Snow Like Ashes (Snow Like Ashes, #1)(56)

The streets leading up to the front gate may be busy, but the gate itself is chaotic. Citizens pour in from the land beyond, cattle bleat, babies wail. A few soldiers try to instill some sort of order, but the overall feel of the area is to get in as fast as possible, in any way possible.

The tower Theron mentioned looms on our left, spiraling high above the wall to give those within a view of the south. A few captains linger around the door and as we draw closer, the muffled shouting of their fearless leader makes even the air feel nervous.

Captain Dominick is one of the few by the door. His dark hair hangs in sweaty strands and when he turns to us, his tense face relaxes almost imperceptibly.

“My prince, a messenger reported that Spring’s current speed puts them at our gate by late afternoon.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Theron says. He shoots a look at Mather, hard and daring. “Shall we?”

Finally, finally, Mather lets his mouth twitch in a small grin. “Your kingdom, you first.”

Theron tips his head and darts into the tower, his armor clanking as he twists up the spiral staircase. Mather starts to follow so I trot behind him, nearly smacking into him when he slams to a halt.

“You can’t come like that,” he snaps down at me.

My lip twitches in a snarl. I was prepared to hide somewhere in the tower to avoid Sir, and Mather owes me at least his silence, doesn’t he?

“If you send me to the palace I’ll just sneak out and you won’t know where I am or be able to keep track of me. Trust me, this option’s better for everyone.”

Mather cocks an eyebrow. “I know.”

“What?”

He sighs and waves over a running soldier. “Your helmet, please.”

The man pulls off his helmet. Mather takes it in one hand and wraps my braid in a knot at my neck in order to slide the helmet over my head. The visor is still up and I feel like I’m looking at him, hazy and distant, through a tunnel, memories overlapping this moment with all those times I sparred with him. All those practice fights when it was just us, two children pretending to be soldiers. Or two soldiers pretending to be children.

“Don’t speak,” Mather says. “Don’t draw any attention to yourself. If William realizes it’s you, you’re on your own.”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

That makes him pause, one hand on each side of the helmet. I think maybe he wants to say something else, but he just drops the visor down with his thumbs.

“When it starts, stay near me or, so help me, Meira, I will march you back into Bithai myself.”

I nod, the hollow core of the helmet clanking back and forth. It smells like sweat and old iron in here. Iron that was probably mined out of the Klaryns, which makes me feel ever so slightly more at home.

Mather vanishes into the tower without another word. I hope my disguise is convincing enough, Spring’s approaching threat distracting enough, that Sir doesn’t notice the slightly skinny soldier-boy in the room. I’m not sure what I fear more: Sir’s wrath or Angra’s.

I squint through the narrow eye slits and trail Mather up the stairs.

Seven stories later, Noam’s screaming flies at us through an open door. The great circular room is the highest in the tower, allowing views in all directions of the lands beyond Bithai. High-ranking generals scatter throughout, leaning over maps or trying unsuccessfully to avert their eyes from their wailing king.

Spit flies from Noam’s mouth, his arms wave, his armored body paces nervously. His conduit sits in a metal belt at his hip, its usual place of honor.

“Damn you, William! Damn you and every single one of your white-haired nuisances. I knew I should never have let you cross my borders, let alone sacrificed my son in all of this. Damned Seasons. Good-for-nothing barbarians who refuse to surrender to stronger forces—”

I file along the wall next to two other guards. They nod at me like I’m supposed to be there. So far, so good.

“Your kind is too beyond reason to negotiate,” Noam continues. “I should have seen it before. But no, I tried to give you mercy, debased my kingdom by joining with a Season, and this is how I am repaid? Now Angra marches on me! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hand all of you over to Spring right now.”

The tantrum I threw hours ago seems like nothing compared to the way he stumbles around, back talking and fumbling his reasoning. Noam truly believes he was doing us a favor? He thinks we should be grateful to him. That nothing he did brought this upon us, as though he wasn’t the one who tried to negotiate with the Shadow of the Seasons.

Sir doesn’t react to any of this, leaning against the far wall and massaging the skin just above his nose. He’s never lowered himself to respond to screaming or threats—not that I have firsthand experience with that or anything.

Theron trudges into the middle of it, already tired though the true battle is hours away. “Father, stop—”

Noam whips toward him like he forgot his son would be here. “Yes! Of course, son. Break it off. Break it off now. We’re done with Winter. The engagement is dissolved.”

“No,” Theron growls, a low noise that shakes awareness into everyone in the room.

Noam frowns at him. “What?”

“No,” Theron repeats. “I meant stop making yourself look like an ass, Father.”