“It’s not foundationless—”
“But it is.” She interrupts me with a wave of her hand. “Any of the peasants you have seen who live in undesirable situations can change their fate in an instant. If they prove they are of use to Yakim, they will be elevated to a befitting station. Use is not a right, Queen Meira—it is a privilege.”
My mouth yanks open, ready to counter her accusations with my own arguments.
But I actually agree with some of what she said.
Not everyone is deserving of the same things. Not everyone is deserving of power—the whole reason I don’t want the magic chasm opened. And if Yakimian society is truly based on people of any class earning their places, it might not be such a hateful kingdom after all.
“If you expect use to come from any of your people,” I start, “why do you sell some of them to Summer?”
Giselle faces me completely, her lips lifting in a delicate,demeaning smile. “We all do things we ought not explain to outsiders for the safety of our kingdoms. If you dislike Cordell so much, why do you allow them reign over Winter?”
She has a reason for selling to Summer that affects the safety of her kingdom? What does she mean by that?
I bite down so hard on my cheek that pain lances across my face. “I do not allow Cordell anything. You seemed less than fond of Noam yourself.” Here it is, an opening. “Which makes me wonder just how far that opinion stretches.”
Her brow flickers in assessment. “If you seek to play on that opinion of mine, you will find little support here. I do not see the Seasons with the same disdain as my Rhythm fellows—the Seasons, like my people, have the possibility to prove their use to me. But what use does Winter serve me now? No, Queen Meira—your problems are your own. And know that as much as I value use, I loathe interference, and I will do anything necessary to keep my kingdom functional. Do not try to bring your problems here.”
I don’t trust myself to talk again, so I stay silent. Her face remains blank and studious, as though she’s simply reciting information, not threatening me.
“The Rhythms will destroy you, child, unless you stop them,” she adds, not leaving herself out of the grouping. She turns and heads toward a staircase that will drop her into the factory. “You may go, Queen Meira. Tell PrinceTheron I will consider his treaty.”
I stay poised on the mezzanine, processing this interaction through a haze. Giselle’s directness would be refreshing, if not for my instinctual hatred of her overall air of superiority. This whole thing was a test, wasn’t it? She was searching forusein me. In Winter.
And Theron presented her with the one thing that may have cemented such usefulness.
My anger at him bubbles up as Giselle reaches the factory floor. She walks the aisles, talking with workers, pausing to examine one particularly large machine, twice her height and bearing a number of long metal tubes sticking out in an even row. Each worker she encounters turns to her with apparent eagerness to show off their projects.
She does care for those who earn it. But it is an awful thing, basing worthiness on those who best fight for it. What about the children who are still too young to be of use and wallow in poverty? What about those who might notwantto lead lives of knowledge, but who know that to succeed, they’ll have to bow to Giselle’s will? What about a weak, stupid Winter queen who didn’t have the foresight to prevent this trip from falling apart before it began?
I rub my temples. My problems are minuscule compared to the others I listed. The perspective redirects some of my self-anger toward the tingling ball in my chest.
That’s what makes me the most upset about the world—how magic shoves people into lives they might not want.No one should have to beseech higher people for permission to be who they are, only to find their pleas ignored.
No one should be forced to be something they aren’t.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
NESSA AND DENDERAhelp Conall and Garrigan into chairs as soon as we return to my room. Conall caves in on himself, holding as still as he can, his injured arm twisted against his stomach. Opposite him, Garrigan leans forward with his head in his hands, quiet, still.
My heart shrivels and I step closer to them before I flinch back, not trusting myself.
“How are you?” I manage.
Pain dances over Conall’s features before he smoothes them out and nods at me. “We’ll be fine, my queen.”
Nessa puts her hands on his shoulders. “What happened?”
“I lost control. Again,” I admit, my voice dry.
Dendera rushes to the attached bath chamber to fetch water for them.
