Snow Like Ashes(61)

Mather’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath, his hands in fists. But his eyes are defeated, vacant, as are Sir’s and Alysson’s and everyone’s, broken and lost and unable to speak around the distress of it all.

And Theron stands before his father. The letter is in his hands now, his face gray as his gaze swings from the words to Noam. Like he can’t decipher the meaning, or doesn’t want to.

“I would forge an undeniable connection to Winter,” Noam continues. “One Spring could not ignore. One the other kingdoms of Primoria would not be able to argue. I’ve waited fourteen years for you to come crawling back to Bithai and accept my offer, William. The moment that boy-king of yours appeared on my doorstep, I sent the letter to Angra to smooth over any bumps Cordell might face on our way to owning Winter—and to begin building a bridge between Spring and Cordell, so that if it turns out that neither Autumn nor Winter yields an entrance into the magic chasm, Spring will let us into their kingdom too.” Noam smiles, so completely powerful. “You’d think slaughtering Hannah would have satisfied Angra’s bloodlust, but the Seasons have never been anything but barbaric. And barbarism is far too easy to predict.”

As Mather twitches to move I swing my body around in front of him and hold him there, one hand on each of his wrists, my head bent into his chest. Low growls bubble in his throat, but he doesn’t try to fight.

“Now that this whole nasty business is out in the open,” Noam claps his hands behind me. “Don’t we have a wedding to plan?”

A roar launches up out of me and I turn on him, keeping my body between Mather and Noam. “Why would we agree to this now?” I shout. “We have nothing left to lose!”

Noam’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes flick from pleased to threatening as a few muscles around his brow twitch. “There are only eight of you, Lady Meira. And you are in my domain. You can either marry my son willingly or by force. I have not waited this long and worked this hard to not control Winter, and it only needs to look official—whether you choose to become Bithai’s prisoners afterward is entirely up to you.”

I can’t tell whether I’m holding Mather back or he’s holding me back. I can’t feel anything else in the room, don’t know what Sir is doing or if that’s Alysson who is crying or anything outside of Noam’s awful sneer, and I regret for the umpteenth time this morning leaving my chakram in my room.

“But I digress.” Noam waves his hand like he’s shooing a bug out of a window. “I’ll give you a moment to collect yourselves, but then, Lady Meira, I do believe you have classes to attend, and King Mather and General William have meetings, do they not? The dukes from Cordell’s coastal provinces are so looking forward to meeting our new ally.”

Noam keeps babbling about what we need to be doing, about meetings staged to make everything look the part. Like he knows we’ll accept this fate, and the horrible thing is—we will. As Sir corrals us out the door, I see it in his eyes. The same defeat I saw when I first confronted him about the marriage arrangement. All these years of fighting, all these years of barely surviving under Angra’s attacks, and he’s giving up because one arrogant king made a mess of our lives?

The door to the study slams shut on us, separating the Winterian refugees from Noam’s men. Theron stayed within the study, and I realize maybe I should worry for him, but all I feel is a thudding emptiness when I face everyone else and see the same shock rendering them immobile.

I shake my head incredulously. “Angra’s coming for us, isn’t he?”

My question makes the veil of shock hang heavier, and no one so much as breathes in agreement. No one except Mather, who pulls his shoulders straighter, and when I slide my gaze up to him, the look he throws me is the single most terrifying emotion he’s ever shown. A violent mix of fear and brokenness and a slow smile that gets negated by the tears in his eyes.

“Not for us,” he amends. “For me.”

Sir snarls. “Mather …”

But Mather takes one step backward, and my hands go out to him like I already know what he’s going to say, like his words are an earthquake and my body shakes with the tremors.

“If this is where it’s going,” he starts, “if this is the fate Noam chose for us, I won’t let every last one of you die in the fray. I’m done putting all of you in danger for a cause we can only guess at. I’m done being a pawn.”

Mather’s eyes meet mine and my heart drops.

“I’ll fulfill Noam’s agreement,” he says. “I’ll make it so Angra couldn’t care less about the rest of you, and you’ll finally be able to free the Winterians. We don’t need magic, not if you can get Noam to fight off Angra. Not if—”