Page 63 of Ice Like Fire
“You could still go to one of their universities.” I pause. Could she? I’ve heard of some Season citizens being allowed into Yakim’s universities, but it isn’t common. If she wants to go, I’d find some way to make it happen. “Nothing’s stopping you from living anymore.”
“I’m happy where I am. It makes me feel close to everything we lost.” Her eyes wander to her brothers, next in line ahead of us, and I’m unable to tell whether they truly can’t hear us or are just pretending they can’t. “But if things were different . . . I don’t know. I just like imagining the possibilities. That’s part of freedom too—getting to dream, and knowing it could happen if I want it to.”
How is she always so good at making me both sad and happy all at once? “This world traveling has made you quite astute.”
Nessa giggles and I feel some of the distance between us lessen. For a moment we’re as we used to be—just two sixteen-year-olds fighting to survive. When all this is over, I’ll develop a university in Winter, or a library at the least. A collection of history and science, words and books. A place where Nessa can be both who she is and who she could have been—one girl standing in a cavernous space, surrounded by swirling script and pieces of knowledge, staring up ateach word with a strong, unwavering swell of hope.
Her smile eases, her hands tightening on her reins. She doesn’t say anything else, simply holds my gaze and waits there, expectant.
But a horse pulls up on my other side, and I turn to Ceridwen, who stares straight ahead as if she isn’t aware that she left the Summerian riders. Her posture is proper despite the way she grips a thick brown cloak around her shoulders, her white knuckles the only sign that she’s as uncomfortable as the shivering, bundled-up Summerian soldiers behind her.
She doesn’t say anything, and I cock a confused eyebrow at Nessa, who exhales, disappointed—had she wanted me to say something else? I start to ask, but she urges her horse ahead to ride next to Garrigan. Once she’s gone, or as gone as someone can be in a constantly moving caravan, Ceridwen turns to me.
“I thought I should prepare you for Yakim, Queen Meira,” she says, her face impassive. “I realize you have not had many dealings with other Rhythms, and this one is . . . unique. Queen Giselle is the product of a structured, logical society, and as such—”
“We’re talking now?” I don’t mean it as a rebuff and I catch myself, face falling. “Thank you for your concern, Princess, but I can handle a Rhythm on my own.”
You don’t have to help me. I won’t drag you into my war.
My horse whinnies as I push it forward, but Ceridwen’shand snaps out and grabs my arm. She yanks it back as fast as it flew out and I loosen my horse’s reins, keeping it even with hers.
The nearest Summerian is a few good paces back, out of earshot. I lean toward her nonetheless. “What’s going on?”
Her eyes dart over mine, evaluating. “My brother already suspects me—and distrusts you. I can’t fan the flame by being seen with you too often.”
It’s the same reason I gave myself for not approaching her. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks at me, surprised. “For what?”
“You knew the man. The one we found in the wine cellar.” I keep my spine tall, my expression not giving away to anyone who might be watching that I’m speaking of a murder. “I should have . . . I don’t know. Helped you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” Ceridwen’s face breaks, her expression unraveling. “He was under my brother’s care—Simon is the one responsible. Just because someone has magic doesn’t mean they’re worthy of it.”
She doesn’t apologize or amend her statement to not include me in it, a monarch who has magic who might not be worthy of it, and somehow, that makes me respect her more. I need more people in my life who question me, who challenge me, who can admit I have faults.
“Did anyone find out who killed him?” I press, voice still soft.
She shakes her head. “Murders are not uncommon in Juli.” But her words hang in the air between us, and I know, were we alone, she’d expand on that statement.
Such talk is risky though, so I push for something light. “Tell me about Giselle?”
Ceridwen nods. “When you first met my brother, you noticed he tends to be carefree most of the time?”
I glance at the Summerians behind us. Simon sits within a row of his soldiers, their leather breastplates accented with ruby-red cords. Behind him, tugged along by a pair of long-haired oxen, rolls an elaborate carriage of wine-dark wood painted with orange flames and golden sunbursts. Tassels hang at the edge of the slanted roof, and through those tassels a few faces peek. Isn’t that Simon’s personal carriage? Who are the people inside?
One of the faces turns toward me, and my jaw locks as my eyes catch on the brand on her left cheek. I swing to Ceridwen, who blinks in exhaustion.
“Yes, my brother brought a wagon of whores with him,” she growls. “Yes, he does this whenever he travels. And yes, this makes me want to cut off his man-parts, but there’s nothing I can do without defying him outright. But that wasn’t what I asked.”
I face forward, lips in a tight line. “The horrific heat of Summer distracted me quite a bit, but yes, I noticed that your brother was ‘carefree.’ Why does it matter?”
“Because Giselle is his exact opposite. There are benefitsto being a kingdom focused on knowledge, but those benefits come at a price. The Yakimians who partake in their conduit’s enhancement of understanding are the upper class or a handful of lower class who have proven themselves useful. That’s the driving force in Yakim: use. Which makes them profitable and efficient as a whole, but when it comes to all the little pieces—” Ceridwen waves at the passing peasant folk, lugging their wagons or hauling along mules. “The way Giselle sees it, it is a wiser use of her resources to have a large population of poor who perform the bigger portion of menial labor jobs, and to have a smaller population of learned who perform the lesser array of specialized positions: physicians, professors, lawmakers. . . .”
I squint. “So she lets most of her people live in poverty, though she has the knowledge and power to help them?” Ceridwen nods and I roll my eyes. “Why is it that of the handful of monarchs I’ve met, I’ve only liked one of them?”
She smiles. “Because it’s impossible to hate a toddler.”
I laugh, but my smile quickly fades. “But why?” I whisper. “Why isn’t Autumn as corrupt?”
