Page 4 of Frost Like Night
SHE LEFT.
Channeling every bit of his panic into the task at hand, Mather threw his weight against the bolt. It released with a squeal and the cell door opened, freeing Phil, who barreled out, fists ready, a breath ahead of the rest of the Thaw. But Mather spared them no orders before he heaved open the bolt on the next door, releasing Dendera, Nessa, and Conall. Theron’s shouts for help from inside his own cell would alert his soldiers at any minute—and Meira had left them.
“We need to get out of here,” Mather said to no one in particular, but as he pivoted toward the staircase, he hesitated. Leaving that way would almost certainly land them right back in the dungeon if they encountered any soldiers. Was there another way out?
Phil stepped forward. “We can split up. Some of us goup the stairs, the rest go deeper into the dungeon, see if there’s a way—”
Another voice spoke. “Or you could follow me.”
Mather was too numbed by the day’s events to feel anything but readiness as he leaped toward the voice. He reached for a sword, but his weapons had been taken before the descent into the dungeon, and all he had now was Cordell’s Royal Conduit. His fingers brushed the jewel on the hilt, his lip curling as he remembered how Theron had tossed it away so carelessly—a part of him would take such joy in tarnishing Cordell’s pretty blade.
The person who had appeared in the middle of the hall folded her hands against the skirt of her gown, the silver looking almost like armor. A matching silver mask obscured her face, and when she spoke, she lifted her chin as authoritatively as a commander.
“If you wish to live, that is,” she said.
“You’re Ventrallan,” Mather countered, stopping just shy of her. “Why would we trust you?”
The woman scoffed. “And you have so many options at the moment?”
Mather didn’t get in another word before Dendera croaked, her eyes narrowing,“You. You’re Duchess Brigitte, the mother of the king. I saw you with Raelyn!”
Brigitte rolled her eyes. “If I agreed with her coup, do you think I would bother to be in this filthy place”—she turned up her nose at the walls— “alone? Either I can regaleyou with an explanation, or you can follow me. As I said, I personally do not care whether you live or die, but I think you can be useful to me, so make a decision quickly.”
The door at the top of the dungeon’s staircase rattled. Someone had finally heard Theron’s shouts.
Mather lurched toward Brigitte. She took that as acceptance and spun on her heel, her silver gown flaring as she hurried down the hall. The rest of Mather’s group followed without question—what other choice did they have? He had to get out of here to make sure Meira was all right, that whomever she’d left with wasn’t part of a trap of Angra’s. So many secrets had come to light—Cordell had turned on Winter, Theron had turned on Meira, and the Ventrallan queen had staged a coup. Could the man Meira left with be trusted? And beyond that, Winter was still under Cordellan control—how could they free it if they were Angra’s prisoners?
Brigitte ducked into a cell on the right. Mather hesitated just long enough for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. If the old hag had led them into a trap—
But at the back of the room, a door cracked open, the stone on the outward side showing that, when closed, it would blend seamlessly into the wall.
“Shut the door behind you,” Brigitte called before vanishing through the opening.
“Hollis,” Mather hissed. “Take the rear. Stay alert.”
Hollis positioned himself inside the room to let everyonepass. Mather followed Brigitte, muscles humming with pent-up fight. The stone deadened most sound, leaving him with only the distant clicking of the duchess’s shoes moving upward—stairs. He darted after her, hoping to put enough space between him and his group that if a trap did await them, he could give a warning with plenty of time for them to make it back down.
Alone in this narrow, dark space, a crack formed in his determination. It had all happened so abruptly—the man; Meira’s unexpected trust; her desperate plea for Mather to free everyone. And he had agreed, only because he hadn’t seen her look like that in months. Like the eye of a storm, terrifying and brilliant and severe.
The stairwell folded into a hall. One more hall led to another staircase, and at the top of that, Brigitte’s footsteps stopped. Metal jingled, thin and light—keys. Mather waited a few steps back, bracing himself for soldiers, arrows . . . Angra.
He clenched and unclenched his hands, staring sightlessly down at them in the blackness. He had killed Angra himself. He had broken the deranged king’s conduit on Abril’s ground and seen his body vanish.
What had that truly done to him?
Brigitte opened a door. Mather forced his eyes to adjust, lingering long enough for the yellow light to reveal a little of the room beyond: a thick scarlet rug, a short table, blue walls. No soldiers that he could see.
Brigitte stepped inside and Mather followed, a beat behind.
“Grandmamma!” came a child’s cry.
They were in a bedroom filled with mahogany furniture—a table and chairs, a wide bed, a few armoires positioned between floor-to-ceiling tapestries. This door stood behind one such tapestry while two more doors waited closed at other points in the room, unhidden.
Brigitte was the mother of Jesse Donati, the Ventrallan king. The king Mather had watched go from weak to infuriated and back while his wife seized control of his kingdom. The king who sat on a padded chair before Mather now, one child in his lap, another clinging to his arm as if it were a barrier she could hide behind.
A third child, the oldest but not by much, toddled forward. “Grandmamma,” she said again, tears tumbling over her lace mask.
Brigitte stroked the girl’s dark curls and looked over her shoulder at Mather. “I’ll help you leave, but you’ll take my son and grandchildren with you.”
