Ice Like Fire by Sara Raasch

sure she hadn’t vanished.
    Phil shrugged at Mather. “They’re all in denial. But I guess that’s what this is about, eh? Liquid denial.” He took a swig from his glass.
    Trace chuckled into his goblet. He was older than Mather, but not by much, with the lean muscles of someone who could be molded into a fantastic close-combat soldier. Knives perhaps, something easy to carry, a weapon that victims only saw when he wanted them to.
    “Don’t sound so righteous.” Trace peered up at Mather as he spoke, though his words were still directed at Phil. “You’re denying it just as much as the rest of us.”
    Mather plopped into a chair between Phil and Eli and grabbed the nearest goblet. “Denial has nothing to do with it. There’s no way to handle it at all.”
    That wasn’t true. William handled it, and Alysson, and everyone else who clung to the joy of “At least we’re in Winter again.” Somehow, they’d been able to accept being back in Winter as enough to heal their pasts. He wished it couldbe that easy for him, but it wasn’t. Which was why he didn’t care what repercussions William might dump on him for drinking his problems away—and worse, for condoning other Winterians’ drinking their problems away too.
    Kiefer glowered across the table. “What would you know about any of this?” he hissed. His question shattered the cloak of ignorance that the others had been holding on to, and everyone shifted in the sudden crack of discomfort.
    Mather swirled the ale around his glass. “Nothing,” he confessed.
    Kiefer held still. He hadn’t expected that answer and, after a moment, dropped his gaze.
    Feige leapt up in the silence that followed. She strode across the floorboards, the old wood not even moaning under her small frame, and stopped just beside Hollis.
    “Go back to your stool,” her brother snapped.
    Feige ignored him, her eyes on Mather, calm certainty turning her youthful face into a dare. She was so small, yet Mather saw in her the ferocity that came when someone had seen years of bloodshed and battle. This girl couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, but she was . . . weathered. That was the only word Mather could think of to describe her, but even that didn’t entirely fit. Some awkward combination of worn and fragile.
    “Why?” Feige asked. “ I’m not in denial.” She glared at Phil and he instantly dipped away. When she was satisfied that he had surrendered, she turned to Mather. “What doyou have to be in denial about, Once-King?”
    Mather’s grip tensed on the goblet. Hollis dropped back against his chair, his muscles coiled, bracing himself. All of them braced themselves, gulping ale and avoiding eye contact and holding their breath. For what? Feige?
    Mather gave the only answer he could. “Failing you.”
    Feige laughed, her white hair bobbing in clumps that had likely never seen a brush. “At least you can admit it. No one else running this kingdom can.”
    “He isn’t running this kingdom anymore,” Kiefer mumbled to his lap. His eyes shot up, daring, challenging. “You may be a lord, but you’re just one of us now. You’re here instead of dancing the night away with the royals. They kick you out, Once-King?”
    Mather dropped his eyes from Kiefer. No challenge here.
    “But maybe that’s why they don’t let him do more than train the army now.” Feige dug for something in her pocket, a wooden object she closed in her palm. “Because he’s not the king, but the older ones know he can admit what happened.”
    Mather wanted to agree with Kiefer. He wanted to say he wasn’t leading this kingdom, not anymore. But tonight should have been a chance at forgetting, so Mather stayed silent, his fingers tightening even more on the goblet.
    After a long pause, Feige’s amusement vanished. She tossed the object in her hand into the air, a chunk of wood that smacked onto the tabletop with a dull thunk . “I thinkyou know we aren’t really Winterians.