Snow Like Ashes(5)
Mather strides over to me through the grass, and I think he might try to offer words to break the tension. But after a few paces, he crumples to the ground like the earth sucked him down and refuses to release him. I frown as he grips his ankle.
“Oooww,” he howls.
Sir bends down in a quick rush of panic. “What happened?”
Mather rocks back and forth and winces as everyone else moves closer. “Meira beat me in that last fight, didn’t she tell you? Knocked me flat out. I don’t think I can go to Lynia.”
The wrinkles in Sir’s face relax. “Didn’t I see you run out to meet us?”
Mather doesn’t miss a beat, still rocking and wincing. “I ran through the pain.”
I suck in a breath until Sir looks up at me, and Mather winks discreetly above a wide grin.
“You beat him?” Sir asks, disbelieving.
I shrug. I’m a horrible liar so I just leave it at that. Mather is helping me. A blush warms my cheeks.
Sir has to know we’re lying, but he won’t risk sending Mather on the chance that he really did sustain an injury. He does trust him, more than anyone here. A moment passes before Sir rubs his temples and shoots a sharp breath out of his nose. “Help Mather into camp, then get your chakram.”
I bite back my squeal of triumph but it comes anyway, a weird blubbery noise that catches in my throat and bursts out of my still-frowning mouth. Sir stands, takes his horse, and marches into camp with renewed determination, like he doesn’t want to face me now that he’s given in. Everyone trails after him, leaving me to help Mather the invalid.
When the others are out of earshot, I fall to the ground and throw my arms around him. “You’re my favorite monarch in the history of monarchs,” I babble into his shoulder.
His arms come around me, squeeze once, shooting rays of chill through my body as I realize . . . we’re hugging.
I fly to my feet and extend my hand to him, certain my face will be permanently stained red. “We should get back.”
Mather takes my hand but pulls down as I pull up, keeping me from leaving. “Wait.”
He turns to fish for something in his pocket and I lower to my knees beside him, my eyebrows pinching slightly. When he pivots back, his face is solemn, and the ball of nervousness in my stomach expands. In the center of his palm sits a round piece of lapis lazuli, one of the rarer stones Winter used to mine from the Klaryns long ago.
“I found it when we were staying in Autumn a few years back,” Mather starts, his eyes soft. “After the lesson William gave us on Winter’s economy. Our mines in the Klaryns, digging up coal and minerals and stones.” He pauses, and I can see the child he was then. We moved to Autumn eight years ago, a boy-prince pretending to be a soldier and a girl-orphan who wanted nothing more than to pretend right alongside him.
“I liked to think it was magic,” he continues, his face severe. “After our lessons about the Seasons sitting on a chasm of magic, and our lands being directly affected by the power, and Angra breaking Winter’s conduit and taking our power in one swift crush of his fist, I wanted—needed—to believe that we could get magic somewhere else. Our world may seem balanced—four kingdoms of eternal seasons, four kingdoms that cycle through all seasons; four kingdoms with female-blooded conduits, four with male-blooded. But it’s not balanced—it will always be tipped in favor of monarchs who have magic versus people who don’t, like their citizens and . . . other monarchs whose conduits break. And I hated being so . . .” His voice trails off. “Helpless,” he finishes.
My brow creases. “You’re far from helpless, Mather.”
His half smile returns and he shrugs. “At the very least, this lapis lazuli was a connection to Winter. And having it helped me feel stronger, I guess.”
I bite my lip, not missing how he brushed past what I said.
He takes my hand and rolls the stone into my palm. “I want you to have it.”
Giddiness floods my senses when Mather doesn’t let go of my hand, doesn’t look away from me. And the light flickering in his eyes—this is important to him. He’s passing me a part of his childhood.
I pull the lapis lazuli closer to examine it in the dying sunlight. It’s impossibly blue, no bigger than a coin, with darker strands of azure running along its surface.
Outside of the lost chasm, magic has only ever existed in the Royal Conduits of the eight kingdoms in Primoria, reserved for rulers to use as needed. Not in objects like this small, blue stone, sitting so inconspicuously in my palm. But I know why Mather wanted to believe the stone has magic: sometimes placing our belief in something bigger than ourselves helps us get to a point where we can be enough on our own, magic or no magic.
“Not that I don’t think you’ll be fine,” he adds. “It just helped me sometimes, having a piece of Winter with me.”
I squeeze the stone, coolness gathering in my chest beside the slow, dull thudding of my heart. “Thank you.” I nod to his ankle. “For everything. You didn’t—”
He shakes his head. “Yes, I did. You deserve to fight for your home as much as the rest of us do.”
I swallow. We’re still alone outside of camp, with only the faint breeze pushing through the grass and a few scraggy trees nearby. “I should pack.”
Mather nods, his face blank again with that maddening, impenetrable nothingness. He fakes a limp into camp, my shoulder under one of his arms to help the charade. I keep a hand around his waist, the other clutching the lapis lazuli. I’m barely able to draw in full breaths, I’m so aware of his body against mine, of how when I look at him, I see the life Sir says we’re fighting for. Something simple and happy, just Mather and me in a cozy cottage in Winter.