Mather backed up, shaking his head, shaking it and shaking it because this was the split between him and William. This was the line, the mark, the place where their difference of opinion could rift a kingdom and get everyone killed.
“You’re wrong,” Mather said. “Our lives aren’t that simple. We won our freedom, but we’re still in danger, and nothing will ever be normal.”
The rest of the Thaw closed in behind Mather as he stalked away.
That night, Phil beat him at sparring.
Mather wanted to pretend it wasn’t because of the tension from earlier. But even Kiefer was absent of his usual disdain, and trained with a new sense of purpose.
So when Mather stepped left and Phil swerved right, Phil’s mock sword sailing into Mather’s chest, everyone in the cottage hurried over to smack excited hands on Phil’s back. Everyone except Hollis and Feige, who stayed where they had been all evening—Feige on her stool, shards ofwood flying around her like a blizzard, and Hollis on the floor next to her.
Mather took a step toward Feige. He didn’t dare get closer—even a small movement in her direction made her wince, though her eyes remained fixed on her whittling.
“Feige,” Mather tried. The boys behind him quieted and he held his hands out to her, a well of need springing in him. Need for Phil’s victory to be felt byallof them, if only to have one moment of success in this otherwise oppressive air. “Feige, don’t be ashamed.”
Hollis glowered up at him. “Haven’t you done enough?” he growled so low that Mather almost didn’t hear him. “She wouldn’t have had the knife if not for all of this.”
Mather dropped to his knees. “I know she wouldn’t have had the knife if not for this, and she wouldn’t have broken down today if not for what I’ve done to you. But shewouldhave broken down eventually. Somewhere, somehow, something would have triggered her—just like something might eventually be too much for all of you. Horrible things have happened to us, are still happening to us, will happen every day for the rest of our lives, probably. What defines us is not our ability to never let them break us—what defines us is not letting them own us. We are the Thaw, and we will not be defeated by memories or evil men.”
Feige’s clear blue eyes lifted to his and she weighed his words one at a time. “We are the Thaw.” She nodded decisively. “And we willnotbe defeated.”
Beside her, Hollis exhaled, and when Mather looked at him, there was no blame on his face. Exhaustion, yes. But the start of what could be seen as . . . acceptance.
“We will not be defeated,” Mather repeated, and he meant it.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
CONALL AND GARRIGANlaunch out the door, crashing into the servant who topples to the ground as they continue through the air to collide with the brick wall of the nearest building.
Everything in me drains clean away.
Ithrewthem.
Hands lift me, voices murmur, but my vision swirls, the magic aching in every nerve. I close my eyes, just for a moment.
But a voice I don’t know bites a reprimand.
“Is she ill?”
It’s a woman, her words high and feminine and close by. When I open my eyes, two people hover on either side of where I’ve been deposited on a chair in some grand room in one of Putnam University’s buildings. I don’t remember getting here, and disorientation makes me sway toward the woman who spoke.
She’s in her thirties, her skin creased by wrinkles around her wide, watchful eyes. Thick, black curls tumble over her shoulders like perfectly arranged spirals of onyx, just barely brushing an ax on her back. Sharp and gleaming, two blades sweep out of a center of burnished wood. It emits the faintest gold glow, the same iridescent shimmer that comes from Noam’s dagger in a violet cloud. Yakim’s conduit.
So this woman is Queen Giselle.
My attention flicks to the other person—Theron. All I see on his face is concern, and it yanks me out of my bewilderment.
“Conall—Garrigan—” I mutter their names as my eyes dart around a room at least half the size of Jannuari’s ballroom. The low ceiling, gray stone walls, and black floor would be enough to make it dreary, but the other items throughout add an eerie touch. Tables sit stacked high with glass tubes, and liquid bubbles in various bowls over open flames. Shelves and cupboards line the walls, stuffed with papers and books and jars, tools and goggles. No other Yakimians aside from Giselle are here, as if everyone got chased out to make way for me.
There are other non-Yakimians here, though, and my eyes sweep over them again. Ceridwen; the Cordellan guards; and—
I burst upright, stumbling enough that Theron leaps to his feet and grabs my elbow. Blood rushes to my head as I force myself to look at Conall and Garrigan. They swaya little where they stand, Conall with his hand around his opposite arm, Garrigan with his fist to his forehead.
