Snow Like Ashes(33)

As they close the door, I sit up. The lapis lazuli ball pushes against my hip, making me think of Mather, of Sir, not of magic and who should or shouldn’t have it. I wiggle the stone out of my pocket and roll the small blue ball around on my palm, the repetition soothing my nerves.

Noam wants me for some reason. Stranger still is the fact that a Rhythm king sees something in a Season refugee worth using at all. And Mather and Sir both know what it is, but they’re in a meeting right now with Noam, so my current options are to either sneak around the palace in hope of finding answers in any of these many rooms or take a bath and a nap.

As if my body has already made its decision, I let loose a wicked yawn, my eyes blurring as tears rush in.

I rip off my travel clothes and pile the whole mess of things in the corner with my chakram guarding it on top. The lapis lazuli ball rolls off the pile, thumping against the wood floor and coming to rest on the thick carpet. I pick it up and set it on the bedside table, staring at its blue surface. I know it’s ridiculous, but a small part of me relaxes, knowing a piece of Winter is there if I need it.

Scented soaps and bubbly water quickly erase any lingering worries, filling my senses with lavender and steam. Oh my. I could get used to this.

After spending much too long turning wrinkly, I emerge from the bathroom and frown as the fog of relaxation lifts. Something is wrong. Off. I scan the room twice, mind fuzzy, before my eyes drop to the floor and see—

Nothing.

My things are gone. My chakram, my boots, everything. A nightgown is now spread out on the bed, a gleaming ivory garment that was probably meant to be a fair trade for my clothes. I should be perturbed, except the nightgown is softer than rabbit fur. I ease it over my head and the fog of relaxation drops back on me. And when I slide between the silky sheets and the warm feather blanket, I forget why I should have been perturbed. Or why I should have gone back to Noam’s study and demanded answers. Or where Noam’s study even was because all these halls look the same, and his trees are ridiculous, and sweet snow this bed is comfortable …



10


“I’M SORRY. I don’t know what else to do. He’ll be here in a matter of hours.”

I’m in the study from my earlier dream. The warm fire pit, the musk of burning coals, the open window letting in flakes of snow. The twenty-three who escaped that night and would come to live in the Rania Plains with two infants, all huddled together in preparation for leaving. And Hannah, her silent strength wavering as she kneels beside … Alysson?

Why am I dreaming about this again?

Alysson sits on a chair in front of Sir, who leans over the back of it with his head to his chest. They’re both somber, half crying and half not, trying to stay strong before their queen. Alysson has her arms cupped around a tiny wad of blankets.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Hannah whispers, stretching long, pale fingers to touch the bundle in Alysson’s hands. One tiny hand shoots up and Hannah takes it, wraps both of her hands around it.

Mather.

“You don’t have to go,” Hannah says. “You don’t have to obey me.”

The queen of Winter, groveling before her general and his wife.

Alysson looks up at her queen, one hand still around Mather and the other moving to grasp Hannah’s. “We’ll do it,” she whispers. “Of course we’ll do it. For Winter.”

“We’ll all do it.” Sir now. He looks up, alert and focused. “You can trust us, my queen.”

Hannah stands, her fingers absently stretching down to her son. She nods, or bows her head, staying quiet so long that when a distant explosion crashes, everyone jumps.

“I’m so sorry that I did this to you all,” Hannah whispers. “So sorry …”

“Lady Meira?”

I fly awake expecting explosions, ready to grab that tiny baby and run. It takes a couple of deep breaths and a few moments of focusing on the canopy before I believe that I’m not in that study—I’m in Cordell. I’m in Noam’s palace with Rose bending over me, excitement stretching across her face.

It was just a dream. Another dream about Hannah. But why did it feel so real?

“Are you ready to be made beautiful, Lady Meira?” Rose asks, overlooking my steady blinking at the canopy.

I cock an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m not already beautiful?”

Rose’s face collapses. “No! Of course not—I mean—”

“It’s fine, Rose. I’m joking.” I swing my legs over the bed and assess the situation before me. Three additional servants have tagged along with Mona and Rose, each holding either a bag or a piece of clothing. This is part of whatever Sir is planning, I guess—prettying me up, like trussing a chicken before cooking it. Can’t go to a ball in my travel garb, I guess, and I wince that I didn’t realize this sooner. I’ve never worn anything fancier than the same threadbare clothes I’ve always had. I’m not sure whether or not I want to be fancier—every time Dendera described ball gowns to me, my only thoughts were Sweet snow, that sounds like a lot of unnecessary fabric, and Skirts were probably invented as a device to keep women from running away.