Copy. Original Sent the First Month of Proper Autumn.
To the King of the Spring Kingdom,
Cordell is now joined with Winter on the promise of engagement. My son and heir, Prince Theron Haskar, will take as his wife a surviving female refugee of Winter. I hereby enforce Cordell’s ownership of Winter and all its holdings as now owned by Spring through a binding and unbreakable contract of proprietorship through marriage.
Due to Cordell’s newfound authority in Winter, I am also prepared to offer Spring the trade of the heir of Winter, Mather Dynam, as a show of good faith.
I’m shaking so hard I can’t see the words on the letter anymore.
Noam betrayed us. He’s going to sell us—no, not us. Mather. He’s going to sell Mather to Angra so that Angra will let Noam take control of our … holdings. So Noam can take the riches out of our mines and gut our kingdom until all the magic comes pouring out. So Noam can get what he wants because he always gets what he wants—he isn’t helping us, he’s just using our connection to start ripping through the Klaryns.
I knew he was using us … but not this ruthlessly.
The door to the study whooshes open, slamming into the wall and knocking books off shelves. Noam glares at me, his face so red it’s purple, one hand on the door and the other on the frame.
“This is beyond unacceptable—” he starts, then his eyes drop to the open drawer, the letter in my hand, the others in my lap. His face gets even darker and he clears the space between the door and the desk in one giant step.
I can’t form words through my shock as Noam’s hand winds back. His fingers curl into a fist, everything in his body morphing into muscle and strength and the dagger at his belt pulses purple, glowing as Noam’s fist barrels through the air toward me—
“Stop!” Theron shouts.
Color whirls, limbs flail. Noam’s pressed against a bookcase, Mather holding him there by his collar, Theron standing just behind Mather. Both of them glare up at the Cordellan king like neither would have any objections to the other maiming him.
“To arms!” a soldier outside the study shouts and the ring of metal fills the air, swords drawn and knives unsheathed. The rest of the Winterians and five Cordellan soldiers press into the room with drawn blades.
Theron spins on his men. “Stand down!”
Noam grunts against Mather’s fists pressing into his neck. “Ungrateful boy! I am your father!”
“You are a coward,” Theron hisses, so low and so soft I barely hear him above the ringing in my ears. He turns to me, his eyebrows tight above his face. “Meira, why—” but he doesn’t finish, just stares at me, calm and scared and waiting.
Noam betrayed us.
“Meira,” Sir growls. He pushes around the Cordellan soldiers to stand before me, his arms trembling, his eyes straining to keep his anger tucked carefully inside.
“What have you done?” he whispers.
I wheeze, hearing his words. “What have I done?” I pant. “What I did was ignore your obnoxious, arrogant, controlling actions for one blissful moment, and uncovered Noam’s plot against us.”
My body goes cold as I grab onto the realization that if Sir had his way, I’d be looking at dress patterns or sitting in another etiquette lesson, not holding an incriminating letter. Not a moment away from putting an end to this charade.
I’d be who he wants me to be, but that weak, innocent girl would never have found this.
I shove up from Noam’s chair and thrust the letter at Sir. “I’m not sorry.”
Mather looks back at me, then at the letter. His anger fades to confusion and he loosens his hold on Noam’s collar. Noam eases away, smoothing out his shirt, but doesn’t fight back, a satisfied smirk falling over his face as Mather joins Sir in reading the letter. Everyone else holds, the Cordellan soldiers still armed and ready to kill us should Noam give the word.
I watch Sir realize it. I watch his frustration at me disappear beneath the sharp stab of knowing he failed, we failed, Noam failed us. Cordell was our only hope, and here is proof that we are, always will be, slaves upon whom other kingdoms prey.
Sir hands the letter to Mather and turns to Noam. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at this great king who was supposed to help us. The silence in the room is oppressive as Mather hands the letter off to Finn, and soon everyone is huddled over it, reading and gasping, muscles tightening in rage.
Noam pulls his shoulders back. “A year after Winter fell, Yakim sent a regiment of men to your kingdom. Tried to take it from the Shadow of the Seasons by force, and Ventralli tried the same thing. Did you know that? Neither let it go public. They were embarrassed, because both had identical failures—Angra slaughtered them. Every single man. The Winterian climate was too harsh, and because Ventralli and Yakim had their conduits so far away, in their respective countries, Angra had the advantage, what with his kingdom adjacent to Winter and his conduit so close. After watching my Rhythm brethren die so spectacularly, I decided on a less aggressive approach.”