Page 49 of Frost Like Night
Meira
THE NEXT DAYbrings more sparring, with Oana and Rares trading off who attacks physically and who attacks mentally. The initial few rounds begin the same as the first one—it takes a few attacks before I open fully to my magic. But by the end of the day, the sparring sessions start with me already blocking Rares from my mind as I counter Oana’s sword, and it takes only a few short minutes to end each fight.
I have control of my magic. At least, the beginning of control.
As soon as I think that, I realize what it means. I could stay in Paisly, shielded from Angra, and train until I’m perfect—or I could latch onto the early blossoming of readiness and leave.
The decision feels like it’s been in my heart all along. Iknew what I’d do the moment I got here.
A war awaits.
I kneel over the trunk in my room, hands on the edges, staring into the clothing. I know I need supplies—blankets, extra clothing, food—but I can’t make myself move.
“We’ve almost got dinner—” Rares’s voice cuts off when he enters my room, but I know he can’t read my thoughts anymore. Maybe he just senses the change in me, sees the way I bite the inside of my cheek.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I whisper to the trunk. “That a few victories in a training ring don’t mean I’m ready. But . . . this isn’t normal training.” I look up at him. “I know I’ve barely begun to understand all this, but I have what I came here for, and I don’t have time to perfect it. This isn’t in preparation for a war—the war has already begun. I—”
“I’m not going to stop you, dear heart.” Rares leans against the doorframe, his eyes soft. “Where will you start?”
I stand. “I’ll need support. Mather said everyone from Ventralli was planning to gather in a Summerian camp east of the Southern Eldridge Forest. They’re removed enough from the world that the Decay might not have affected them yet.”
“And then?”
“I’ll use the support to help me get close to Angra. Get the keys from him. And . . .”
Rares studies me, and I watch him in turn, struck yet again by how different he is from Sir. I wouldn’t be able to see a single emotion on Sir’s face—just the stoic countenance of a general, immovable and solid.
Part of me wishes for Sir’s emotionlessness, if only to avoid the pang of grief when Rares sniffs and rubs his eyes.
“Oana and I will do what we can here. The Order has already been at work readying our army—we’ll join you as soon as we can.” He steps forward, mouth open to say more, but whatever he’s about to say is forgotten when he notices my empty hands. “You’ll need supplies! Food, at least, and—oh, Oana’s better at this than I am. Take what you need from the kitchen. I’ll go get what supplies she thinks you should have.”
He leaves, rushing out the door, and I don’t breathe until he’s gone.
Actions are always far easier than words.
I gather a nice assortment of food in the kitchen, but, unable to find a sack big enough to transport it in, I duck out in search of a storage closet.
A closed door sits just next to the kitchen. The knob sticks under my hand, but a firm bump from my shoulder sends the door groaning open. A window shines hazy evening light into the room, and that coupled with the light from behind lets me see enough that I freeze, hand on the knob.
This definitely isn’t a closet.
A rocking chair wavers in the center of the room, its curved legs moaning at the air from the open door. Beside it, a wooden bassinet sits beneath a thick layer of cobwebs and dust. A moth-eaten quilt hangs limp over the chair, the colors faded from years of sitting in the sunlight through the window.
My heart convulses as I take cautious steps into the room. The last time I saw a bassinet—one made of fabric and covered in silk, not wood and delicate carvings—was in the dream Hannah showed me. Her memory of the night Winter fell.
Mybassinet.
“They have a child?”
I spin to the door, where Mather stands, one shoulder slumped against the frame. The hazy light from the window casts him in grayness.
“No,” I say. “But they want one.”
Mather nods. His head hangs low against his chest. “I’ve been thinking about it lately more than I ever did before.”
“About what?”
His head lifts. “Family.” He waves at the room. “Parents. Everything we didn’t get.”
