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  Mather grunted, sucking down dusty air. “Yes, Sir.”

  He knew William hated when Meira called him that, not that William would ever tell her to stop. Mather just wanted to see unease in him, so he knew that he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

  William’s grip on him tensed, a reflex that said he had heard Mather. He held him on the ground for a beat before stepping back, and when Mather burst to his feet, hands clenched, he couldn’t bring himself to face the group of now-speechless Winterians.

  “That’s enough for today,” William told everyone as though nothing had happened.

  Mather whirled for the door first. William caught his arm in a tight grip, yanking him to a halt as everyone behind them moved to put away the practice swords. “We brought a new shipment of goods. Sort them, and be at the ceremony tonight.”

  Orders. More jewels for him to sort through, counting out piles of payment to a kingdom that would demand even more. He didn’t know why Noam insisted on storing the goods here and playing through a ceremony instead of shipping everything to Bithai. Maybe he wanted to taunt the Winterians even more, force Meira to hand each jewel to him, one by one.

  Mather shot William a curt nod and hung back once he realized William too, intended to head out. Returning to Meira and Noam, no doubt.

  Mather lingered until the barn emptied, and only then did he let himself fly out the door. So distracted was he that he didn’t notice the figure standing just outside until he slammed into it, shoulder stinging from where it connected with armor.

  “Watch your—” he started, a mouthful of curses ready. Careless Cordellan scum—

  But it wasn’t just any Cordellan. It was Captain Brennan Crewe, the man Noam had put in charge of the soldiers stationed in Jannuari. Number two on the list of Cordellans Mather hated, behind both Theron and Noam, who tied for first.

  Mather spun away, stomping off before he could register any reaction on Brennan’s face. He’d only gotten a few paces when he heard snow crunch, footsteps that trotted after him.

  “Hold a moment!” Brennan called. “How goes the training? By your scowl, I can tell it’s going as well as I’d expected. My king still wonders why you bother training an army, when you have all the protection you would ever need from Cordell.”

  Mather stopped, boots shredding holes in the snow. The training barn stood to the east of the palace, connected by an expanse of snow and a disheveled path that covered with flakes faster than anyone could clean it. But they were alone, no soldiers pacing by in their patrol. And after his interaction with William, Mather didn’t have the strength to keep his mouth shut.

  “It’s going well enough that you should tell your king not to get too comfortable here,” he spit as he pivoted around.

  Brennan’s eyebrows rose. “You forget your place, Lord Mather.”

  Mather bristled but ground his jaw to steady himself. Being dropped from king to lord didn’t bother him, not really—what bothered him was who had all his responsibilities on her shoulders now.

  “My apologies, Captain. I did forget my place in relation to your own. I have such a hard time remembering that you aren’t an actual soldier—you’re a gift meant to protect an investment. It would make things so much easier if every Cordellan soldier walked around wearing bows on their helmets.”

  Brennan lurched closer. Mather rose up as he neared, but before he felt the sweet vacancy of instinct take over his movements, Brennan smiled.

  “Gifts we may be,” he said, “but at least we are wanted. Your queen is back, didn’t you hear? But has she summoned you? No, I’d take it. You’re probably on your way to continue the task of counting out Cordell’s wealth. You act so sure of your importance to Winter, though we both know your role in this kingdom is little more than that of a peasant.”

  By the time Brennan finished talking, Mather couldn’t see anything but the stars swimming across his vision, his body so hot with rage that he expected the falling snowflakes to sizzle on his skin. He moved, but he didn’t remember doing so—all he knew was a sudden fistful of Brennan’s collar, the fabric pulling taut out of his breastplate as he yanked the man forward.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mather growled.

  Brennan’s attention flicked over Mather’s shoulder. His eyes enlarged. “Queen Meira.”

  Mather swelled with panic. She was here, now?

  He couldn’t see her without any buffers. He could only handle her in neatly arranged settings, where he knew his place—a lord of Winter, a servant of the queen. Because here, with no formalities to give him purpose, he’d be reminded so strongly of how she didn’t need him that he wouldn’t be able to function.

  Mather released Brennan and spun, his boots twisting on the ice-slickened stones. He plummeted into the snow, his panic fading as quickly as it had come.

  The path behind him stood empty.

  Brennan laughed. “But you’re right, Lord Mather. I have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  Mather leapt to his feet, tearing down the path as though he could outrun his humiliation.

  Did everyone know of his failures, how he was not only no longer the king, but no longer someone Winter’s true ruler turned to at all? Did everyone recognize how far he had fallen?

  Did no one else see how much stress and hardship were on Meira now?

  And tonight Mather would have to see Meira float around the ballroom on Theron’s arm, and pretend that watching her was enough for him. Though every part of him screamed to fight for her . . . he couldn’t. She hadn’t sought him out in the three months since their return. He’d seen her in passing, in meetings—but that was it.

  He didn’t want to have to fight for her. He wanted her to want him, and she didn’t.

  She wanted Theron.

  As much as it pained Mather to admit, Theron deserved her. It was Theron who had saved her from Spring; Theron who had risked his life to draw Cordell’s army to fight Angra.

  And it was Mather who had done nothing while Meira had fallen unconscious at Herod’s feet during the battle. Mather who had paced the halls of Noam’s palace until the floors were nearly worn through while she spent months in Angra’s prison camp. Mather who did nothing now, again, because he didn’t know what he could do for her, and he couldn’t stand being around her when she had . . . Theron.

  He wasn’t king anymore. He wasn’t an orphan anymore. He wasn’t in Meira’s life anymore.

  None of this was the freedom he thought he’d wanted.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Meira

  THE TWO-DAY RIDE back from Gaos was too short. Even these final moments, hiding behind my horse in the frigid afternoon air as everyone else heads toward the palace, are too short, and I inhale the scent of the worn leather of the saddle. My mount snorts away the snowflakes that land on his nose but otherwise remains unfazed by the cacophony around him.

  “My king, welcome back to Jannuari!” a Cordellan calls, one of those who had accompanied us to Gaos.

  Another whoops. “Tonight will be quite the party!”

  I wince, the voices creeping up my limbs like fast-moving vines. Theron never promised he’d keep his men silent—and for all my certainty that I can handle this situation on my own, I can’t think of how. I have no idea who the Order of the Lustrate is, or how best to keep the chasm door closed.

  “You can claim exhaustion.”

  I start and whirl to Nessa, hovering beside me. Conall lingers a few paces away, glaring at the Cordellans with a barely acceptable veil of contempt, while Garrigan watches us.

  “He already saw me ride up,” I say.

  Nessa shrugs. “It was a long trip. Claim exhaustion and come with us to the palace.”

  “Exhaustion wouldn’t be a lie,” Garrigan adds, his attention on my face. No doubt taking note of the circles under my eyes, the sa
llow color in my cheeks.

  A noise pulls me away from Nessa and Garrigan, the steady swoosh of a sleigh bobbing over the uneven, icy road. I watch it glide past us, the silver-and-ivory details marred by cracks and chips in the paint. It was a discovery in the rubble of Jannuari, one of our few possessions that is entirely Winterian, not influenced by Cordellan assistance. This one is enclosed like a boxed wagon, meant for transporting goods, not people.

  And goods it carries. Jewels, stones, all mined from Gaos, to be added to the other riches we’ve acquired for payment to Cordell and Autumn.

  I toss a feeble smile at Nessa and Garrigan and ease out as the sleigh passes.

  Noam stands in a group of his men, talking in a low voice to Theron, who seems even more exhausted than I feel. He sees me emerge and turns with a noticeable sigh of relief, dragging his father’s attention.

  Noam looks like Theron, only twenty years older, undeniably related and undeniably Cordellan—shoulder-length golden-brown hair going gray at the roots, brown eyes rimmed with lines yet glistening under the cloudy skies. His hip, as usual, bears the holster that cradles Cordell’s conduit, the jewel on the dagger’s hilt emitting a lavender haze of magic.

  “Lady Queen,” he calls, closing the few paces between us.

  The Cordellan soldiers shift in their conversations, watching with interest. There are Winterians here too, busily fixing the buildings surrounding the square, hauling lumber and supplies. Behind it all, the Jannuari Palace rises up. The remaining wings sit in a U shape, cupping a wide courtyard with drooping willow trees, the exterior walls embellished by ivory trim and white marble, char marks and gaping cannon holes.

  I pull my shoulders back. “King Noam,” I start. I’ve made pleasantries enough by now that I should have one ready to spit out—So glad to see you’ve made it back to Jannuari or I hope your trip wasn’t too taxing—but I’m too tired to pretend not to hate him right now.

  “Any news on your progress?” he asks. “I keep hoping for the day when Winter will prove itself to be a better investment than expected.”

  My mask of political neutrality crumbles away. “We are not an investment,” I snap.

  Theron steps closer to me. “Autumn will be here in a few hours. We should start preparing for tonight’s ceremony—”

  But Noam ignores him, his amusement warping into a sneer. “Do not mistake the reason for my presence.” His conduit spikes purple light. “You are as aware as I am that the only worthwhile thing in your kingdom lies in those mountains. You have neither the resources nor the support to harness their use. You need me, Lady Queen.”

  “Someday we won’t,” I growl. “I’d fear that day if I were you.”

  Noam’s face twists. “A threat? And here I thought you were finally above such things.”

  I catch myself. He’s right. I hate that he’s right—

  A blanket of ice sucks my breath away.

  I wheeze on the anxiety that cocoons around my anger, a deadly blend that makes my magic more agitated. It flares up my chest, fed by each word Noam says, each flicker of terror that I’m losing control. Again.

  But I should be fine now—I encountered the magic barrier days ago. My magic should be back to normal, shouldn’t it?

  I almost call for Hannah. But even considering that option makes the magic rise higher, coating my tongue with frost and numbing my fingers into solid tubes of ice. I have to calm down—there are Winterians around me. Lots of Winterians, and I’m so cold that I feel like one strong exhale will send magic spiraling out of me.

  Thankfully, Theron takes his father’s arm. The movement distracts me, one beat of relief.

  Until I hear what he says.

  “We found it,” Theron exhales, massaging the back of his neck like he has to coax each word out of his throat. “The magic chasm. We need your help to—”

  “Theron!” His name splits my heart.

  The magic must have muddled my brain, because surely he didn’t say that.

  But he never actually promised he wouldn’t tell his father about the magic chasm. He knows how I feel about it, and I know how he feels about it—but I never thought he’d do this.

  I didn’t realize how desperate he truly was for the chasm, how that spark of hope in his eyes is so anchored to this discovery. Because now, as he stands there, hanging on Noam’s reaction, Theron looks more like himself than he has in months.

  He needs this.

  Noam turns to me. Squints. And smiles. A smile to put all others to shame, cracking across his face like he’s been saving it for this day.

  “Did you, now?” he asks me—just me, like Theron isn’t the one who told him.

  No, I want to say. No, Theron’s lying, we haven’t found anything—

  Noam steps to the side and waves me toward the palace, his eyes never leaving my face. “I believe we have a few things to discuss, Lady Queen.” His smile hardens. “In private.”

  Sir comes up beside me. Too late to do anything, but he reads the aghast look on my face and spins on Noam. “Is there a problem?”

  Noam grins. “My son just told me of your discovery. You’re welcome to join the conversation, General Loren.”

  Noam nods at his men and I feel more than see them surround us. They’re not overtly threatening, and the hum in the square continues just the same—hammers pounding, voices buzzing in conversation. Even Conall, Garrigan, and Nessa remain by the horses, wholly unaware of the way Noam ushers us to follow him into the palace like it’s his.

  Sir throws Theron a glare when Noam gets a few paces ahead. “You told him?”

  The bite in Sir’s voice is the same growl he threw at me so often growing up. But this time, it’s distorted with the smallest flicker of remorse. Not for himself, I realize when my eyes snap to his. For me.

  He knows what happened. Understands it more than even I can at this point.

  Theron betrayed me.

  My lungs hitch.

  The Cordellan soldiers urge us forward, and we start walking toward the palace.

  “I had to,” Theron says, beseeching, but when I don’t look at him, he clears his throat and roughens his voice. “We have to open that door. We need Cordell’s resources to figure out a way to do so—and I have a plan that will make my father need my help to open the door too.” His eyes sparkle. “Trust me, Meira.”

  “But I asked you not to tell him.” I finally look at him. “I needed time, Theron. I needed to figure—”

  “How much time do you think we have?” Theron’s brow pinches, and I know he’s trying not to show his frustration. “How long do you think Angra will give us before—”

  “Angra is dead,” Sir cuts in. “You did this to fortify us against an evil that isn’t even here?”

  Theron’s face sets. “I did it so that no matter what evils arise, we will never be outmatched again.”

  The doors to the palace open and Noam leads us through the entryway, down a hall, and into a study. When the door closes behind us, Noam stops in the middle of the room and locks his arms behind his back, not bothering to face us yet. Theron steps forward while Sir presses his fists into the back of one of the couches, caving in on himself as he tries to assess the situation. And I move to the window, the glass smudged and dirty but still showing a view of the palace’s courtyard and Jannuari beyond.

  “We found a door,” Theron begins when the silence lingers. “In the Tadil Mine. It was carved with scenes—vines on fire, a stack of books, a mask, and light hitting a mountain with the words ‘The Order of the Lustrate’ around it. The first three had keyholes in the center, but we couldn’t move closer to study them. There’s a barrier that blocks anyone from approaching.”

  I know that tone. The slight air of distraction, like his mind rolls through things faster than his mouth can say them. I turn, and sure enough, Theron gazes absently into the air as he talks. He got the same look in Gaos when he stared at the tapestry—and me.

  I fall against the wall.

>   That’s where I’ve seen the Order of the Lustrate’s seal before. In Bithai, Theron got this same look on his face when he helped me decipher that maddening book, Magic of Primoria.

  The beam of light hitting a mountaintop—it was on the cover.

  I find myself dangling on the precipice of asking Hannah about this, but that instinct shatters against my abrupt realization that she still isn’t here. My mind is only mine.

  I brace for a flood of missing her, but all that comes is a small, selfish knot of relief. I’m happy to be the only one in my head again.

  Shouldn’t I miss her, though?

  Noam turns. “Is that all?”

  Theron nods. “Yes. I returned once, after we found it.” He rubs his shoulder, wincing like it pains him. “The barrier is . . . persistent. Each time someone tries to pass, it throws them against the wall. And there’s nothing else down there.”

  I don’t have it in me to be hurt that he went to study the door without telling me.

  The Order of the Lustrate wrote the book I read in Bithai months ago. Most of it was cryptic scrawling or riddles, but maybe there’s something in it that could be useful now.

  I instantly groan. There’s no way I could get it, not without alerting Noam to its importance. I could send someone to steal it from Bithai, but even when I had it, I needed Theron’s help to figure out any of its passages. Maybe Sir or Dendera would be better equipped at deciphering centuries-old riddles?

  “The carvings,” Theron tells Noam, easing around the couches to stand in front of him. “We can’t open the door now, but I think—I think the carvings could lead us to a way.”

  I straighten, eyes hard on Theron.

  “How so?” Noam asks.

  Theron exhales. “The whole place feels like a secret, but I think whoever made it wanted it to be opened. But not easily. Something like that should be difficult to open, and if I had set it up, I would have made it so only the worthy could access that much power.”

  Noam stays quiet, his arms folded.

  “I think the carvings hold clues.” Theron slides a paper out of his pocket and unfolds it, showing Noam as he talks. “I drew them as best I could. Vines on fire, books in a pile, a mask. On the surface, they seem unrelated—but they do have one thing in common.”