Page 58 of Frost Like Night
Summer’s orange sand sticks everywhere—to the walls of buildings, the clothing of travelers. It coated everything we’d had when we passed through a sandstorm on our first visit to Juli—maybe it can serve as camouflage now.
I bend and start scrubbing the particles into my arms, my cheeks, my hair, and the Thaw follows my lead. Soon our Winterian features are covered, and by readjusting a few of our wraps and scarves, we might just go unnoticed. The empty streets work even more to our favor—if we hunch over and scurry from shadow to shadow, we could actually make it.
I take a deep breath in and lead everyone out into the nearly deserted streets.
Mather sidles up beside me, everyone else falling into line behind us. “What are we going to do if they’ve alreadybeen caught?” he whispers, his voice low against the eerie stillness around us. Wind whistles between buildings, causing Phil to hurry closer to us.
“Get them out,” I reply, as if that’s enough.
“Once Angra has been defeated, they’d be freed that way,” Mather returns. “You know William would tell us to finish the war before saving him.”
I glance over my shoulder, taking stock of the Thaw. “I don’t think he— Oh,really?”
Mather turns to see what catches my attention. Phil, Hollis, Feige, Kiefer, and Eli crowd behind us, but back a few paces, Trace stands near the building with the faces pressed to the window. The front door is open, a girl leaning out, the drooping orange fabric of her shirt pushing recognition through me. That place is one of Summer’s brothels.
And Trace is leaning against the doorframe, chatting with her as if we aren’t trying to infiltrate an enemy city.
In panic, I fling a burst of magic at him, protecting him even more from Angra’s Decay. I’ve been protecting all of the Thaw, though, haven’t I? I refocus on keeping them safe, just in case, a cold funnel of magic pushing out of my chest and into them.
Trace doesn’t react to the magic and only turns when Mather growls, “Trace!”
He jolts and looks at us, his eyes jerking from Mather to me. He chokes, realizing what we think, and waves his apologies to the girl as he jogs up the road toward us.
“I didn’t—I mean, she was pretty, but—I figured she could help us,” he says. “Tell us where Angra is, that sort of thing.”
Mather frowns. “Did she?”
“Seems there’s a gathering up at the palace tonight.” Trace grins. “An announcement or something—guess Angra’s been making such announcements every few nights. The first night, he presented the Summerian people with his magic, hence all the . . .” Trace waves at the desolate city. “The second night, the advisers, or whoever has been in charge of Summer since the king died, gave control of the kingdom to him. Tonight’s supposed to be another one.”
“Angra’s held three separate gatherings since he’s been here?” I squint. “It seems a little . . . excessive.”
“Maybe.” Mather tips his head. “Or maybe it’s taken him that long to secure his power?”
“So it isn’t a trap?” I press. “He hasn’t been staging these gatherings to draw us out?”
Mather smiles in a way that’s more a wince. “That’s a given. Everything he does is probably, in some way, meant to squash his enemies.”
I grunt but push past my worry—we know it’s a trap. We knew from the beginning that this whole mission would be dangerous. Nothing’s changed.
But it seems like every time I find out information that appears not to change anything, it does just the opposite.
The palace grounds echo the fear and apprehension that choke the city. Servants flit in and out of the gates, preparing for whatever gathering will be held tonight, which makes their panic easy to slip into, and we hide in a shadowed overhang by the stables. We stand in a tight group, the Thaw pressed in around me, and I reach out to my magic, the constant coldness reminding me that I’m keeping a shield around my Winterians and myself—Angra won’t be able to sense us, and his Decay won’t be able to infect us.
But we’re here, on the grounds, and I’ll have to risk using more magic now.
The Thaw is silent as I close my eyes, arms knotted across my chest. I let tendrils of magic snake over the ground and up to the palace, splitting apart and spreading out like frost crawling over a window. I should be able to sense Sir—his Winterian blood is connected to the magic within me, and he should be close enough to feel, the same way I pushed magic into the workers deep in the Tadil while I stood atop the mine.
“What is she doing?” Phil hisses.
“Searching for Mather’s father, I’d imagine,” Trace answers quietly.
“I don’t know about you all,” Feige starts, “but I’m ready for an enemy I cansee. No more of this . . .”
My eyes are closed, but I take it she waves at what I’m doing. A few of the Thaw shift, their clothes rustling, and that’s answer enough. They’re uncomfortable with magicuse, as I knew they would be—the bulk of their magic experience was Angra’s control of Spring. The few months we were back in Winter, with me using magic sporadically to help crops along, did nothing to alter their already fearful view of it.
I almost tell them not to worry. It’ll all be gone soon.
Mather shushes them, a sharp hiss between his teeth, and I bow my head to my chest.
