Page 80 of Frost Like Night
It’s Conall’s turn to choke now. Jesse seems just as humiliated, but Ceridwen clucks her tongue at Conall in mock disapproval. Her eyes go to me and her brow lifts.
My lips tighten.
“Meira.” Ceridwen tips forward, and I think I’m about to be glad that Sir and everyone else chose to sit at a table farther away. “Tell me you know what I’m talking about.”
But even as she says that, her amusement recedes into shock.
“Do you? With your kingdom’s fall, I guess you wouldn’t have had time to—”
I clench my jaw, fiddling with an apple slice. “I . . . know,” I squeak. And I do—well, especially now, but before last night too. The memory of Alysson and Dendera explaining certain things is one I try not to relive. Mostly because Dendera’s face was flame-red through it all, and Alysson kept sayingIt’s perfectly normalover and over.
I manage a coy smile. “I know,” I repeat. “And I’m glad your wedding night was satisfying.”
Jesse clunks his forehead into his palm. “This is what will kill me. Not the war.This.”
“Ohhhh,” Nessa breathes, understanding turning her word into a song. She giggles, and Conall makes a sort of closemouthed screaming noise to his food.
“Good morning.” Mather drops into the chair on my other side. Though it’s only been a few moments since we saw each other, the giddiness in my chest feels like it’s been lifetimes, and I bite my lip to stop from smiling too obviously. Mather smiles back, holding my gaze.
For too long.
Ceridwen chirps. “Oh my. Was our wedding night satisfying forsomeone else?”
My face catches fire.
“What?” Nessa leans around Conall. “For who?”
Conall leaps up. “We have to go. Swords. Or something. Weapons. Nessa, come.”
“Wait!” she protests as he lifts her to her feet. “What? Why?”
They get a few paces away and I cave forward. “I feel the sudden urge to bury my face in the fruit bowl.”
Jesse lifts a goblet of water and tips it at me. “Try being married to her.”
“Look at you, Winter queen,” Ceridwen giggles. “You don’t waste any time.”
“Okay, I think we’re done.” I pivot toward Mather, expecting him to be as mortified as I am, but he’s grinning. And not just an amused grin—a grin that screams confirmation as loudly as if he had stood on the table and shouted it into the air.
He reaches over to squeeze my fingers. “What?”
I fall back in my chair. “You want to talk about this, don’t you? Snow above. Are you the Ceridwen in this relationship?”
Jesse laughs middrink and water sloshes down the front of his tunic.
Ceridwen angles toward Mather. “Yes, you are, becauseI need details. I remember seeing you for the dancing, but only through the first few songs. When did you sneak off?”
“After that one song,” Mather says. “When everyone danced the same movements.”
“Ah, yes.” Ceridwen sits back. “But they played that at the beginning of the evening. And it’s two or so hours until noon now? That means you’ve been gone for twelve hours. . . .”
For once, distraction works in my favor, coming in the form of a trio of Autumnian soldiers. My eyes snap to their entrance across the clearing, noting their travel-beaten wear with a jolt of recognition. More of Caspar’s spies. Do they have word of Angra? Or news of the last group of refugees? Henn and the Thaw should be back by now.
Everyone at my table turns to see what has my attention, their expressions dimming like candles in a harsh breeze.
“Do you any of you have news?” I ask.
“We should be ready to march out by early afternoon,” Ceridwen says. “Once we decide on a location.”
