Mather took a step toward Feige. He didn’t dare get closer—even a small movement in her direction made her wince, though her eyes remained fixed on her whittling.
“Feige,” Mather tried. The boys behind him quieted and he held his hands out to her, a well of need springing in him. Need for Phil’s victory to be felt by all of them, if only to have one moment of success in this otherwise oppressive air. “Feige, don’t be ashamed.”
Hollis glowered up at him. “Haven’t you done enough?” he growled so low that Mather almost didn’t hear him. “She wouldn’t have had the knife if not for all of this.”
Mather dropped to his knees. “I know she wouldn’t have had the knife if not for this, and she wouldn’t have broken down today if not for what I’ve done to you. But she would have broken down eventually. Somewhere, somehow, something would have triggered her—just like something might eventually be too much for all of you. Horrible things have happened to us, are still happening to us, will happen every day for the rest of our lives, probably. What defines us is not our ability to never let them break us—what defines us is not letting them own us. We are the Thaw, and we will not be defeated by memories or evil men.”
Feige’s clear blue eyes lifted to his and she weighed his words one at a time. “We are the Thaw.” She nodded decisively. “And we will not be defeated.”
Beside her, Hollis exhaled, and when Mather looked at him, there was no blame on his face. Exhaustion, yes. But the start of what could be seen as . . . acceptance.
“We will not be defeated,” Mather repeated, and he meant it.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Meira
CONALL AND GARRIGAN launch out the door, crashing into the servant who topples to the ground as they continue through the air to collide with the brick wall of the nearest building.
Everything in me drains clean away.
I threw them.
Hands lift me, voices murmur, but my vision swirls, the magic aching in every nerve. I close my eyes, just for a moment.
But a voice I don’t know bites a reprimand.
“Is she ill?”
It’s a woman, her words high and feminine and close by. When I open my eyes, two people hover on either side of where I’ve been deposited on a chair in some grand room in one of Putnam University’s buildings. I don’t remember getting here, and disorientation makes me sway toward the woman who spoke.
She’s in her thirties, her skin creased by wrinkles around her wide, watchful eyes. Thick, black curls tumble over her shoulders like perfectly arranged spirals of onyx, just barely brushing an ax on her back. Sharp and gleaming, two blades sweep out of a center of burnished wood. It emits the faintest gold glow, the same iridescent shimmer that comes from Noam’s dagger in a violet cloud. Yakim’s conduit.
So this woman is Queen Giselle.
My attention flicks to the other person—Theron. All I see on his face is concern, and it yanks me out of my bewilderment.
“Conall—Garrigan—” I mutter their names as my eyes dart around a room at least half the size of Jannuari’s ballroom. The low ceiling, gray stone walls, and black floor would be enough to make it dreary, but the other items throughout add an eerie touch. Tables sit stacked high with glass tubes, and liquid bubbles in various bowls over open flames. Shelves and cupboards line the walls, stuffed with papers and books and jars, tools and goggles. No other Yakimians aside from Giselle are here, as if everyone got chased out to make way for me.
There are other non-Yakimians here, though, and my eyes sweep over them again. Ceridwen; the Cordellan guards; and—
I burst upright, stumbling enough that Theron leaps to his feet and grabs my elbow. Blood rushes to my head as I force myself to look at Conall and Garrigan. They sway a little where they stand, Conall with his hand around his opposite arm, Garrigan with his fist to his forehead.
“What did I do?” I gasp, harsh and silent, more breath than question.
Garrigan looks at me, starts to lift his lips in a smile meant to brush it off. But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes. What excuse would they even understand? I threw them through the air. I used my magic to launch them out of the carriage.
There is no reason for this.
The Cordellan guards see a reason, though. They shoot veiled eye rolls and quiet chuckles at one another, and I can practically hear the thoughts parading through their heads.
The weak child-queen can’t even use her magic properly.
I dig my fingers into my stomach, eyes closing on an exhale.
No more. This is the last time I lose control.
No more.
As all this is happening, Giselle rises from her chair and turns her attention to a ledger on a nearby table, scribbling out notes as if foreign queens collapse in her university every day. Her outfit mirrors the décor of her kingdom—a tight-fitting brown coat stretches across her arms with gleaming brass buttons that reach all the way up the high collar to her chin. White linen explodes from under the coat in a thick skirt.
I don’t bother caring about anything either. I barely have the energy to stumble toward the door, and I’m halfway there when Theron grabs my arm.
“Meira—where are you going?”
To scour this kingdom until I find answers.
“Away,” I snap at him. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t budge. “I know it’s been an awful couple of months, but if you leave, we’ll never know what we could have been capable of. Please—I’ll escort you back to the palace myself after we’ve made introductions.”
I’m so close to screaming at him, all the things I’ve already said that he didn’t hear.
The goals you have will unleash the Decay over the world again.
Your father will never cede to you, no matter how much support you have.
You’re wrong, Theron.
And I don’t care anymore about protecting his innocence. I don’t care about the way he shakes a little, so desperate to try, so desperate to hope.
All I care about is the way Conall and Garrigan shake too, because of me. Because of my magic.
I know my goal—keep my kingdom safe. And I will not be stopped.
“You’re the only one who believes this venture is for peace,” I growl. “Giselle won’t care about some idealized scheme brought to her by a child. You realize that, don’t you?”
Theron recoils but composes himself. “Sometimes one person is enough.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Prince Theron.”
Ceridwen steps up next to me, her eyes trained on Giselle’s back—Giselle, who seems to have forgotten we’re in her laboratory at all.
I snap to her. “I don’t need your help. I need to leave. This meeting is pointless.”
“Really?” Ceridwen moves closer to me. “You need allies. Don’t you?”
She looks briefly at Theron. More a gesture than a glance, and I wilt.
Cordell.
I still need allies. With armies.
How does Ceridwen already know how to threaten me? Because we have the same weakness?
But what will she get out of this?
“What do you want?” I yield, jaw tight.
“Who said I want anything?”
I roll my eyes and move to stand beside Theron, directly in front of her, not giving her the satisfaction of any more responses. Theron cocks a brow at me, his eyes sweeping over Ceridwen once, and I swear he mouths thank you to her.
“Good,” he says to me.
No, it isn’t good. I should be running out of here, tearing apart this kingdom for the key or the Order, and instead I—
Made the decision a queen would make. A careful decision, not a rash decision.
So why doesn’t my chest feel any less tight?
I dip my eyes to Conall and Garrigan, who move to stand behind me, trying for the normal stance
they’ve taken so often. But when they think I’m not looking, they both tenderly prod at their ribs or the bruises on their cheeks.
Seeing them like this, damaged because of me yet still resolute beside me, provokes two different reactions in my body—gnawing remorse that I am so violently undeserving of them, and an even stronger rising cascade of fury.
I will be someone worthy of their loyalty. I will make myself worthy.
“Queen Giselle.” Theron raises his voice and steps forward. “I—”
“This visit is quite unorthodox.” Giselle doesn’t break stride in whatever note she’s writing. She probably heard everything we said, didn’t she?
“Your Highness,” Theron tries again, keeping his tone calm and even. “We come with the best of intentions—an opportunity for an alliance among all the kingdoms of Primoria.”
And to distract you long enough to find a way to open the magic chasm without you knowing, I mentally add.
Giselle swings away from the notes, her eyes flicking between Ceridwen, Theron, and me. “Yakim has never been at war with any of you. Why should I care about something that does not involve my kingdom?”
Theron takes another cautious step toward her. “Because this isn’t simply about peace; this is about equality. Doing away with old barriers and erecting a new standard among Primoria’s eight kingdoms.”
“Equality.” Giselle clucks her tongue like the word tastes bad. “What would be the benefits of such an arrangement?”
I keep my eyes on her, though she doesn’t seem concerned about anyone else in the room outside of Cordell. The realization makes me bristle, and I remember what Ceridwen said about more than one Rhythm being together. Not only is it hard to breathe, it’s hard not to feel like a child listening in on adults.
Theron draws a rolled-up parchment from his jacket and hands it to her. “A treaty, already signed by Summer, Autumn, and Cordell. The terms are quite simple, laying the groundwork for a world in which all eight kingdoms serve not only their citizens, but one another. In times of war, we gather in councils of peace; in times of trouble, we come to one another’s aid. You’ll wish to read it, I assume, so I don’t ask that you sign it today.”
Giselle takes the scroll from him, her eyes narrow in thought. This speech sounds grand, but I have to hold back my groan.
Will this change anything?
“Noam signed this?” Giselle asks, her tone sharp.
Theron doesn’t flinch. “Cordell has signed it, yes.”
Giselle sees the same hole in Theron’s words that I do. She squints at him, silence looming, before she blows out an exhale.
“You look so like your father. Pity,” she whispers, a brush of noise that might have been intentional, might have been accidental in its volume.
Theron frowns as I do. Was that a jab at Noam? From another Rhythm?
Before I can garner any hope that Yakim might be a better ally than previously thought, Giselle’s eyes leave Theron to latch onto me. “Winter hasn’t signed it?”
Damn it all.
She’s right. I haven’t signed that treaty.
Theron turns to me, smiling like he planned this.
“No,” he says to Giselle. “But if this treaty is something Yakim agrees to, I had hoped to stage a joint signing ceremony between Yakim and Winter. A symbol to the world that Rhythm and Season both intend to make this work.”
The curiosity on Giselle’s face sharpens into analysis. “Why did Winter wait to sign with Yakim? I understand Cordell is involved with that Season.”
Up until now, Giselle had seemed almost annoyed to have us here—but with that one question, her true feelings shine through.
She invited me to her kingdom via Finn and Greer’s visit a few weeks ago—and I showed up, with Cordell, who proclaims unification of the world, declaring that they have a mighty vision for the future that would put everyone on equal footing. A counter to Yakim’s attempts at unseating Cordell from Winter.
No matter how sincere Theron might be, no matter what Giselle meant by that odd statement about Theron resembling Noam, this visit is an insult to Yakim.
Regret overtakes my initial anger. I didn’t think this through—
Theron smiles at her. “Winter waited because it brings a gift of its own to present to Yakim—a stake in the Klaryns.”
Shock numbs me as Theron flings his arm toward the door, and Cordellan guards saunter in. One holds a crate—where was it? In their carriage?
He sets it at Giselle’s feet.
“What once only Seasons owned is now Rhythm owned as well,” Theron continues, ignoring my stunned glare.
He didn’t tell me he would present Giselle with Winter’s goods—my kingdom’s goods.
He shouldn’t have done this without telling me. I’d planned on giving away stakes in the Klaryns, yes—but I’d planned to do it for Winter, not for Theron’s plan.
The Klaryns are not Cordell’s to give.
Giselle eyes the crate, her flash of insult abating in what I assume is shock. Wide eyes, pursed lips, a slightly lifted brow. She looks up at Theron, her grip adjusting on the scroll. “Allow me time to consider your proposal,” is all she says.
Theron smiles. “That’s as much as I can ask of you.”
But she’s already turning back to her ledger. “Yes, it is.”
Theron whirls to me, his smile blinding. “See? Not such a pointless meeting after all.”
The absence disbelief brought makes me empty and drained, and I can only gape at him and shake my head. “I need to go lie down,” I say, and turn, skirt in my fists.
“Of course.” Theron wraps his arm around my waist to support me, offering comfort and help so easily, so unabashedly.
It hurts worse that it doesn’t occur to him that he did anything wrong. But why would it? I told him I’m on his side. I lied to him, and this is the product of my lie—he believes our goals are aligned. He believes that whatever needs to be done, I’ll agree to.
But even if I were truly on his side, I wouldn’t be okay with this. Because we aren’t just two friends united in a goal of peace—we’re a Season and a Rhythm, a queen and a prince. And Giselle just saw the Cordellan heir give away pieces of Winter.
Theron had no right to do this.
Resolve sweeps through my shock and hurt, hardening me as I stop inside the door, pivoting back and simultaneously pulling out of Theron’s arm. Conall and Garrigan stagger behind me, biting back their discomfort. And even farther behind them, Giselle stands with her back to us, the crate of Klaryn goods at her feet, Theron’s treaty on her ledger stand.
Theron may have given away my one chance at gaining Yakim’s favor, but I won’t be that easily defeated. Theron said so himself—sometimes one person is enough.
I analyze Conall and Garrigan. They need rest—but they step back inside the room without a flinch of thought as to their own well-being.
Theron bends closer to me. “Are you all right?”
I don’t look at him. “Leave one of the carriages for me.”
He glances at Giselle, then to me. “You want to speak to her? I could—”
“No,” I snap, hear my tone, and deflate a bit. “Thank you, but no,” I try again, calmer. “Winter needs to build a relationship with them too, right? Let me do this. I just want to introduce my kingdom to her.”
He still seems uncertain, but he nods. “All right.”
If he adds anything else, I don’t hear it, shoving past him and back inside. Ceridwen already left, presumably waiting in the carriage, so when Theron leaves, it’s just Giselle, my guards, and me in her massive laboratory.
The door thunks behind me a moment later. Giselle stands by her ledger, pen scratching at the paper, presumably unaware of me when I stop on the other side of the crate, trying with every scrap of strength I have left not to look at it.
Silence creeps in, the bubbling of liquids in the glass tubes gurgling loud and unhindered. I draw in a deep breath.
“Queen Giselle,” I begin. Formal. Proper. A queen to a queen. “I wish to—”
“I know what you think of me, Winter queen,” she cuts in, her voice emotionless and level. She lowers her pen to the ledger and pivots to me, eyes cocked in study.
I swallow. “Do you?”
“You disagree with the way I run my kingdom. You think I’m heartless.”
She doesn’t react at all, just that heavy gaze. Which makes it easier not to be shocked that she guessed how I feel, and I cross my arms, muscles hard.
“I’ll admit, it is difficult for me to see kingdoms who treat their people in ways I would not treat mine, especially after I worked so hard to get mine back.”
There, that was political and nice, wasn’t it?
Giselle smiles, cold and piercing. “You are very judgmental for someone so unfamiliar with the way the world works.”
Now that wasn’t political or nice.
“Excuse me?”
She bobs her head toward a door on the side of the room. “Come.”
No explanation. She crosses the room and vanishes through the door, expecting me to follow like an obedient little Season royal.
I wave at Conall and Garrigan before they can even try to move from where they both lean against a table. “Stay here.”
Conall grunts. “My queen—”
“Stay. Here.” I repeat, hating how strict I sound. Conall relents, sagging as I lift my skirt and march toward the door.
A hall cuts to the left, lit by a few more of those glowing orbs. Another door at the end stands open, casting a vibrant spill of white light into the dim brown interior. I push through it—and almost instantly wobble back.
The door opens onto a mezzanine that laps a room at least two stories deep, unfolding in rows of machinery, tables, and workers. Yakimians scurry about, cranking levers and prodding at the machines, every person moving in tandem.
Giselle knots her fingers into the iron latticework that guards the mezzanine. “One of Putnam University’s test factories. My professors create designs for new devices, and they are crafted in prototype here.” She glances back at me, one brow lifted. “Tell me, Winter queen. Do any of the people below us look despondent?”