Page 96 of Frost Like Night
Fingers tighten over my arm, and even in the dark, I turnto Mather with a wicked smile.
“He’s here. In the ballroom above. We can do this quickly—I didn’t account for the extra boost of being back in Winter. Theron doesn’t—”
“This is a trap, Meira.” Mather’s voice is soft. “Angra wanted you to come here. We have to assume he planned for this.”
“Planned for me to become evenmorepowerful?”
“Planned for you to be careless.” Mather’s fingers shift over my arm until he’s holding both my hands. “Planned for something that would weaken you.”
I swallow, tendrils of magic sinking back into my chest. A deep breath fills my lungs, and I squeeze Mather’s hands in response.
“You’re right.” I take a step back. “Let’s go, but slowly.”
I start to give them more definite orders when a noise makes me pause. Two soft bangs, like metal tapping on metal.
Clank, clank.
“It’s coming from up the hall,” Sir says. The way toward the ballroom.
I grunt and start forward, boots swishing across the floor. The stone wall is grimy under my touch, but my fingers whisper across it, guiding me forward. Mather and Sir follow, noiseless but for the steady rustle of their clothing as they slip behind me.
Again the banging echoes toward us.Clank, clank.
The hall lightens shadow by shadow thanks to a single lit lantern two halls over—exactly in our path to the ballroom. My once invigorating power retreats in favor of unease as we near the lantern, all the shadows around me warping in the mesmerizing pull of the light.
And when I turn into the lantern’s hallway, the two soldiers standing guard over one of the rooms face me like they’ve been waiting for us to appear.
They smile, blades already drawn, and waste no time in propelling themselves at me. Sir and Mather react faster than I do, diving forward with their own weapons as my eyes dart to the room the soldiers had been guarding. Rusted iron bars make up the door—a cell. Yellow sconce light plays with shadows that dart over mildew-covered walls and the body that smashes itself against the bars. Two taps echo over the clash of swords, eyes staring vacantly as the prisoner bangs a metal cup against the poles.
Clank, clank.
I jolt back to the fight as one of the soldiers drops at Mather’s hand. Sir dispatches the second and doesn’t break stride—he crouches an arm’s length back from the cell.
“Greer,” he whispers in relief.
Greer looks up. “William,” he says as if he bumped into him on the street. He looks past him. “Mather.” Then to me as I step into the light.
He smiles.
“My queen.”Clank, clank.“He told me you’d come.”
I look beyond him, into the cell. “Where’s Finn?”
Greer smiles, a feverish grin. One quick flick of my magic, and I can feel the Decay inside him, a deep and thorough store that Angra no doubt spent days pumping into him. He’s had free rein of Jannuari—any Winterian here would easily fall victim to the Decay without my magic’s protection.
Clank, clank.“King Angra rid us of those who wish to bar the world from change,” he coos, attention on the cup again. “King Angra killed the weak one. King Angra—”
He continues babbling, banging that cup harder with each word, but I block him out.
Angra killed Finn.
The pain of his death drops alongside all the others I’ve lost. So much loss, still, always, nothing but loss, even here.
I pull resolve over myself. Angra knew I’d find Greer, so he knew I wouldn’t leave him here, possessed by the Decay, when I have the ability to purge him of it, since he’s a Winterian. But I won’t stop from helping my people just because Angra planned something. He’s taken so much else from us—he won’t take my ability to help them.
I launch a stream of magic at Greer, wiping the Decay from his body in one icy jolt. Clean and swift, as it should have been with Phil. But in the deepest, truest part of Greer, he doesn’t want the Decay to possess him. He doesn’t believe it will save him, not like Phil did.
Greer stops midsentence, gaping up at me.
