Page 92 of Frost Like Night
A pause, and she smiled back, then leaned over to say something to Ceridwen.
“She’s your queen first and foremost.”
Mather turned to William, who stood next to him just outside the largest open-air tent, the one for strategy and planning. When Meira had kissed him in the Autumnian camp, Dendera had managed to smile through her shock. But William hadn’t reacted at all. Mather had tried to explain what it was—not something they should worry about, not something fleeting, but a true, lasting relationship he intended to fight for.
William had crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes, and walked away.
Mather shifted toward him now, brow lifted. “I know.”
William pinned Mather with look. “Do not lose sight of that. Especially now—she is your queen and you are her soldier.”
Mather kept his voice low. “What do you think will happen? If anything, this makes me evenmoredisposed to protect her, and I—”
“Protection isn’t all she needs,” William cut him off. “She is the queen of Winter, and you are a soldier of Winter. Both of your goals should be the well-being of our kingdom—regardless of how that would affect either of you, emotionally or physically. You will protect Winter beyond your feelingsfor her and I expect her to do the same.”
Mather had heard similar speeches from William before, and he knew Meira had, too.“Winter first, above everything”; “Your goal is our kingdom’s salvation, nothing more.”He had never been on this end of such a speech, where he was the soldier and she the monarch. Was this what William had told Meira all those years, his reason for not wanting her to love Mather? So her feelings wouldn’t interfere with their kingdom’s progression?
Worse than that, Mather knew Meira agreed with William. He knew she would choose Winter over him, and try as he did to mute his constant worry, he couldn’t stifle it now.
She would die for them. And William would expect Mather to let her.
He had already lost too many people to Angra—Alysson, Phil, and dozens more over the years. He might not have been able to save Alysson or Phil, but he’d be damned if he’d just sit back and let Meira die too.
Grief coated his mouth, metallic and rancid, almost forcing him to gag or scream or let it out in some way. No more deaths.No more.
“Someone needs to fight for her,” Mather stated. “Alysson did the same for you. I’m hers first, and Winter’s second.”
“Family trouble?”
Mather swung to Meira, heat flashing up his neck.
“No, my queen,” William told her. “Are you ready to leave?”
Mather balked. “Leave? Already?”
Meira balked, too, but recovered faster than him. It wasn’t William’s question that threw her—it was the way he stood there, distant and stoic as ever.
“Yes.” She included Mather with a glance. “We received word of Theron’s location. Angra is marching with his army, but . . .”
“Jannuari?” William guessed when Mather didn’t trust himself to speak.
Meira nodded. She pointed toward a smaller tent off to their right. “Get your weapons and meet me back here in ten minutes.”
“Angra hasn’t arrived,” Mather argued. Panic swelled in his chest. They were leaving for Jannuari inminutes. He thought they wouldn’t leave until Angra marched on them, that he might have one last night with Meira, his body curled around hers in the tent they shared.
Meira’s softness faded. “Angra is already close, and he knows where we are. We need every moment we can get.”
Mather’s mouth dropped open. “How do you—”
But he stopped when she absently touched the locket, the glittering piece of jewelry that was so out of place on a woman dressed in borrowed Autumnian leather armor, a Paislian robe and boots, and a chakram.
Her magic. She could use it to sense Angra—so could Angra sense her? Or could she protect herself from him, only let him know where she was whenshechose it?
If she could do that, Angra could no doubt shield himself from her. So why was he letting Meira know where he was?
Mather bit back these worries. She knew what she was doing. He trusted her.
“All right,” he agreed. The sooner they ended this, the sooner that bastard would no longer be a threat to her—and the sooner Angra would pay for everything he had done.
