Snow Like Ashes(50)
To choose Winter. To always choose Winter. Over Mather, over Theron, over … me.
A sword drops behind me, the metal clanking in a hollow ring on the dirt. I turn, the world spiraling even more.
“Meira.” Mather holds his hands out, staring at them like he’s covered in blood. “I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what—”
The whole training yard shakes when Sir leaps into the sword ring. He stomps forward, ready to rip into us with his own in-charge threats. But his eyes fall to Theron on the ground, Mather standing over his sword, and me in the middle of it all.
A wave of fury sweeps over Sir’s face when he returns his gaze to Mather. He doesn’t say anything, just takes two quick steps forward and grabs Mather’s arm, dragging him out of the sword ring as neither look back. When they get a good distance away, far enough that I can’t hear what they say, Sir growls something that makes Mather shake his head once, twice, and shout something in return.
Fingers brush the back of my hand. Theron stands beside me, and he doesn’t smile or nod or do anything I expect him to do; he just stays there next to me, blood tingeing the bandage on his chest. A calm and steady reminder that I’m not alone.
“Are you all right?” I ask, nodding to the bandage and trying desperately to ignore the lingering ripples his fingers left on my skin.
Theron drops his gaze to the wound and shoots me a roguish grin. “It takes more than a boot to stop me.” He touches the fabric and purses his lips. “But I should probably cover it up. Just in case my father—”
His eyes go to Mather and Sir, still in a heated argument a few dozen paces away. When Theron looks back at me, he inhales and stands up straighter.
“No need to cause more trouble,” he says, and points toward the palace. “Care to come with me? I’ll wash up and show you around, if you like. Far less”—he pauses—“dangerous activities.”
My gaze darts from him to Sir and Mather and back again. Should I stay and talk with Sir? Should I go over and try to defend Mather?
I pull my shoulders back. “I’d love to.”
14
THERON LEADS ME up the servants’ passage to his chambers, winding through the bowels of the palace to avoid any run-ins with Noam. We walk up three flights of stairs and down unendingly long halls, all far less luxurious than the main walks of the palace—just simple green carpets and unpainted wood walls and milky white candles on brown tables.
Maids with baskets of linens and errand boys with messages tucked under their arms scurry past, performing the daily tasks that keep a palace functioning. Everyone we pass stops to drop a bow to Theron, their faces easing from the focus of work to the pleasure of seeing someone they know.
Theron nods to each of them. “Is your mother feeling better?” he asks a passing maid, who dips a curtsy as she says yes, quite, the doctor worked a miracle. “I hope your brother is enjoying his new post,” Theron says to an errand boy, who beams at the mention and says he is, my lord, he was made lieutenant.
I trail behind, eyebrows rising higher with each brief conversation. He knows all of them. Every single one. And not only that, but he seems genuinely interested in them, remembering not only dozens of faces but also the smallest details about how that back acre of farmland is doing, did the trade with Yakim go well last week, is your daughter settled with her new husband yet?
We stop in front of a door in the third-floor hall. Theron turns the knob, moving on like none of the interactions were anything out of the ordinary, and I cast a glance behind us. None of the servants seem to think anything is unusual either. Is he that familiar with them? I can’t imagine Noam allows his son to mingle with those beneath him.
“Are all royals in Cordell so”—I pause, searching for the right word—“attentive?”
Theron looks over my shoulder at a chatting group of maids. His eyes drift, just enough that I can tell his thoughts are on a not-exactly pleasant memory, and he forces a smile to cover his tracks. “No one else sneaks around the back to get to their rooms as often as I do,” he jokes, and before I can ask more, he dives into the room, leaving me to follow.
Tucked beside a bureau, the door opens onto a sitting room just large enough to be spacious but not so large as to be extravagant. A dining table lies on the left while an array of chairs and couches cluster together around a fireplace on the right. The furniture sits atop a thickly woven green-and-gold rug, the colors mimicking the dark shades of the rest of the sitting room. A chandelier hangs over the dining table and paintings of Cordell’s lavender fields or vibrant green forests or rivers trickling through yellow prairies line the walls. It’s fine yet functional, a place I could picture both a strategic meeting taking place as well as a vicious card game.