Snow Like Ashes(43)

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “Meira, it’s not your fault.”

Sixteen years, and that’s all I’ve gotten from him—one hug in a moment of weakness. When I lower my arms, Sir’s staring southward, as if he focuses hard enough, he can actually see Winter.

“I came here. Fourteen years ago,” he whispers.

I don’t move.

“Two years after the attack. Took me that long to beat down my pride. Cordell had been one of the kingdoms we called for aid when Spring finally got too strong, but they didn’t come. No one did, Rhythm or Season.”

Sir straightens and presses his hands to his eyes, shakes away some emotion. “When I got here, I pleaded with Noam from every possible angle. We needed anything he could give, and he had everything. But …” Sir pauses, chin falling to his chest as he goes deeper and deeper into memory. “Noam hasn’t changed in fourteen years, and he wanted the same thing then that he does now. The same thing all the Rhythms want—access to our kingdom, to our mountains. A legal and binding connection to the possibility of more magic.”

I nod. I didn’t know that Sir had been here before. It makes sense—his hatred of Noam, his passionate anger toward Cordell. I keep my lips pinched together. He’s never talked to me so openly before.

“There was nothing left, though. No Winterian royal court to barter with, beyond Mather, and Noam didn’t have any daughters, not even a niece. So he proposed an alliance between you and Theron, under the condition that once our kingdom was restored, you would be given a title and standing in the new Winter, something worthy of a future Cordellan queen.” Sir sighs. “But you were so young. So small. And I couldn’t—I had no right to promise you off like that. You weren’t even mine. Who was I to make a marriage arrangement for you?”

A lump forms in my throat, choking me. I swallow but it doesn’t budge.

“But that was fourteen years ago. Fourteen years and we’re still no closer to anything. Yes, we have half of the locket, but we can’t get the other half without killing Angra himself, and we’ll never get close enough to do that without support. We need help. Until its heir comes of age, Autumn is too weak and Summer would rather watch us die than make the effort. No other Rhythm has deigned to negotiate with us. So even though Noam’s a Rhythm, even though I know he’s using us—” Sir pauses, voice catching. “We have no options other than to trust that he will actually help. When Angra’s scout escaped our camp, I took Mather aside and told him what would happen. That Dendera would take him to Bithai, and he would meet with Noam, and he would tell him we accept.”

I drop onto the railing, the tower spinning.

“Don’t blame Mather; he was following my orders. And now you are going to follow them too.” Sir’s voice rises from the peaceful lull of storytelling to his abrupt bark. “You are going to do this, Meira. You are going to do what we need you to do.”

I shake my head, but Sir just repeats it—you are going to do what we need you to do. Not what I want to do, not what I can do. What they need me to do. For Winter.

I almost laugh at the irony. After all, I wanted to be needed, didn’t I? But my laugh bites away. No—I wanted to matter because of who I am and what I can do, not just because I’m a Winterian female, and our new ally had a suitable Cordellan male to pair with me. I wanted to belong to Winter, to earn my belonging.

My eyes gradually drift from the floor of the tower to Sir’s face. He’s regained some of his domineering, in-control attitude and doesn’t look quite so broken now.

“Was Hannah sorry?” I whisper. “Before Angra attacked, was she upset about something she did?”

Sir’s entire face freezes as if Angra stabbed Mather in front of him. But he shakes his head, his face setting in a blank stare, and his refusal to answer slams against my question.

I grab my chakram from the floor, holster it, and swing a leg over the tower railing, straddling the stone wall. “I know there are things you aren’t telling me. Big things. Reasons why all this is happening, and someday, Sir, I will find out. I only hope your reasoning is good enough for me to forgive you.”

I drop down the tower and roll on the roof, breaking into a run, the cold night air blowing me faster, the darkness and gleaming stars taking me somewhere I don’t have to feel.

I crawl back into my room through the open balcony doors. Another nightgown waits on the bed for me, but I’m too shaken to bother putting it on. I just lay the chakram on the bedside table and sprawl out on the comforter, fully clothed, keeping my eyes pressed shut.