Page 39 of Frost Like Night
Rares was wrong, though. This use of magic is far different from drawing swords to me in the training yard. Then it was simply to understand how magic works.
Now it’s war.
Angra brought the fight to me. He dragged me into it, whether or not I was ready.
But he will not win.
And next time, the fight will be onmyterms.
I keep my eyes on Mather’s closed lids, watching for any flutter of awareness, squeezing his hand tighter with each jerking thud of my heart.
He’s always been in my life, and I never asked for more than that. Because our people needed saving; because I thought he was Winter’s king; because of a hundred different reasons that always let me keep him at the edge of my life, constant and unchanged.
And with the weight of the magic chasm looming over me, I realize what I want now.
I wanthim.
I don’t want him hovering at the edge of my life—I want him at the center, beaming that smile that has always shot through me. I want us to beusagain, Meira and Mather.
I want him to look at me.
The magic glides forward and I open myself to it, willing every drop to pour out of me. Frigid tendrils snake all over his body. I’m amazed at how well I know every part of him, how easy it is to channel the magic away from minor injuries—that cut will heal on its own; that ache in his knee he got from a swordfight years ago, nothing life-threatening—and force all of it to hover over the wound on his head. I hold it there, staring at the bloody injury, squeezing his hand tighter, tighter, tighter—
Mather launches upright, sucking in breaths as though he’s been held under water too long.
And he looks at me, finally looks at me, his sapphire eyes darting over my face in a way that feels like home.
“Meira,” he breathes, relief draining the stress from his face. His eyes flash behind me, to Rares, and he shifts up a little straighter, wincing. “Where—what happened? Where’s Phil?”
“He’s fine.” Rares steps forward. “He’ll be patched up soon enough. Angra won’t be able to add your lives to his death toll today.”
I bite my lips, fighting the urge to delve into that topic. Rares doesn’t give me a chance.
“I’ll let you two have some privacy. I’m sure there’s . . .” He stops, his gaze falling to where I still hold Mather’s hand. I stiffen, unable to decide whether or not to pull away.
“We have time,” Rares finishes. Those words leave a weighton my heart as he shuts the door behind him, and when I pivot back to Mather, he’s leaning toward me.
He hasn’t looked at me this openly in months.
I swallow and prod gently at his wound, not trusting myself that it’s really healed. He holds under my analysis, eyes dancing over mine, the barest beginnings of a smile on his lips. The musk of sweat radiates off him, but it does nothing to slow the sudden speed of my heart, licking all the way up my throat.
“You reek,” I cough.
His smile expands. “I’m glad to see you too.”
“You need . . . water.” I fumble as I leap up and move to the washbasin. I grab a cloth and plunge it in, holding it there to occupy myself.
The cot shifts as Mather moves his legs to the floor. “Ice above, what did you do to me?”
I launch the towel at him. “Saved your life. You’re welcome.”
He removes the bandage and pats the towel against the caked blood, his eyes lifting to me. His attention holds, the silence weighing as if each second drops stones on my shoulders.
“Phil told me what happened,” I manage. “Who else did Angra—”
The cot creaks as Mather rises. “Just us,” he says softly, and I’m able to breathe, albeit only a little. “Dendera’s leading everyone else to safety. Phil and I split off to—” Hestops. “To find you. But don’t you dare blame yourself, Meira—I didn’t go after you twice before. No force in this world could have kept me from going after you a third time.”
I gape at him. Whatever response I expected, this isn’t it—him, blood-splattered, moments out from being close to death, but staring at me as if he’s been beside me all along, just waiting for any word from me.
