Page 31 of Frost Like Night
I exhale, long and slow, and stretch out my hand.
I want to be able to face Angra and get those keys. I want to be able to protect Winter. I want to be able to stop this, all of this—
I want to survive.
In doing this, I’ll protect everyone I love. I’ll steal back the keys and get through the labyrinth and save the world from becoming a fearful prison ruled by Angra. But Mather will come with me into that labyrinth. He won’t hesitate if I ask him, and he’ll be there until the end. That isnotthe end I want for us.
I don’t want an end with him at all.
I cup my hands over my face.
I want Sir there with me too. But will he come? I honestly don’t know anymore. Last I spoke to him, I was so hurt—where do his loyalties lie now? I want—
I want, I want, I want—
With a tight snarl, I snap my hand out straight. The top on the box creaks open. And as my eyes widen, a sword comes hurtling out. The hilt smacks into my hand, but my shock is so consuming that I forget to grab it and the blade clanks against the dirt.
Rares applauds. “Took you a bit to get there, and your finish needs some work, but it’s a start.”
I stare at the sword, then at my hand. My fingers prickle, cool and stiff, with the magic that shot down my arm on my unspoken command.
It’s a start.
Here I am, flopping swords around a training yard, when out there, beyond Paisly, the world could be burning.
“Not good enough,” I snap and straighten my hand out over the sword. How did I do it? It wasn’t even a thought, but it came on the back of emotion like all the other times I used my magic. What emotion?
Mather, Sir, the labyrinth, my fate . . .
I don’t look away from the sword. “Have you received any word of Angra? The Order is still monitoring him, right? Have you received word from them about what he’s doing?”
Rares realizes what I want and clears his throat. “The Order’s barrier has kept him out of Paisly, and it appears he’s given up attempting to break through—his magic has stopped prodding at our defenses. Which is good, but also worrisome. He knows you’ll reemerge eventually, so fornow he has turned his attention to the rest of the world. In the four days since the takeover, his forces have secured Ventralli, with Raelyn overseeing the kingdom in his stead. She’s readying her army, presumably to join him—he’s heading toward the Seasons with Theron, most likely to solidify their hold over Summer or—” Rares hesitates. “Or Winter.”
My heart aches. Angra whisked Theron off like an ally, not a prisoner. What else has he made Theron do?
“His takeovers will hopefully be bloodless,” Rares continues, his tone still hard and removed, as though he knows showing no emotion will give me room to foster my own. “His method is to approach a city, much as he did Rintiero, and spread his magic to the residents. Most will be taken willingly and bow to him, either joining his army or giving in to the fear his magic fosters in them—they don’t know to resist it. Why would they? It happens so quickly, they don’t have time to realize who he is. Those who resist, though . . .”
Those who resist. Mather. Ceridwen and Nessa and Conall . . .
I want to stop this. I WILL stop this. I will make myself even more powerful than he is and I will return every speck of worry he’s heaped on me tenfold.
The sword wobbles, launches straight up, hilt-first, and I grab it.
Rares hoots in approval, and through the sweat nowbeading down my face, I look over at him, frustration and anger and determination making for a toxic swirl that all but blinds me. I have to be in control of my emotions to best use magic—and these emotions are, right now, the easiest to control.
I do want to survive this. But I want to end this too.
Ineedto end this.
Unfortunately, I have to constantly keep that desire in my mind.
Rares doesn’t move directly into fighting—for two days, he has me retrieve every sword from the crate and put them back to make sure I “understand the fundamentals of magic.”
Two days.
Three that I spent sleeping.
Six, total, since Angra took Rintiero.
