwing me off her saddle.

Soon after we left Mac’Hliah, the snowfall lightened, and our camels once again trod upon sand. The storm subsided, content to hover above us as we made our journey north to Kittat.

Eyan pulled up beside me and gestured to the mountains. Speaking in Hraric, he said, “Even if we get separated, you won’t get lost. We’ll follow this range to each city and back again.”

My breath fogged against the hot air as I asked, “They’re all so close?”

“The cities are clustered against the mountains. That’s where the water comes . . . or used to.”

Three men from the party broke off the formation and galloped their camels toward the mountains. I watched them, curious, but they continued onward without slowing.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

Eyan didn’t watch the riders, but the mountains. “Captain must have seen something.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Our sheikh isn’t here.”

When I didn’t respond, he said, “There’s never been a reign in Zareed where a king has been safe.”

This alarmed me, but I tried to ignore the sensation, as Eyan showed no interest in further discussing the topic. And he was right: Even if there were men in the mountains, I shouldn’t worry about Imad. He was safe in the palace.

I scanned the horizon for Sadriel but did not see him. No one would die here today.

We reached Kittat after two days in the desert. It did not surprise me to learn the people were expecting us. Clouds were a rare thing in Zareed, especially large ones, and the white sheet of my snow cloud was as impossible as it was real. The sheila, a sort of governor, welcomed us eagerly. Apparently word of my “snow miracles,” as the translation went, had already reached Kittat, and the people were eager for my relief. The men and women, dressed in their loose and colorful clothing, greeted me with smiles and bows, of all things, and then the sheila’s men began passing out coats. If any crossed their arms and patted their shoulders, they did it where my eyes could not see. Though I had brought upon them the cold, they could not have offered me a warmer reception.