Page 27 of Frost Like Night
She had waited for him for four years. And it had taken a coup and the return of dark magic to make him fight for her in return.
“Cerie,” Jesse said. “Please, talk to me. Let me—”
“No.” Ceridwen worked at checking on Lekan’s leg. It needed a proper dressing, and she almost thanked him for getting injured so she had something to do.
Jesse didn’t relent. “Please, I know I—”
“No!” Ceridwen snapped. “No, you don’t know. Go away, Jesse. Leave mealone.”
Her final words lost their fire, dropping like rain falling halfheartedly from the sky.
Jesse’s eyes shot to hers. A few lanterns hung around the deck of the ship, not enough to draw unwanted attention or do more than highlight the copper gleam of his skin.
“All right,” he agreed, broken.
He hesitated, hoping maybe that she would change her mind. But finally he stood and took jolting steps across the deck to where Giselle talked with her men.
Lekan’s cold fingers touched Ceridwen’s arm. “He came for you.”
Ceridwen stiffened. “Your wound needs dressing.”
She started to flag down a passing soldier for supplieswhen Lekan caught her hand.
“Yours does too,” he whispered. A deep breath, a wince, and he relaxed his grip. “He sought an alliance with the Winter queen. Before the coup, just after you ended things with him. He intended to overthrow Raelyn before any of this happened.”
Ceridwen’s jaw popped open and she instantly snapped it closed. Lekan knew her too well, and that knowledge would force her to confront things she didn’t have the strength for yet.
She had a war to plan for. Giselle’s soldiers in her camp. Angra’s threat spreading through the world. Dozens of other problems, all far more immediate and awful than . . .Jesse.
So she found bandages and water and cleaned Lekan’s wound, all the while ignoring the way that Jesse watched her every move.
8
Meira
I WAKE INthe room Oana brought me to, unable to remember the last time I slept so well. Everything in me wavers like an empty sack in the wind, and I realize that’s exactly what I am now—empty. I still remember every emotion, every worry, the faces of all the people I need to protect—but they’re not consuming me anymore. They’re just hovering in my mind.
I poke at them uncertainly. Sir—he’s still in Winter, and who knows if he’s alive or dead? Theron could be ransacking my kingdom now at Angra’s behest. Mather . . . he might not have gotten everyone out of the dungeon. He might not have gotten away.
And while I’m aware of the concern each thought brings, I’m not crippled by it. The prevailing emotion in my head is just . . . nothing. Which allows me to focus on the small, insignificant things I’d all but forgotten.
Like the calluses on my hands, softening now because of how long it’s been since I regularly threw my chakram. Or the shocking gauntness in my legs and stomach—have I been eating? I honestly can’t remember.
So I do. Dishes sit on the table, fresh and steaming, and snow above, nothing has ever tasted so delicious. I don’t even know what they are—something savory that looks like potatoes, and something sweet that has the texture of honey and cake all in one. I eat until my stomach bulges, and head for the washbasin in the corner.
After scrubbing my skin, I open the trunk against the wall and find clothes within. Robes; thin, airy pants; soft leather boots that stretch up past my knees; long scarves knotted into belts in a rainbow of colors. I sort through until I find a sky-blue robe with navy swirls on the sleeves and collar, the tones matching my one accessory, the locket. A silver belt completes the outfit, and as I stand in the center of the room, eyes closed, I allow myself a few moments of steady, silent breathing.
For the first time in months, years even, I can breathe. I can feel things beyond crippling doubt, beyond the consuming effort of keeping my emotions in check.
A knock on the door echoes at the edge of my awareness.
“You’re ready for the next lesson,” comes Rares’s voice, and I know he means more than the fact that I am awake and dressed.
“Yes,” I start, smiling. “I am.”
It turns out, I slept for days. Three days, to be exact. No matter how good my body feels, my mind throbs with guilt at the thought of how much time I wasted.
I remember Angra’s vision, his plan for the world. Is he still in Rintiero? Or has he moved on, spreading his fear and darkness to Yakim, Summer, Autumn . . . ?
