Page 2 of Frost Like Night
His words offer much-needed comfort, so needed, in fact, that it isn’t until he darts back into the hall that I wonder—how did he know I was worrying?
It doesn’t matter. I swallow, resolute. I will do this. I will learn what I can from the Order, and use that knowledge: either I will face Angra in battle and destroy him and his magic—or I will get the keys from him, enter the chasm in the Tadil, and destroy all magic in the only way I know how.
Either way, this is what I need to do. Angra is too strong—I need help, and the Order of the Lustrate is the only resource I know of that could help me grasp my magic in the same unstoppable way that Angra does.
Rares leads me inside an empty kitchen filled with thick wooden tables and roaring fireplaces and food abandoned by servants who are most likely hiding from the frenzy of the takeover. He pulls out a water sack and fills it at a pump in the corner.
“Who are you?” I finally manage to ask.
He points to a block of knives on a counter. “Arm yourself.”
“With kitchen knives?”
He doesn’t break stride. “A blade is a blade. Blood can be drawn all the same.”
I frown but slide a few knives into my belt. My emptyholster still hangs against my spine—my chakram is back in the ballroom. Back in Garrigan’s chest.
I grip the edge of the counter.
A hand cups my shoulder, and when I look up, Rares is watching me.
“My name is Rares. I didn’t mislead you about that,” he says. “Rares Albescu of Paisly, a leader in the Order of the Lustrate.”
He glances over my shoulder, at the kitchen door that leads into the palace. Footsteps echo, growing louder, and I know we’ll have to run before he can explain more.
“I will tell you everything,” he promises. “But first we must reach safety—in Paisly. Angra can’t follow us there.”
“Why not?” I face Rares. “What are you planning—whyis this—”
Rares cuts me off with a squeeze to my shoulder. “Please, Your Majesty. It’s the safest place for all I must show you, and I promise, I will tell you everything as soon as I am able.”
“Meira,” I correct. If I’m going to risk my life for the foreseeable future, then I’m going to be addressed howIwant to be addressed.
Rares smiles. “Meira.”
We move to the other kitchen door, the one leading to a garden. Rares starts to slip out when I’m caught by one last grip of remorse at all I’m leaving. By going with him, Iamhelping—the Order of the Lustrate is my bestchance at stopping Angra—but it still feels like I’m running away.
Rares turns. “You can’t save everyone by staying.”
Other people have told me this before—You can’t save everyone; Winter is your priority.Most loudly: Sir.
Grief stabs into me. Mather told me of Alysson’s death, but what about Sir? Did he survive the Cordellan attack on Jannuari? What about the rest of Winter—what state is my kingdom in? I can’t think about Sir being dead. He has to be alive, and if he is, he’ll be doing everything he can to keep Winter together.
I hear what Rares said again, realizing now the exact meaning of his words, and I begin to see all the ways he differs from Sir. Rares’s eyes are wider; his skin is darker; his hands are more scarred from years of fighting. And most of all, in Rares, I see something I never saw in Sir—something that made Rares add the two words that entirely changed the meaning of that sentence.
You can’t save everyoneby staying.
Not an end. A choice.
“Who are you?” I breathe again.
Rares smiles. “Someone who has been waiting for you for a long time, dear heart.”
Soon after we leave the palace complex, a horn wails through the hazy gray sky.
They’ve discovered I’m gone. Which means they foundTheron, chained to the dungeon wall, and Mather and the rest—
No. Mather wouldn’t let anything happen to anyone in his care. Not because I ordered him to keep them safe, but because that’s who he’s always been—a man who, even after he lost his throne, still found a way to be a ruler. The way his Children of the Thaw look at him, with the unquestioned loyalty earned by someone born to lead . . .
