The blade ripped out through Alysson’s back and she pitched toward him, her eyes vanishing into her skull as she collapsed in his arms. Mather’s dagger tumbled from his hands, his heart surging numb shock through him as his fingers groped from Alysson’s head to her shoulders, searching for a sign of life, a sign of explanation—but he knew. He’d known the moment he saw the weapons she’d brought, but he’d hoped she hadn’t gone there, that she’d realized as he had what a suicidal thing it would be.
“She stole weapons,” a Cordellan soldier confirmed from where he had stood behind Alysson. He was the same one who had threatened Feige days ago and his blade, heavy with maroon blood, glinted in the twilight. “And thieves will not be tolerated in a Cordellan colony.”
A scream. A bright, piercing croak of noise, and Phil burst out of the ranks of the Thaw, sword blazing overhead. Mather shouted as the Cordellan soldier pivoted toward Phil, shouted because he couldn’t fathom losing someone else, not now—
The soldier’s blade swung up, the end poised at Phil’s neck. Phil stopped a beat before he would’ve been pierced through, his chest rising in a desperate gulp of air.
Mather didn’t have long to be grateful, though. The Cordellan sneered at him as shouts went up, as the clanking of armor ricocheted down the street and cries of victory echoed through the city. A horn blew, long and loud, apulsing tear of noise that signaled—
. . . a Cordellan colony.
Noam. He’d officially taken Winter.
No, the only thing this horn would signal would be the end of Cordellan occupation in Winter. This ended now,tonight.
Arms tugged at Mather, voices shouted through his sudden, deadly fog.
“We have to run!”
“There are too many here—get up!”
Mather growled, pushing away whoever tried to grab him. Everyone was an enemy, everyone would die for this because Alysson’s blood coated his hands and her body lay motionless where he arranged her on the ground. He scrambled to get his dagger again, his eyes swarming with murderous red as the Cordellan soldier ran away from him, the coward, to regroup with more soldiers that appeared at the far end of the street. Cowards, every Cordellan was a coward, and Mather would kill them all.
A face came into focus. “There are too many,” Hollis pleaded. “You taught us that. You taught us to assess situations, to fall back if necessary. We have to runnow.”
Awareness sparked through him. A line of Cordellans spanned the street to their north, blocking off any retreat into the abandoned parts of Jannuari. At least two dozen soldiers marched in steady, taunting steps toward them—they were being corralled into the center of Jannuari. Fromthe shouts and cries of alarm ringing through the rest of the city, Mather guessed the same thing now blocked every street out of the inhabited areas. An unbreakable circle of Cordellans finally preying on the Winterians.
Mather sheathed his dagger, swept his mother’s body into his arms, and ran. The Thaw fell in behind him, all of them equipped with weapons they didn’t entirely know how to use. But they gripped the swords with such lethal determination that Mather pitied any Cordellans who tried to stop them. But stop them from what? Where would they go?
The palace. William was there.
But Meira. Noam had irrevocably turned on Winter—had he opened the magic chasm? Had Meira failed him somehow? Was he here in Jannuari, or had he sought her out?
Was she still alive?
Mather bit back thoughts that threatened to cripple him under the body he carried. No, he couldn’t think yet. Meira had to be alive.
And nothing in Primoria could protect Noam if she wasn’t.
The palace’s front steps flew under Mather’s feet and he jammed his shoulder into the door, sending it banging into the wall. The lateness of the evening meant the main halls were empty, all workers returned to the cottages outside orto rooms deep in the palace. Seven pairs of feet thundered across the ballroom, up the marble staircase, down empty halls of ivory and silver that wrapped them in the encroaching shadows of night. The hazy grayness gave everything a dreamlike feel, encouraging the idea that this was wrong,wrong, and Mather could fix it. . . .
They sprinted down the long walk to William’s office, the cold air of the balcony snapping around them. The door stood ajar and Mather stumbled to a halt paces from it, his arms cramping from how tightly he gripped his mother’s body.
She’s dead, William. Cordell killed her because you wouldn’t listen to me, because you let them stay here, because I didn’t try hard enough to protect Winter.
She’s dead because we’re both weak, William. Because I am your son in every way.
But none of those words came out as he walked into William’s office, because William stood with his back to the door, facing Brennan, who held a sword pointed at him.
“. . . for too long,” Brennan was saying. “But my master no longer has need for this kingdom’s freedom, and he has at last instructed me to take control of what rightfully belongs to Cordell. Congratulations—you are the first Season Kingdom to become a Cordellan colony, with Autumn soon to follow. I’m sure you’ll see it as an honor.”
A growl bubbled in William’s throat. “I’ve heard men talk about their king as you do.‘My master.’That is notCordell. You don’t serve Noam, do you?”
Brennan clucked his tongue. “Noam has his uses, but we all choose a rising sun over a setting one.”
A rising sun? My master?Who did Brennan mean? The only men Mather had ever heard talk about their king like that were men who served Angra.
But Brennan had said,What rightfully belongs to Cordell. . .
