Snow Like Ashes(98)
“Tell me there’s a cloak shop somewhere in there,” Theron says, a shiver making him twitch awkwardly on his horse.
Mather laughs, a sharp and beautiful sound that I haven’t heard in years. He’s been smiling a little more each day, that beautiful, full-face smile that makes everything around him light up. “Poor Cordellan prince. Can’t handle a little chill?”
“A little chill?” Theron squeaks. He motions at the army, the Cordellans looking just as frozen and uncomfortable as their leaders. “We’re going to have nothing but soldier-icicles by the end of this. My father sneezed earlier and it froze in midair!”
I giggle from my horse and Theron glances at me. The look in his eyes shifts from lighthearted laughter to something deeper, something lingering from our anxious kiss in the halls of Angra’s palace.
Mather adjusts himself on his horse between us, his jaw setting. I tear my eyes away from Theron as a slow grin spreads across my face, and I want to laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Normal problems. Normal worries about suitors. It’s what Sir wanted all along, wasn’t it? And after everything . . . normal problems feel wonderful.
Noam grunts on the other side of his son but doesn’t say anything. Whether it’s because he has nothing to say or his lips have frozen shut, I can’t tell. We’ve yet to discuss the marriage arrangement, whether a Rhythm still wants to ally his son with a Season, or if Winter’s growing debt to Cordell is enough of a connection. He started to ask me a few days ago, when we were resting between raids on work camps. Noam stretched out his hand to shake mine and when our skin touched, I saw again the vibrant image of him kneeling at his wife’s bedside. A connection that comes from the fact that I’m a conduit myself—a connection the other Royal Conduit–bearers must not be aware of, except for Angra, and only because he used the Decay. Noam must think I’m just a weak, unstable queen who trembles when she touches him.
I think he needs to believe that, though. It’s better if he underestimates me, if he has no idea about my true power. An extra boost in Winter’s favor when he does decide to collect on all he’s given us.
“If you’re done bickering about the chill,” Sir cuts in, “I believe we have introductions to make.”
He meets my eyes, beams, and kicks his horse to a gallop, hooves tearing up clumps of melted snow as he darts between the running Winterians. Theron and Noam plunge after him, weaving in and out of my running white-haired people toward a city many of us don’t remember. Only Mather lingers, his exhales releasing bursts of icy clouds between us, his eyes on me as I watch everyone around us.
“I’m sorry,” I exhale.
Mather’s horse dances on the snow, disturbed by our tension. I peel my gaze away from the running horde to meet Mather’s sapphire eyes for more than a passing glance. It’s the longest either of us has looked at each other since the battle in Abril, and the gaze is heavy with apology.
He snorts air out his nose in a soft, incredulous laugh. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His focus sweeps over the city ahead of us. “At all.”
“I know, I just—” I stop short, and Mather pivots back to me.
“I know,” he echoes, and the smile he gives me is genuine. He shifts again, tightening the reins in his hands. “If either of us should feel bad, it’s me. William told us the truth after you were captured, and all I could think was: You’re the one who has the responsibility now. I’m free.”
Mather keeps his gaze firmly on the horizon as he talks, and if I hadn’t been looking at him, I might’ve accepted his lighthearted tone, his jovial manner. But I watch his face as he speaks, watch the way his eyes narrow, his lips pull into a thin line. There’s far too much truth in what he says. I’m free.
Maybe it’s not a freedom he wants.
“When I was in Cordell,” I start, “and I had to play the part of their future queen, I pretended I was—” My words catch and I chuckle. “I pretended I was you.”
My confession hangs in the air, a whispered strand of words that hovers in the falling flakes of snow. Mather smiles at me through it, some of his tension softening before he drops his head in a small bow.
“My queen,” he says in response. He kicks his horse into a gallop that sends them both launching into the running horde, another body racing for Jannuari’s wall.
I watch him go, my chest unwinding. We’re really here. Jannuari. A city I’ve seen only in memories and dreams, its cobblestone streets, its cottages. The way snow falls constantly, an ever-present rain of perfect, unique flakes. It needs to snow. It needs to always snow.
Something wet tingles my nose. I look up, my mouth opening in a true, pure grin. Snowflakes fall now, steady and strong, pouring down all the way to Jannuari. Covering us as we should be covered—in winter. Breathtaking, frozen, perfect winter.
I urge my horse into a gallop, the steady beating of his hooves chasing after the others toward Jannuari, a place of snow and light.
Your city.
Hannah’s voice fills my senses, pulls up from the conduit magic that resides in me. She could talk to me all along, it appears, but didn’t want to risk revealing what I am to Angra, which is why she never stopped us from looking for the locket halves. It was all a cover to protect Winter’s line, and the dreams and visions were meant to ease me into conduits and magic, being linked to her in a way I never thought possible. My mother. I still have trouble adjusting to having a mother at all. I’m not sure where it fits in this new world.