He didn’t miss that tightness creeping into his cousin’s voice. Os might be nearly unreadable to most, but Kai recognised the hoarse rasp; as though his throat was rough with a thirst that could not be quenched.
He knew; he felt it too.
“No.” Os swallowed and went on. “No, it’s gone. I’ve called the waters for hours on end, but the Mother never brings them forth. Not for any of us.”
Kai sank his head into his hands. The silence ringing them was solemn and heavy. After a moment, he felt a broad, warm hand land on his shoulder. On his other side, the fallen log beneath him groaned as Al’s weight settled beside him.
“If thereisno plan, that’s fine too. Perfectly understandable.”
Though he made not a sound, Kai got the impression that his cousin had sent some look over his head when Al went on hurriedly.
“Understandable, but we need to know. We need to know the next move, the goal. Even if that goal is just surviving another few weeks with the Earl of the Thornlands.” Al paused, a faint yet familiar note of amusement threading his words. “Did you know he haseightdaughters?”
Kai dragged his face over his palms to finally peer up at them, both of them. His friends and advisors, two thirds of his modest court. Os, who’d been constant as a shadow by his side for as long as he could remember. Al, a friendship forged in their youth, surprising everyone when it had endured beyond those wilder years. They were the only people he trusted in this new Eisalaan, along with Ceri. The three of them, the only people who had witnessed those final moments with Avette.
And not one of them had ever judged him for it. Not even six hundred years later. He had made a mistake that cost them their lives and their magic and their Kingdom, and they forgave him, because they believed he would set it right.
It was the least he could do, to try.
“The plan is,” Kai said finally, “to stay safe. I need you to spread the word to the others. Can you do that? Tell them to stay safe, while I find us a way home.”
Chapter 13
Adeline
Days passed with a slow dawning fear of what became widely known as The Thaw. A well-liked merchant took a terrible fall on the wet surface of the lake, breaking his back in two places and destroying much of his priceless ice flatware and ornate glasses, each of which took months of careful Wielding to craft.
Mareda had become so flustered by the angry crowd at the public court the next morning that she burst into hysterical tears, and the Queen had to be roused from a fitful sleep to take her place and defuse a potential mob.
Mareda was still sniffling and shaken as she and Adeline watched the proceedings from a shadowed corner of the upper gallery. But the Queen’s performance was a thing to behold. She listened attentively, treated each concern with care, but kept a perfectly calm countenance even when the citizen’s voices rose with anger.
“Our livelihoods are slowly melting around us, meanwhilecreaturesare emerging from the depths of the lake–”
“Creatures?” The Queen interrupted.
The man before her flushed a ruddy colour, but nodded emphatically. He was not a Wielder but a salesman, one of many who transported ice past Aera’s Chain to the hotter Southern continents. The Queen was patient while he found his voice again, and he finally muttered: “I know how it sounds, Majesty, but it’s not just me that’s seen them. Ancient, water-breathing things they are.”
Several people nodded behind him, a few murmurs of agreement rising in a low hum above the crowd. Up in the gallery, Mareda gave an indignant sniff, but Adeline found her breath had escaped her.
Creatures emerging from the lake, the man had said. The image niggled at the back of her brain, a memory trying to shift itself free.
Below them, the Queen was now faced with her final meeting; a broken old man, an artist and Wielder who managed to express between gasping sobs that he could no longer perform the enchantments that preserved the sculptures he carved into blocks of ice. It was agreed that he would temporarily pair with another Wielder, who would perform the magic in exchange for a small share in the old man’s profits. Once this was settled, Selma rose from the polished silver throne and made her laboured descent from the dais.
Mareda fretted and wrung her hands as she followed Adeline down the stairs, and through the halls to their mother’s room, where they’d been asked to meet her. Mareda was whispering furiously as they walked, quietly scolding herself under breath.
“Mother will belivid. What a soft, silly thing she’ll think me.”
But as they entered the Queen’s parlour a few minutes later, Selma rose from her seat by the fireplace to welcome both girls at the door. Mareda froze as their mother moved to enfold them, unable to reel in her surprise, and it was just a fraction too late that Adeline noted how readily she herself had accepted the Queen’s embrace. Mareda watched her with an odd expression.
Their mother was oblivious to it all.
“We must host a gathering tonight, my darlings,” she told them, with a little pat of Mareda’s cheek that had her eyes rounding in soft surprise. “Our guest must be formally introduced to our family. Our little society.”
“King Cumhaill?”
“Is he really a King?”
The Queen glanced at the open doorway where her Gards stood sentry, then inclined her head, gesturing for her daughters to take a seat.
