Page 15 of Frost Like Night
“Wait! We’re going to stay here?” I chase after Rares. “We know what Angra wants now—we have to warn everyone—”
“To what purpose?” Rares doesn’t stop, forcing us closer to the valley floor. “You still intend to fight him, don’t you? All this does is add urgency to our training. We know now what Angra will be doing throughout the world—and he knows you know, so you’ll be even more of a target once you reemerge.” Now Rares does stop, swinging around to face me. “Which makes it even more imperative that you leave here as prepared as possible. Doesn’t it?”
I pinch my lips together. My heartbeat eats a hole through my chest, and though my initial reaction is to scream athim, I force myself to process what he said, every word.
“Yes,” I admit. But I hate it, and myself, and him, all of this, everything standing in the way of me helping everyone I care about. Butthiswill help them.
If it doesn’t, Angra will kill me, and any chance of ridding the world of his magic will be gone. He’ll spread his control to every kingdom in Primoria as he’s already started to do in Ventralli. I saw how much that kingdom had started to change after only one night under his rule—how long would it take him to conquer the world?
I blow past Rares, stomping ahead of him. Below, the castle sits, similar in style to Yakim’s Langlais Castle. Gray stones snuggle alongside one another, beaten smooth from centuries of existence; windows of thick glass reflect flares of moonlight if the angle is right. At the top right corner of the wall, a flag flutters, its maroon background showing a mountain beneath a beam of light.
The symbol for the Order of the Lustrate.
“Why do you call yourselves the Order of the Lustrate?” I ask.
“Lustratemeans to purify by sacrifice,” Rares explains. “We thought ourselves noble in that regard—that we were willing to sacrifice magic to sustain our kingdom’s purity.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Sacrifice,” I echo. I haven’t been able to say that word since I discovered that that was what the magic required. Saying it now, feeling each letter tumble out of my mouth . . . I don’t feel anything.But I have to, don’t I? It has to be a willing sacrifice. It has to be something Iwant.
But I can think of only a handful of things I truly want. To be back in Winter, tucked away with Mather and Sir and Nessa and everyone I love; to hurl my chakram at something over and over until my heart doesn’t ache anymore.
Rares jerks to a stop. I can see his eyes on me in the moonlight, and the gentleness there looks almost like sympathy.
“Wanting isn’t weak,” he says. The solid iron gate in the wall starts to creak open. “Wanting is a drive. A goal. Without wanting, what would we be? Empty, I think.”
His mouth hangs open as he studies me, seeing through me.
“I know it’s been a long trip. But . . . I think you’ll need to talk to her, before you rest.”
I frown. “Her?”
No sooner do I ask that than a door slams within the compound. Rares beckons me on.
The walls surround a complex illuminated by lanterns. Stables and a training ring take up the right, a garden fills the left—and in front of us, racing out of the castle, comes a woman just as old as Rares, with long, black hair in dozens of braids that sway against each other, beads jangling from the ends and feathers fluttering in the centers. She wears a ruby robe, the neckline and cuffs adorned with swirling gold designs, and a skirt splits at her knees, revealing aglimpse of brown boots and tan pants that show all the more when she gathers the robe in a fist to sprint faster.
“You’re here!” she cries. Before I can object, she throws her arms around me, smashing me to her chest. She smells like well-worn fabric dried in the sun, like cinnamon and thyme and other, less familiar herbs. And when she pulls back, her dark eyes glittering, I can’t help but smile. Something about her is all those things—well-worn and bright.
Rares hooks his arm around her neck. “What an impression, darling.”
“Oh! I didn’t frighten you, did I?” she asks me, eyes beseeching.
I shake my head. “You are by far the least threatening thing I’ve encountered in a while.”
She laughs and plants a kiss on Rares. After a rather long, awkward moment of wondering if I should excuse myself while they reunite, Rares turns to me.
“Sorry, dear heart—Meira, this is my wife, Oana.”
Oana sweeps up the bell sleeve of her robe so it wraps around her hand before she extends it to me. I stare at it, the fabric covering her skin.
She starts. “A formality in Paisly, you see. Can be rather intrusive, if either party is unable to block their mind. If you like, we don’t have to—”
“No, it’s fine.” I put my hand in hers. “Perfect, actually.”
She lets the shake go far longer than is customary, hereyes sweeping over every part of my face. “You are lovely, sweetheart.”
I pull out of her grip. “Um . . . thank you.”
“Nowyou’re scaring her,” Rares chuckles.
