Snow Like Ashes(9)

Edurne Camp: 476

The document goes on to describe how many deaths, how many births, what things were built by what camps. But my hands are shaking again, and I can’t focus on the words.

These are the Winterian statistics in Spring’s work camps. The numbers are . . . people.

I touch the numbers, my fingers trembling. Such small totals. Did we know it was this bad? I suspected it was—Sir’s lessons on the fall of Winter were graphic. The way he described how Angra planned the attack, as if he knew Winter would fall on that day, how he stationed every soldier he had throughout Winter, moving them in secret until everything exploded in one unavoidable sweep of destruction. There was nowhere to run—Angra blocked off any retreat into Autumn, or the Klaryns, or the northern Feni River. He barricaded us in our own kingdom, and when he broke the locket, when our soldiers had no magic-given strength to help them stand against him, we fell. Only twenty-five of us managed to escape.

I feel the weight of that now. Seeing the statistics proved what Sir has been saying for years—every day, we’re teetering on the edge of Winterians becoming nothing more than memories.

“I trust my king, I do,” a voice booms within the room. I snap my head up, all the adrenaline and fear warping into anger. Finn tightens his lips in warning, and I thrust the paper at him in response.

“And I know it was scheduled to be here longer,” the voice continues. “But I want it out of my city. Tonight. Before any more Winterian scum descends upon us.”

The city master. I exhale. The locket half is still here—we haven’t lost it yet. My relief is short lived when Finn scans the paper, looks back up at me, and the expression he gives isn’t fear or shock—it’s just pain. Regret.

My eyes widen. Did you know how bad it is? I mouth.

He tucks the paper into his belt and bobs his head once. Yes, he knew. Everyone in camp probably knows. It’s just one of the things they don’t talk about, one of the too painful parts of our past. And I knew too—I just didn’t have exact numbers in my head to fuel my rage.

Herod laughs, and my nerves flare higher. Killing him is going to feel so good.

“Calm yourself. It will be gone within the hour.”

“It’s safe here.” A different voice. Probably one of Lynia’s councilmen. “I don’t care if the Winterians know it’s here. Lynia can keep it protected far better than any other city—”

“Silence!” the city master shouts.

But Herod chuckles. “Ambitious, your man.”

“Not ambitious,” the councilman corrects. I hear a rustling as someone walks across the room. My heart ricochets around my ribs—they’re going to the desk. Will they notice that the paper is gone? “Certain. The safe we built for it—it’s perfect. The Keep above—”

Excellent: the location of the locket half. Sir was right—it’s under the Keep.

A harsh movement from within is followed by the crack of the councilman’s face meeting Herod’s fist. Bodies move, chairs fall, and amidst the ruckus Herod’s voice rises.

“Do not speak of its location! That was our arrangement—you hide it and never utter a word of the location. It isn’t safe so long as that boy breathes.”

I bristle. Mather will keep breathing so long as I am breathing, you murderer.

But the councilman doesn’t react. Something shuffles, and I realize it’s papers on the desktop, the thunk of a paperweight. I widen my eyes at Finn, who grimaces before the councilman even speaks.

“The—” the councilman starts, clearly confused. “Something’s missing.”

A pause, then a growl resonates in the stillness. I can taste Herod’s fury on the air as his growl morphs into three words that make my heart plummet.

“We aren’t alone.”





CHAPTER 4

BOOTS POUND ACROSS the room. The curtain flashes open as Finn and I leap, dropping face-first off the balcony and into the cool night.

“Winterians!” Herod screams. “Lock it down now!”

In the seconds of free falling before I hit the ground, I find myself faced with two options. Continue my fall, drop into a roll on the street, and make all haste out of Lynia in the hope that we can get back in later, or cling to the building and find a way inside. Key or not, we’re so close to the locket half that something as small as a jagged piece of metal shouldn’t stop us. But the plan was that if either of us ran into trouble, Finn and I were to regroup outside the city. If we leave now, though, getting back in will be impossible. They’ll move the locket half without hesitation, and we’ll be back where we started.

My body makes the decision before I do. The rock wall shreds my fingers as I scramble against it, and two windowsills fly past before I find purchase on one, body jerking to a halt, wrists screaming at having to support my weight so abruptly. I flail, arrows barely grazing my kicking legs and straining arms as I scramble against the rock, searching for footholds, and use a few chipped pieces of mortar to pull myself up and over the windowsill.

The window pops inward and I tumble inside, blinking in the darkness until my vision adjusts. Please don’t let this room be anything with soldiers inside. Maybe a kitchen, or a nice cozy bedchamber, or—I look around wildly—a storage room. It’s a storage room, empty but for stacks of shadowed crates in the narrow, lightless space. Perfect.