Snow Like Ashes (13 page)

“So,” I start as we pull to the left in the hall, “you’re the king of Cordell’s son. How’s that?”

Theron chuckles. “Beneficial sometimes, horrible others. You’re beautiful—how’s that?”

The heel of my shoe catches at a weird angle and I stumble forward. No one has called me that before. Dendera said I was a “pretty thing” once, and Mather . . . I exhale, running through every interaction I’ve ever had with him, and deflating a little as I do. He’s never said anything like that to me, and until now, I never realized he hadn’t—or how much I wanted him to. It makes me agonizingly aware of the fact that Theron’s looking at me, and I just stare at him, not sure what to do.

“Forgive me,” Theron says, his face pale. “I shouldn’t have been so forward. We’re still getting to know each other. I promise, over time you’ll see I’m much more charming than I first appear.”

“Well, I hope we get plenty of time alone together so you can convince me of your charm.” My eyes flash wide when I hear what I said. “Oh. No. I mean—well, I mean that, but not as presumptuously as it sounded.”

Theron bobs his head. “We have all the time you desire, Lady Meira. I will not rush you.”

We make another turn and one of the two grand staircases sweeps down in front of us. The giggly chatter of party guests mingles with the music lifting from the ballroom below, something light and string-based. Food smells drift up—honey ham, lavender tarts, the sharper tang of liquor, the nutty aroma of coffee. For a second I just breathe it all in, my stomach grumbling under the lush scents, then—

“Wait,” I say, my mind working over his words. “Won’t rush me to what?”

Theron’s face flashes with confusion, putting pieces together I can’t see, and he pulls back, taking his arm away from me. “No one’s told you,” he breathes.

At the same time, the pieces click in my head. “You know! You know what Noam and Sir and Mather—”

Theron nods. He’s got a serenity to him that Noam doesn’t have, something graceful and calm that makes every move look deliberate. “Yes,” he whispers. He looks to the railing, the ballroom below, and back at me. “I . . . I’m sorry. I assumed someone told you. My father and King Mather have come to an arrangement. We aid Winter—”

I clap with delight. Sir did it! Winter has an ally.

But Theron isn’t done. “—so long as we are linked with Winter.”

My hands freeze mid-clap. “Linked?”

He exhales. I feel him take my hand before I see it, his skin warming my fingers in a grip that’s tight, intimate.

I jerk back, slamming into a small decorative table behind me. The vase on it falls over and clatters on the floor, water and flowers sullying the thick carpet.

But I just stare at Theron. King Mather made a deal with Noam.

He linked Cordell with Winter. Through me.

CHAPTER 11

I’M A PAWN
they used to create an alliance with Cordell.

My tongue sticks in my throat, choking me as I stand there, staring at Theron. This has to be a figment of my overly active imagination, because the king of Cordell would never agree to wed his son—the heir of one of the richest Rhythms—to a mere peasant from a Season. I’m wrong. I have to be.

“Tell me Mather linked us to Cordell through a treaty, or something. A meaningless piece of paper,” I beseech him. “Tell me this isn’t . . . what I think it is.”

But Theron doesn’t say anything, which only feeds my panic more. His mouth opens absently, but he just sighs, his eyes flitting over me in silence.

I grip my stomach, the fabric of the gown smooth against my fingers, and swallow the tight knot in my throat. Mather did this. My chest swells with a new emotion—betrayal. How could he—why did he—no.
No.
I will not lose my mind over this, because it still doesn’t make any sense. Why would Cordell agree to take
me
? There has to be something Mather and Sir didn’t tell me.

Well, obviously there’s a lot they didn’t tell me, but they’re down at the ball right now. And I will
make
them talk.

“Are you all right?” Theron finally speaks, but he doesn’t try to touch me again. This would be easier if he was horrible, if he didn’t care if I was all right. But he looks hurt. Is he just a pawn too?

Remembering the poem he swiped off the floor— probably.

“I’m sorry,” Theron says. He looks at the railing, motions toward the ball. “I know this is sudden, but this ball is for you. Me. Us.”

Us.
It sounds like a foreign word.

I pry myself away from the wall, my roaring determination to march down to that ball and face Mather and Sir and demand answers now replaced with dread. Because when I see Mather and Sir, they’ll see me with Theron. Mather will smile and congratulate me and try to explain why this is the best thing for Winter. That the only good we can do for our kingdom is marry to create an alliance because we’re useless children. That the kiss before we left camp was a good-bye, nothing more. That even though I’ve never seen Winter or its enslaved people or set foot on its soil, I’m expected to sacrifice everything, because until Winter is free I don’t matter.

I instantly hate myself for thinking that. Other Winterians suffer enslavement while I’m engaged to the crown prince of Cordell—someone bring out the sympathy parade, poor Meira is engaged to a handsome prince.

My life could be worse. A lot worse.

Then why does the thought of taking Theron’s outstretched hand make me feel empty?

My fingers are stuffed into my pocket, grasped tightly around the piece of lapis lazuli. I yank my hand free, fighting the urge to hurl that stupid rock as far away from me as possible. I don’t want any of it. I don’t need Mather or Sir. I never did.

I place my hand in Theron’s, and his warm fingers tighten around mine as we move toward the staircase. Having him hold on to me gives me strength I didn’t expect. Something infinitely more powerful than the fake strength of the blue stone, still weighing heavy in my pocket.

We’re there. Staring over the railing at all the many Cordellans who wait below. Dignitaries mostly, the men wearing hunter green and gold-trimmed uniforms like Theron’s, the women wearing gowns in reds and blues and purple jewel tones like mine. And in the far back corner, the Winterian delegates, dressed in what I assume are borrowed outfits too—sharp green suits for the men, billowy gowns for the women. Sir and Dendera and Alysson and Finn and Greer and Henn and Mather.

Mather stares up at me, and even from all the way across the ballroom, his face ripples like he’s grinding his teeth. When I meet his gaze, hold it, he looks away.

The music glides to a halt, violins fading in gentle whines. Below us and to the left a platform has been erected for the orchestra, but Noam now stands on it too, one hand upraised triumphantly toward his son and me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests,” he begins. He’s so happy. Exuberantly happy. “May I present Prince Theron Haskar and his bride-to-be, Lady Meira of Winter!”

Bride-to-be.

I gasp, drawing in breath after breath, unable to get any air into my lungs. It’s real. This. Theron.

The crowd pulls back as if Noam announced that he was stripping them of their titles, their delight at the ball turning to shock. Clearly Noam’s arrangement isn’t something all of his courtiers welcome with open arms. Somehow, knowing that makes me feel a little better. Not much, but enough that when the crowd breaks into halfhearted applause, I’m able to wave slightly at them all.

Mather sees my reaction and turns to Sir, who snaps something to him before they both move toward the great glass doors on the right side of the ballroom. Doors that open to manicured green hedges, cobblestone walkways, bubbling fountains under a nighttime sky.

So that’s how they want to play it.

As Theron and I reach the ballroom floor, a herd of nobles attacks us, blabbering questions that sound innocent but are at the core insulting. Questions such as “I thought you and my daughter had gotten along so well, Your Highness” and “Won’t you dance with my niece? She so enjoyed your company last winter. I mean, not
Winter
. Our season. Our
normal
season.”

Theron’s mouth hangs open, unable to get in a word. The fat duke whose niece had such a nice time last winter grabs his arm, persistence making his blubbery face pink.

“I insist, my prince!” he says, and drags Theron into the crowd. Theron looks at me, eyes darting to the duke and back. Should he fight it? Should he stay with me?

I shake my head and wave my hand in front of my face to mimic being hot in here. Theron returns my wave with a single head bob. He understands.

Once he’s gone, the rest of the courtiers eye me, their narrow gazes examining me like I’m some mythical being come to life. I drop a curtsy and turn away from their assessments, making for the terrace doors. Let them think whatever they like. Let them conspire and say horrible things about me. This isn’t my kingdom. At least, it shouldn’t be.

I throw open a door. Stars glitter in the black sky above me, small twinkling eyes that watch as I slam the door shut and dive into the fantastic nighttime chill of Cordell’s autumn. The pureness of the cold hits me, threatening to pull out the scream I’ve been holding in for the past ten minutes.

“Meira.”

I pivot toward Mather and Sir, standing in the entrance to a hedge maze. Half of me wants to run to them and cry and beg to leave, half wants to start throwing rocks at their heads.

But I’m a soldier. A Winterian soldier. And apparently a future queen of Cordell.

So I pick up a handful of rocks from beside the path and hurl the small stones at them as I step forward.

“You—giant—awful—traitors!” I stumble to a halt a breath from Mather. The last rock hits him in the shoulder and he flinches back, rubbing the bruise.

“Meira, calm yourself,” Sir says, putting his hand on my arm.

I grab his wrist and slam him back into the hedge, my other hand going to his throat before I know what I’m doing. I’m pinning Sir to a wall of shrubbery. I never thought I’d be in this situation.

“Why?” I growl at him. “Why would you do this to me?”

Sir doesn’t fight; if he did, I’d be on the ground with a few broken fingers. “We had no choice.”

“No,” I spit. “
I
have no choice. You forced this decision on me.
Why?
”

“I did it,” Mather answers.

My whole body convulses. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because Mather of all people knows what it’s like to have Sir say he’ll be married off to some random royal he’s never met because that’s all he’s useful for. Didn’t Mather tell me he knew how horrible it felt to be valued for the wrong things?

Didn’t I mean anything to him?

I release Sir and turn, my body numb from head to heels.

“When Dendera and I got to Bithai, I met with Noam,” Mather starts. “I explained what happened. We have half the locket; we’re that much closer to getting our conduit back. And now, with Noam already helping Autumn, I told him Winter’s interests and Cordell’s are nearly identical. If he overthrows Spring, Autumn will be saved. But—”

“Autumn does not need Spring overthrown.”

The voice booms out of the darkness and we all turn, focusing on the looming shape at the entrance of the hedge maze.

Noam. I’m going to yank his eyes out through his nostrils.

I’m not sure whether Sir reads my thoughts or my sudden strike-to-kill expression, but he grabs my wrist to hold me back.

“Autumn needs time. They need a few years to keep the Shadow of the Seasons at bay while Princess Shazi grows. Once she’s old enough to use her conduit, Autumn will be able to handle Spring on its own.” Noam steps to the side, leans casually on a statue at the hedge maze entrance. “It is not in my best interest to stage all-out war with a Season.”

Mather lurches toward him. “What makes you think Shazi will be able to hold off Spring once she’s older? Regardless of Autumn’s strength, Spring will not be satisfied staying within its own borders. You’ve seen Angra’s evil! He will spread anywhere he can—”

Noam holds his hand up. “We have been down this road, King Mather. And you know my stance.”

Mather growls. “My mother did not surrender her power to Angra. She did not give up.”

But Noam ignores him. “Angra is not so ambitious that he will attempt to expand to a Rhythm. The Seasons’ problems will remain among the Seasons, and my niece will not be as weak as Hannah.” Noam turns his smile to me. “And I believe Winter has potential. I believe you will be able to reopen your mines and rebuild your kingdom. So yes, Cordell will aid Winter. We will give you support and safety, as long as our support and safety do not extend to a Cordell–Spring war.”

I shake my head, unable to piece his words together. It doesn’t make sense. He’ll help us—but he won’t help us? He thinks Winter will be restored, but he won’t do anything to get us there. What does he think will happen?

Something he said stands out, and I gasp.

“You’ll take our mines because you’re linked to Winter now. You’ll try to find the chasm.” I pull out of Sir’s grip to surge toward Noam, my fingers wanting to reach back and grab my chakram and slice through his skull. “You’ll tear our kingdom apart to find it!”

Noam steps toward me. “Politics do not leave much room for free gifts, Lady Meira. I cannot afford to give another kingdom something for nothing. Yes, I expect payment.”

Fury rises up my body and I start panting. “You have everything,” I spit. “
Cordell
has everything. You even have Autumn now—and still you want another Season’s resources? You might not find it, you know that, right? What makes you think you’ll have any more luck than the people who have lived there for thousands of years?”

Noam puts a hand on his conduit, the purple jewel on the hilt glowing against his hip. “It’s time a Rhythm tried where the Seasons have failed. Yes, Cordell is linked to Autumn, and yes, I will scour that kingdom for the chasm entrance—but if it isn’t in Autumn’s section of the Klaryns, what then? You are young. You have been removed from politics. But you will soon learn that this is how things work—this is your new world.”