I shove to my feet and fly up the incline of the roof. Garrigan lifts his hand to catch me if I fall, steady where he stands on the crates below. Sweat and dirt streak his face and he looks over his shoulder at the yard. The stable hands have left, nothing but their empty wine bottles remaining in the flickering torchlight.
“They’re . . . gone,” I pant. “They didn’t see? Did you see—”
I motion to the snow, but it already looks like nothing more than a puddle on the roof.
Garrigan levels a masked look at me. “If they did see anything, I think they’re drunk enough that it will be forgotten. But, my queen”—he pauses, exhales, and just when I think I might unravel if I have to explain it to him, he sighs—“are you all right?”
Thank you. “Yes,” I say before I even know the answer.Am I?
I rub at my chest, prodding the magic gently.No, I’m not all right.
Ceridwen narrows her eyes at Garrigan before glancing back toward the palace. “I’m happy to see you didn’t last long at my brother’s party,” she notes, and shifts to her feet, hands on her hips. “Though what, exactly, were you doing?”
Her eyes drop to the puddle at our feet, but she doesn’t say anything more about it. Her silence feels like a challenge, daring me to bring it up, or maybe just logging the information for later use against me. Whatever her reason, I am in no mood for a challenge.
I roll my shoulders back. “I was following you. You seem like the only sane person in this kingdom, and I wanted to find out if anyone in Summer is worthy of Winter’s friendship.”
Ask me about my magic. I dare you.
Ceridwen barks before surging closer to me, her glare heavy. “And why would you pursue me instead of my brother? He is the ruler of this kingdom, the one with the power.”
She spits the last word, still not addressing my magic, at least not outright. I recoil. I am so done with politics, with saying things without saying anything. I’m tired, and dried sweat makes my body stiff, and all I want is to run back to Winter and bury myself in a pile of snow.
But wishing for such things brought potentially disastrous results just moments ago, so I shove the wish away.
“I need help,” I start, voice weak. “And not from your brother. Even though you’re not the conduit-wielder, you still help your kingdom—”
I jerk to a halt.
She helps her people, though she isn’t a conduit-wielder. She helps them without magic.
That’s what I want, a wish I didn’t even know I fostered—to rule Winter without needing magic at all. To be queen, to bemyself, without having to depend on the unpredictable, frighteningly powerful magic that camps in my chest.
We spent so long fighting to get Winter’s magic back that I never considered whether that would be best for our kingdom—but now that I have it, now that I’ve seen what it can do . . .
I’d rather we were enough as we are, just people, nothing more.
Ceridwen’s eyes fall to the locket around my throat. When they leap back up to me, my body hardens, preparing for an attack.
“Even though I’m not a conduit-wielder?” she echoes, her attention falling to the street beyond the wall. Annoyed recognition flickers over her and I follow her gaze.
The slave Ceridwen left with darts out of the shadows of an alley. He nods once, holds up three fingers, and vanishes, all so fast that I would have missed it if Ceridwen’s attention hadn’t landed on him.
I turn back to her and squeak in surprise. She’s close to me now, nose to nose, and glares with those endless brown eyes.
“Fine, Winter queen—you want to know what I do? That man is arranging to help a Yakimian family of three escape. But you’ve noticed the lovely souvenir Summer gives their property? The brandedS? It means they can’t return to their home—Yakim would send them right back here. The rest of their lives will be spent in a refugee camp away from civilization, and we can only help so many a month before Simon gets suspicious. Even then, he suspects me, but I have to keep helpingbecauseI’m not a conduit-wielder.”
My pulse rises into my ears. “But would you use magic, if you could?”
Ceridwen squints at me and opens her mouth like she’s certain of her response, but she pauses, jaw hard. “Why are you asking me this?”
I should’ve expected that. “I’m just trying to figure out where you stand, Princess. If you’re someone . . .”Who holds the same ideals as myself; who believes in the same freedoms; who would support my intention to keep the magic chasm closed.
“If you’re someone I can trust,” I finish.
“How do I know you’re someoneIcan trust?”
“Fair point.” I cross my arms. “You don’t.”
