Page 17 of Frost Like Night
Oana opens the door. Gray and cold, the room holds a lumpy bed with a thick violet quilt, a trunk against a wall, and a dented table displaying dishes that make me weak with hunger.
“I assumed you’d prefer a room without a fireplace. The cold might bother others, but for you, it’s comforting, yes?” Oana scrunches her nose in a knowing grin. “Eat, please.”
I don’t need further prodding. Two chairs sit at the table, and as I drop into one, I fear I may never be able to get up again. My arm shakes as I reach toward the nearest dish, hunger and stress and tiredness all washing over me.
Oana pulls out the other chair but doesn’t sit, hovering over it, over me, as I sip brothy stew from a rough wooden cup.
I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “So . . . what is this lesson?”
Oana smiles softly, her shoulders folding forward. “You will only succeed in controlling your magic if you first have control of yourself. As I’m sure you’ve learned, magic islinked to your emotions; if they are unstable, your magic will be unstable too. I’m going to help you come to a state of acceptance—and readiness for Rares’s training.”
That was what I was afraid of,I think, then wince. She heard that, and gives me that look again, as if I’m a chunk of gold mined from the Klaryns.
“I hope, through this, you come to see how amazing you are,” she whispers.
That look of hers, her words—it all suddenly creates a noose around my neck. IknowI’m here to save them from their horrible existence of being all-powerful and, apparently, immortal; IknowI’m here so they can tell me about magic and the chasm and help me die.
Isn’t that enough? Does she need to make me feel even more like a sacrifice, untouchable and dehumanized? Do we really have to poke intome?
Oana steps forward. “That’s not why—”
I drop the cup onto the table and bend forward, hands over my head.“Stop.”
She doesn’t move. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Why is this something you fear?”
I choke into my hands, half a laugh, half a quiet plea.
I’m afraid of breaking.
I’ve been keeping every spare twitch of strength against the door in my mind, the one holding back all my crippling emotions. Keeping that door closed has been the only thing between a breakdown and me, but I’m tired, and the door isgetting heavier, and Oana won’t leave.
But this lesson is aboutme. We can’t move on to the other lessons, the ones that will help me control my magic, until we confront this one. Damn Rares—but I know he’s right.
I can’t face Angra if half my strength is always spent on containing myself.
So I open the door, and let everything tumble out.
I should never have trusted Noam with my kingdom. I should have seen Theron’s fall, but I pushed him out of my life—and as much as I should, I don’t regret that. I can’t remember what it felt like to love him without complication.
I do remember loving Mather. My memories of him are sharp and clear—I think of how, no matter what happened, who died, what evil we faced, he’s always been in the background of my life.
Nessa—she grew up in a cage in Angra’s prison camp; how terrified was she to be in a cage under his control again? I had no right leaving her or Conall, especially after . . . Garrigan. He sang Nessa to sleep when she awoke screaming from nightmares. He protected me with the same devotion he showed his sister. He didn’t deserve to die.
But nothing in this world plays out as people deserve. Horrible things happen without cause or explanation, leaving slack-jawed horror in their wake. People make decisions without thinking about the results—they just do things, then run off into the dark, never admitting to theirmistakes, never apologizing forgetting me killed.
Hannah.Hannah.
Snow above, I hate her so much, and I hate most of all that she made me hate her. She was my mother—she should have loved me. She should have done a hundred other things that she didn’t do, and now she’s just one of the many pieces of my heart that hurt to touch.
Oana drops to her knees before me. “Meira, sweetheart . . .”
But I’m too lost in it now. I don’t think I’m on the chair anymore, but rather curled into myself on the floor with my hands over my head and tears streaming down my face.
And now I know exactly what the world will look like if I fail. I suspected the sort of evil Angra would release, and I remember well the streets of Abril, how utterly empty they were, every person cowering except the soldiers, who wielded power like chained dogs at their master’s feet. I have to stop that—but I don’t want to do this.I don’t want to do this.It’s supposed to be a willing sacrifice, surrendering my conduit to the source of the magic. But it’s all going to be in vain, because the last thought I think as I die will beNo, Hannah chose this.
I want to live. I want to go back to Winter and grow old and—I don’t want to be used.
Oana grabs my chin and eases my head up so she can look into my eyes. She must be blocking me, because she’s touching my skin, running her fingers over my cheeks.
