Snow Like Ashes(6)

“I found it when we were staying in Autumn a few years back,” Mather starts, his eyes soft. “After the lesson William gave us on Winter’s economy. Our mines in the Klaryns, digging up coal and minerals and stones.” He pauses, and I can see the child he was then. We moved to Autumn eight years ago, a boy-prince pretending to be a soldier and a girl-orphan who wanted nothing more than to pretend right alongside him.

“I liked to think it was magic,” he continues, his face severe. “After our lessons about the Seasons sitting on a chasm of magic, and our lands being directly affected by the power, and Angra breaking Winter’s conduit and taking our power in one swift crush of his fist, I wanted—needed—to believe that we could get magic somewhere else. The world may seem balanced—four kingdoms of eternal seasons, four kingdoms that cycle through all seasons; four kingdoms with female-blooded conduits, four with male-blooded. But it’s not balanced—it will always be tipped in favor of monarchs who have magic versus people who don’t, like their citizens and … other monarchs whose conduits break. And I hated being so …” His voice trails off. “Helpless,” he finishes, and my brow creases.

“You’re far from helpless, Mather.”

His half smile returns and he shrugs. “At the very least, this lapis lazuli was a connection to Winter. And having it helped me feel stronger, I guess.”

I bite my lip, not missing how he brushed past what I said.

He takes my hand and rolls the stone into my palm. “I want you to have it.”

Giddiness floods my senses when Mather doesn’t let go of my hand, doesn’t look away from me. And the light flickering in his eyes—this is important to him. He’s passing me a part of his childhood.

I pull the lapis lazuli closer to examine it in the dying sunlight. It’s impossibly blue, no bigger than a coin, with darker strands of azure running along its surface.

Outside of the lost chasm, magic has only ever existed in the Royal Conduits of the eight kingdoms in Primoria, reserved for rulers to use as needed. Not in objects like this small, blue stone, sitting so inconspicuously in my palm. But I know why Mather wanted to believe the stone has magic: sometimes placing our belief in something bigger than ourselves helps us get to a point where we can be enough on our own, magic or no magic.

“Not that I don’t think you’ll be fine,” he adds. “It just helped me sometimes, having a piece of Winter with me.”

I squeeze the stone, warmth gathering in my chest beside the slow, dull thudding of my heart whenever Mather smiles. “Thank you.” I nod to his ankle. “For everything. You didn’t—”

He shakes his head. “Yes, I did. You deserve to fight for your home as much as the rest of us do.”

I swallow. We’re still alone outside of camp, with only the faint breeze pushing through the grass and a few scraggy trees nearby. “I should pack.”

Mather nods, his face blank again with that maddening, impenetrable nothingness. He fakes a limp into camp, my shoulder under one of his arms to help the charade. I keep a hand around his waist, the other clutching the lapis lazuli. I’m barely able to draw in full breaths, I’m so aware of his body against mine, of how when I look at him, I see the life Sir says we’re fighting for. Something simple and happy, just Mather and me in a cozy cottage in Winter.

But he’s not just Mather—he is Winter. He will always be Winter first and foremost, and there is a palace in his future, not a cottage.

So I help him over to the fire and hurry to pack what I’ll need for the trip, moving and doing in silence because silence is infinitely easier than talking. And now, finally, I’m moving and doing what I’ve always wanted—to help my kingdom.



3


WHEN I WAS eight, we moved our camp once again to make it harder for Angra to track us—this time, to Autumn. Until then, my life had been no bigger than the perimeters of our sad little camps throughout the Eldridge Forest. We passed through Autumn’s capital, Oktuber, on our way to their southern forests, filling our carts and loading our horses with supplies.

Autumn was as similar to the foliage-heavy Eldridge as a snowflake is to a flame. The dense humidity of the Eldridge was nonexistent in Autumn’s dry coolness, its yellow-and-red forests sleepy and crunchy and colored with warmth. Oktuber was a maze of rickety barns and tents in maroon, azure, and sunshine orange, with the crystalline blue sky gleaming above, a sharp and beautiful contrast to this kingdom’s earth tones. But it was the Autumnians themselves who left me gaping—they were beautiful.