We’re different from them—we can’t forget our pasts because it’s all we’ve ever known. And I think the older ones realize you know that, and that’s the reason they don’t want you around. Because the people who are running this kingdom can’t bear to have anyone around who might remind them of their great failure.”
All the blood in Mather’s body rushed downward, leaving him light-headed and gaping at this girl. This was why Phil had called her a ghost; it was too hard to believe she was real, this child throwing insults and truths with more accuracy than any adult.
Everyone at the table remained quiet, bodies slack. Mather tipped his goblet, the ale sliding down his throat in a bitter wave as Feige returned to her corner, curled on her stool like nothing had happened.
“Isn’t enough ale in the world,” Phil murmured. “Your sister will be our downfall, Hollis.”
Mather reached for the carving in the middle of the table, cradled it in his palm. “No.”
“My lord?” Hollis glanced up.
Phil rolled his eyes. “Suns, Hollis. He’s one of us now.”
The alcohol hit Mather’s empty stomach and made him a little warmer, a little lighter, as if his body might float up out of the holes in the ceiling. Phil started drinking again, urging everyone else to start up before Mather could expand on his disagreement. Back to their evening, as ifFeige’s interlude had never happened. They could be just as good at pretending they didn’t hurt as all of the older Winterians.
Mather joined them. He wanted this, or thought he did, and forced himself to laugh at Phil’s imitation of a Cordellan soldier. He wanted to focus on jokes and being around boys his age—the only person he had ever interacted with his age was . . . Meira.
She needed to know there were others who felt as she did, apart from Mather. That things were wrong, that they didn’t fit here as perfectly as they should. He should storm back into the ballroom and swoop Meira into his arms and let everything tumble out.
Mather emptied another glass.
Feige faded to nothing more than a shadow in the corner, whittling and rocking back and forth. Mather kept her carving in his lap, and though he toyed with the idea of pretending, he made sure he still had that small reminder that this wasn’t real happiness.
Trace recounted Phil’s failed attempt at sword fighting earlier today. Mather laughed and offered details, but kept his hand on the carving. No bigger than his palm, half a wildflower, half a snowflake, with four words etched on the back.
Child of the Thaw.
He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much to him. But the more he drank, the more he could pretend Feige’s wordshadn’t slammed into some hollow place inside of him. The more he could pretend he didn’t see how the boys gazed into the air when they thought no one watched, their eyes distant as if they saw the horrors of their pasts raging toward them.
The more he could pretend they weren’t all Children of the Thaw.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Meira
I TRY TO stumble through the celebration, but Nessa pleads with Sir to let me rest, and I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am for her insistence. She rushes to light candles around my room, and Sir stays fixed in the doorway between Conall and Garrigan, who resume their posts as if nothing’s changed. As if I didn’t have another panic attack and basically doom us to a Cordellan takeover.
Sir crosses his arms. “I’ll go with you.”
I drop onto my bed, one arm over my eyes as I listen to the steady flick-swish of candles springing to life. “No. You need to stay here, in case Cordell—” I stop.
Noam is staying to more firmly plant himself in Winter in my absence.
I was such a fool.
“My queen, I implore you to—”
“You implore me?” I sit up. “But I guess that’s proper, ageneral imploring his queen.
All the blood in Mather’s body rushed downward, leaving him light-headed and gaping at this girl. This was why Phil had called her a ghost; it was too hard to believe she was real, this child throwing insults and truths with more accuracy than any adult.
Everyone at the table remained quiet, bodies slack. Mather tipped his goblet, the ale sliding down his throat in a bitter wave as Feige returned to her corner, curled on her stool like nothing had happened.
“Isn’t enough ale in the world,” Phil murmured. “Your sister will be our downfall, Hollis.”
Mather reached for the carving in the middle of the table, cradled it in his palm. “No.”
“My lord?” Hollis glanced up.
Phil rolled his eyes. “Suns, Hollis. He’s one of us now.”
The alcohol hit Mather’s empty stomach and made him a little warmer, a little lighter, as if his body might float up out of the holes in the ceiling. Phil started drinking again, urging everyone else to start up before Mather could expand on his disagreement. Back to their evening, as ifFeige’s interlude had never happened. They could be just as good at pretending they didn’t hurt as all of the older Winterians.
Mather joined them. He wanted this, or thought he did, and forced himself to laugh at Phil’s imitation of a Cordellan soldier. He wanted to focus on jokes and being around boys his age—the only person he had ever interacted with his age was . . . Meira.
She needed to know there were others who felt as she did, apart from Mather. That things were wrong, that they didn’t fit here as perfectly as they should. He should storm back into the ballroom and swoop Meira into his arms and let everything tumble out.
Mather emptied another glass.
Feige faded to nothing more than a shadow in the corner, whittling and rocking back and forth. Mather kept her carving in his lap, and though he toyed with the idea of pretending, he made sure he still had that small reminder that this wasn’t real happiness.
Trace recounted Phil’s failed attempt at sword fighting earlier today. Mather laughed and offered details, but kept his hand on the carving. No bigger than his palm, half a wildflower, half a snowflake, with four words etched on the back.
Child of the Thaw.
He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much to him. But the more he drank, the more he could pretend Feige’s wordshadn’t slammed into some hollow place inside of him. The more he could pretend he didn’t see how the boys gazed into the air when they thought no one watched, their eyes distant as if they saw the horrors of their pasts raging toward them.
The more he could pretend they weren’t all Children of the Thaw.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Meira
I TRY TO stumble through the celebration, but Nessa pleads with Sir to let me rest, and I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am for her insistence. She rushes to light candles around my room, and Sir stays fixed in the doorway between Conall and Garrigan, who resume their posts as if nothing’s changed. As if I didn’t have another panic attack and basically doom us to a Cordellan takeover.
Sir crosses his arms. “I’ll go with you.”
I drop onto my bed, one arm over my eyes as I listen to the steady flick-swish of candles springing to life. “No. You need to stay here, in case Cordell—” I stop.
Noam is staying to more firmly plant himself in Winter in my absence.
I was such a fool.
“My queen, I implore you to—”
“You implore me?” I sit up. “But I guess that’s proper, ageneral imploring his queen.
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