Snow Like Ashes (Snow Like Ashes, #1)(57)

Sir flips his head up, hand still held absently before him, eyes wide in a shocked amusement.

Noam rears back. “Don’t tell me you—Spring is coming—they did this, they brought them here—”

“No, you brought them here. When you wrote that letter, you told Angra exactly where they were. What did you think would happen?” As Theron shouts, madness flickers in his eyes, something waking up after years of watching his father in silence. The men around him stare in wonder, clearly shocked at seeing their prince yell at their king. “That Angra would bow down to you? That he would negotiate and trade and act fairly? Angra wants to kill them. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and negotiating has never worked with him. You think Winter didn’t try to negotiate before it fell? You think Autumn hasn’t tried to strike a deal with him since Spring turned on them? You’d know how truly vengeful he is if you ever bothered to go to Autumn.”

I frown. Noam has never even been to Autumn, the home of his sister and niece, the place where he sends thousands of his men to fight?

“You cannot speak to me like that.” Noam throws a hand up to silence him, but Theron shoves it away.

“I can. You’ve wasted too much time already. Our men need a leader right now, someone to tell them how to survive the approaching army, not a blabbering idiot. Your great plan failed, Father. Own up to it.”

Noam’s mouth drops open. As does mine. As does every single mouth in the room.

From the trembling light in Theron’s eyes to the way his hands quake ever so slightly at his sides, he seems to be realizing how far over the edge he’s gone. “You have to do this.” His voice drops to a hiss. “I’d take that dagger from you right now if I could, but you’re still the oldest living male heir of Cordell. So act like it.”

Noam looks every bit the cornered dog, stray and wild, desperate for an escape. After a few long minutes, he relaxes, pulls his shoulders back, and looks his son in the eye.

“You’ll make a fine king. Someday.” He adds the last word like a threat.

Theron bows his head.

Noam turns to the nearest general and puts a hand on his dagger. “Your regiment will be our left flank. Have them ready. And you—right flank.”

He spouts commands like nothing happened. Like he purposefully staged his little outburst as some odd pre-battle ritual.

Theron’s shoulders slump when his father turns away, but Sir steps up beside him and murmurs something that makes Theron straighten.

Mather steps up too. “That was brave.”

Theron wipes a hand down his face. He looks drained, as if he might fall over and sleep for a week. But there’s something else in his eyes now, something roaring beneath the surface.

“And should have been unnecessary.” Theron turns to Sir. “I’m sorry. For everything. Cordell is far better than—” His eyes flick to Noam. “I apologize, King Mather. General Loren.”

Sir waves him off. Behind them, Noam points at the field beyond and shouts an order at one of his generals.

“I agree with one thing he said,” Sir offers. “You will make a fine king, Prince Theron.”

Compliments from Sir and Mather in the span of five minutes. If it were me, I’d pass out with gratitude, but Theron just stares at the stone floor.

Sir plows right on past it too. I’ll never understand men. “For now, Mather and I are needed with our people.”

Theron nods. “Of course.”

Sir jogs down the staircase, Mather a beat behind him. As Mather passes me, he meets my eyes, and mouths, Try to stay here.

It is one of the safest places to be. Unless Angra’s cannons rip through the tower, in which case it’s a long, slow tumble to the ground.

I swallow and stand a little straighter. Noam is busy channeling power into various regiments by willing the conduit’s magic to pour into men here, officers there. The hum of the tower has switched drastically, no longer buzzing with concern or anxiety. Amazing what a calm leader can do to a group of men.

But it isn’t only Noam’s magic that’s calming them. Theron moves around the room, talking with each general, sending some off to prepare their soldiers. His serenity eases them into submission whereas his father uses brute force. Theron’s steadiness, his certainty, remind me of someone.

He reminds me of Sir. They have the same solemn surety when faced with life-or-death situations. The same boulder-in-the-ocean stance.

Halfway across the room, Theron glances at me. Does he recognize the overstuffed armor he helped force me into?

A moment passes and a small smile uncurls his lips—not gleaming enough to arouse suspicion, just a small token that says, I’m watching out for you too.

I smile back even though he can’t see.





CHAPTER 18

AS THE SUN hovers a few hours past noon, I find myself with my back to Bithai’s most outlying buildings. The ones the citizens were all frantically running away from, seeking shelter within the city’s high stone walls while soldiers took up their stations on the sweeping fields of green.

Noam, Theron, and a few high-ranking generals stayed in the tower by the gate while the rest of the men, myself included, were pulled down to add numbers to the field. The sea of soldiers stretches so far around me that I can’t see the green of Bithai’s grass, just silver armor and dark weapons and ready, waiting bodies. Cavalry take up the outer flanks, rows and rows of infantry fill the center, and two long lines of archers stand at the back on the sloping edge of Bithai’s plateau. Which is where I am, the metal crossbow loaded in my grip.