Page 65 of Frost Like Night
I guide my horse to face what Ceridwen sees, Mather pressing his body flat against my back, his sword held before me in defense. I’d thought all my adrenaline had been sucked dry by Summer’s heat, but fresh energy surges, my muscles coiling for a fight.
A man moves out from the trees. He’s Autumnian, his dark eyes wide against the smooth brown of his skin, his night-black hair tied away from his face in a frizzy knot. His armor is the heavy leather plating and his weapons the simple mix of wood and metal that Autumn is so known for—nature in its purest, deadliest forms. More warriors follow his lead, materializing from the trees around us, some on horseback, others, like the man, on foot.
He looks at me and flexes his hand against the hilt of a spear. “Queen Meira?”
I keep my jaw clamped shut. My horse paws at the grass under the tension.
If the Autumnians are on Angra’s side, anything I say could feed back to him.
Sir pushes forward in my stead. “What do you want?”
“A darkness has fallen over Primoria,” the man says. “My king wishes to know if it has affected the Winterian queen.”
Sir’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel my own face flash with confusion.
“Your king?” Sir presses, just as I would have.
I stare at the side of his head. Sir, acting as my general.This is how we’re supposed to be, and it feels familiar—yet uncomfortable even so.
The warrior nods. “Caspar Abu Shazi Akbari.”
Relief lets my muscles relax and I sag in my saddle. Mather twitches against me, and when I turn to him, he gives me a look like I’ve lost what’s left of my mind. But Sir relaxes too, and he meets my eyes with a nod.
“Angra’s Decay hasn’t taken him,” I explain to everyone else. “If it had, he wouldn’t recognize Caspar as his king. He’d say Angra.”
“Then why are we surrounded by armed soldiers?” Mather asks.
I turn back to the Autumnian. “We’re also free of the Decay. Angra isn’t our king either.”
The warrior steps back, letting his spear drop against his shoulder as he puts his hands up in surrender. The others sheathe their weapons.
“We had to make sure you could be trusted. King Caspar has tasked us with watching the border. We received word to look out for you, but that you had gone to Juli—such a trip, so close to Angra, could have resulted in your being poisoned with his magic.”
That grabs me. “You knew we were coming? How?”
The warrior smiles. “Caspar received word of you from several hundred refugees.”
“What?” I ask. “Are they all right? Where are they?”
The warrior smiles again. “My king will be able to answerthose questions. He wishes to speak to you immediately.” He bows his head. “If you please, Queen Meira, I’ll take you to the Autumn court.”
As we head into Autumn, the warrior explains that the Cordellans stationed in Oktuber turned on the Akbaris shortly after they received word of Theron’s betrayal. The court managed to escape and regroup with half of their forces in the southern part of the kingdom, nestled against the Klaryns’ foothills, stretching our trip to a day and half.
When I finally push my horse around one last aspen tree and catch a whiff of campfire smoke on the air, I sigh in relief. A few paces later, a group of Autumnian warriors stands on a narrow path, spears in their hands, swords at their waists, leather armor covering their chests and hanging in pleated skirts to their knees. They turn, alert.
“More refugees?” one of the warriors on guard calls. He motions to his right. “They’ve started a camp off in the—”
He pauses, his eyes catching on me again. My chakram, my locket.
He stiffens. “Queen Meira.”
I smile, the last of my worry vanishing.
They’ve opened their kingdom to our refugees, who are no doubt still trickling in just as we are, creating a tight pocket of people who oppose Angra, tucked away in Autumn’s forest. Even Sir’s stoic face ripples slightly, andI catch him studying me, a slight tilt to his mouth. In that moment I can almost see our past in his face—the last time we were in Autumn was years ago, when we were scraping by in our nomadic existence to hide from Angra. Now we’re here, riding into Autumn as welcome allies.
Lifetimes have changed in what feels like heartbeats.
I tip my head at Sir and he straightens, pressing forward without a word.
