“Come.” Dendera claps her hands, all business again. “We’re late enough as it is.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
DENDERA TAKES USto a square that opens mere paces from the Tadil Mine. The buildings here stand whole and clean, paths swept clear of debris, cottages repaired. The families of the miners already deep in the Tadil pack the square along with Cordellan soldiers, most bouncing from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm. An open-air tent caps the entrance to the square, our first stop as we file in alongside tables littered with maps and calculations.
Sir and Alysson bow their heads in quiet discussion within the tent. Their focus shifts to me, a genuine smile crossing Alysson’s face, a sweep of analysis passing over Sir’s. They’re just as sharply dressed as Nessa and Dendera in their gowns—while traditional Winterian clothing for women consists of pleated, ivory, floor-length dresses, most of the men wear blue tunics and pants under lengths of white fabric that wrap in anXpattern around their torsos.It’s still strange to me to see Sir dressed in anything other than his battle gear, but he doesn’t even have a dagger at his hip. The threat is gone, our enemy dead.
“My queen.” Sir bows his head. My skin bristles at my title on his lips, one more thing I have yet to grow accustomed to. Sir, calling me “my queen.” Sir, my general. Sir, Mather’s father.
His name seizes me.
Mather, back in Jannuari, training the Winterian army. Mather, who hasn’t really talked to me since we sat on our horses side-by-side outside of Jannuari, before I fully took up the responsibilities of being queen, and he fully surrendered everything he thought he once was.
I’d hoped he just needed time to adjust—but it’s been three months since he’s said more than “Yes, my queen,” to me. I have no idea how to go about bridging the distance between us—I just keep telling myself, maybe foolishly, that when he’s ready, he’ll talk to me again.
Or maybe it has less to do with him no longer being king and more to do with Theron, who, even though our engagement has been dissolved, is still a permanent fixture in my life. For now, it’s easier not to think about Mather. To fake the mask, force the smile, and cover up the awfulness underneath.
I wish I didn’t have to force it away—I wish none of us had to, and we were all strong enough to deal with the things that have happened to us.
A tingle of chill blossoms in my chest. Sparking and wild, icy and alive, and I stifle a sigh at what it signifies.
When Angra conquered my kingdom sixteen years ago, he did so by breaking our Royal Conduit. And when a conduit is broken in defense of a kingdom, the ruler of that kingdom becomes the conduit themselves. Their body, their life force—it all merges with the magic. No one knows this, save for me, Angra, and the woman whose death turned me into Winter’s conduit: my mother.
Youcanhelp them deal with what happened,Hannah prods. Since the magicisme, unlimited within my body, she’s able to speak to me, even after her death.
I’m not forcing healing on them,I say, withering at the thought. I know the magic could heal their physical wounds—but emotional? I can’t—
I didn’t mean that,Hannah says.You can show them that they have a future. That Winter is capable of surviving.
My tension relaxes.Okay,I manage.
The crowd stills as Sir leads me out of the tent. Twenty workers are already deep in the mine, as every opening has gone the same way—they go in, I stay up top and use my magic to fill them with inhuman agility and endurance. Magic only works over short distances—I couldn’t use it on the miners if I was in Jannuari. But here, they’re only in the tunnels just ahead.
“Whenever you’re ready, my queen,” Sir says. If he senses how much I hate these mine openings, he doesn’t sayanything, just steps away with his arms behind his back.
I grind my jaw and try to ignore everything else—Hannah, Sir, all the eyes on me, the heavy quiet that falls.
My magic used to be glorious. When we were trapped in Spring and it reared up and saved us; when we first returned to Winter and I wasn’t sure how to help everyone, and it came flooding out of me to bring snow and fill my people with vitality. When I had no idea what I wanted or how to do anything, I was grateful for the way the magic always justknew.
But now I realize that if I wanted to stop it from pouring out of me, surging through the earth, and filling the miners with strength and endurance, I couldn’t. That’s what scares me most about these times—I canfeelhow boundless the magic is. It sparks and swirls up, and I know, deep in the throbbing pit of my heart, that my body would give out long before the magic would even consider stopping.
I’ve tried to harness the streams of iciness that whirl through my chest and turn every vein into crystallized snow. But reason clogs my certainty, knowing that my people need the very magic I’m trying to stifle, and before I can will myself to control it, it’s done whatever it wanted to do.
Like right now, the magic pours into the miners before I’m able to breathe. I stand in its wake, trembling, eyes snapping open to look on the expectant faces of the crowd. They can’t see it or sense it, unless I channel it into them.No one knows how empty I feel, like a holster for arrows, existing only to hold a greater weapon.
I tried to tell Sir about this—and immediately choked it back when Noam came in the room. If Noam finds out that all he needs to do is have an enemy break his Royal Conduit and he wouldbecomehis own conduit, he wouldn’t have to find the chasm. He’d be all-powerful, filled with magic.
And he wouldn’t need to pretend to care about Winter anymore.
I turn, hungry for a diversion. The crowd takes that as my dismissal and softly applauds.
“Speak to them,” Sir urges when I move for the tent.
