Page 93 of Frost Like Night
Mather jogged off toward the structure she had indicated, the one overflowing with weapons and gear. The rest of his Thaw stayed around the main tent, watching him go with a mix of worry and angst. He’d be leaving them again soon.
But this would all be over soon too.
27
Meira
THIS IS TOOeasy.
I manage to block Angra for our entire journey. But when we make it to the valley with no ambushes, no change of plans, no bad news, I know something is wrong. Angra wouldn’t let us get away with our plan if he knew about it—so either we somehow succeeded in making a move that surprised him . . .
Or we’re in a lot of trouble.
Soon after I let down the barriers and unleash the hold I have on my magic, I know we don’t have much time. Hunched over maps of the valley and surrounding mountains with Ceridwen and Caspar, I don’t alert them to the fact that I’m prodding the area around us for Angra, my eyes on the table but my mind far, far away.
Just how far can I stretch my magic? I’ve been keepingwatch over our immediate area throughout the trip, but can I go farther?
I poke the forest around us. Nothing.
The Winter side of the valley. Nothing.
The mountains, the forest beyond—nothing.
But then—
I grip the edge of the table, feigning interest in whatever Ceridwen points at.
Angra falls into my awareness, a bead of water breaking the still surface of a lake. No direct contact, my mind still barricaded from any attacks, but I recognize him—and I’m entirely certain he’s doing the same to me, latching onto my location now that I’m no longer blocking him.
Ah, there you are,I can almost hear him say.So nice of you to join our war again.
Angra isn’t blocking me with magic like I did to him for so long—almost as though he’s been waiting for me to try to find him. He wants me to know he’s coming.
Because he’s already on his way, no doubt leading an army toward us. At the very least, we did get to choose the location of the battle, but the fact that Angra is already on the move says he didn’t wait for his full forces to gather before he left. He must still have enough to thoroughly destroy us.
His is the only presence I sense. Though Caspar just moments ago received word from his scouts that Theronis indeed in Jannuari, part of me hoped he was wrong. But Theron isn’t with Angra, and I’d be able to feel his link to magic, at least—he’s a conduit-wielder now, even if he doesn’t have his conduit anymore.
My heart drops, but I stretch my magic toward Angra. Theron definitely isn’t with him.
Does Theron even have the keys anymore? Angra could have taken them before this. But if I reach Theron, and he doesn’t have the keys, there’d be no reason for me to stay. If Angra truly does want to lure me into a trap, his best way of doing it would still be for Theron to have the keys, and for me to have to get them from him.
If that’s the way Angra wants this to play out, then Theron still has the keys, and he’s waiting for me in Jannuari.
Angra’s biggest weakness lies in my kingdom.
So he left one of my biggest weaknesses there too.
“He’s coming,” I announce, popping my head up. Ceridwen and Caspar pull back, cautious frowns easing across their features.
“How far?” Caspar asks, already bending over another map and tracing possible routes from Jannuari. The last report we got from Caspar’s spies was little help—they nearly got caught and had to run before any information could be gleaned.
I knock his hand aside and point lower, to the area that tugs at my consciousness, the unnerving feeling of someone watching but at a distance. A spot just shy of theAutumn-Winter border, north of us still, but not nearly as far as Caspar had been expecting. Angra’s soldiers in Oktuber must have told him of our presence in Autumn.
Caspar rears away from the table and whirls on two of his warriors, posted outside the tent. “Call in our scouts. Tell them to fan out northeast. I want numbers, speed of travel—”
His voice fades as he stomps off into the camp, spouting orders at his soldiers without a backward glance. That’s his tactic, I’ve learned: waste no time. Which fits the life Autumn leads—move, do,be, because at any moment, Angra could come crashing in.
Ceridwen leaves too, Lekan following, both of them bent in a quiet hum of discussion that fades once they exit the open-air tent. I’m left with the swishing of the afternoon breeze through the trees that hug the edge of our camp, the steady banging of smiths in the crude excuse for an armory we set up nearby.
