Noam stands in a group of his men, talking in a low voice to Theron, who seems even more exhausted than I feel. He sees me emerge and turns with a noticeable sigh of relief, dragging his father’s attention.
Noam looks like Theron, only twenty years older, undeniably related and undeniably Cordellan—shoulder-length golden-brown hair going gray at the roots, brown eyes rimmed with lines yet glistening under the cloudy skies. His hip, as usual, bears the holster that cradles Cordell’s conduit, the jewel on the dagger’s hilt emitting a lavender haze of magic.
“Lady Queen,” he calls, closing the few paces between us.
The Cordellan soldiers shift in their conversations, watching with interest. There are Winterians here too, busily fixing the buildings surrounding the square, hauling lumber and supplies. Behind it all, the Jannuari Palace rises up. The remaining wings sit in a U shape, cupping a wide courtyard with drooping willow trees, the exterior walls embellished by ivory trim and white marble, char marks and gaping cannon holes.
I pull my shoulders back. “King Noam,” I start. I’ve made pleasantries enough by now that I should have one ready to spit out—So glad to see you’ve made it back to Jannuari or I hope your trip wasn’t too taxing—but I’m too tired to pretend not to hate him right now.
“Any news on your progress?” he asks. “I keep hoping for the day when Winter will prove itself to be a better investment than expected.”
My mask of political neutrality crumbles away. “We are not an investment,” I snap.
Theron steps closer to me. “Autumn will be here in a few hours. We should start preparing for tonight’s ceremony—”
But Noam ignores him, his amusement warping into a sneer. “Do not mistake the reason for my presence.” His conduit spikes purple light. “You are as aware as I am that the only worthwhile thing in your kingdom lies in those mountains. You have neither the resources nor the support to harness their use. You need me, Lady Queen.”
“Someday we won’t,” I growl. “I’d fear that day if I were you.”
Noam’s face twists. “A threat? And here I thought you were finally above such things.”
I catch myself. He’s right. I hate that he’s right—
A blanket of ice sucks my breath away.
I wheeze on the anxiety that cocoons around my anger, a deadly blend that makes my magic more agitated. It flares up my chest, fed by each word Noam says, each flicker of terror that I’m losing control. Again.
But I should be fine now—I encountered the magic barrier days ago. My magic should be back to normal, shouldn’t it?
I almost call for Hannah. But even considering that option makes the magic rise higher, coating my tongue with frost and numbing my fingers into solid tubes of ice. I have to calm down—there are Winterians around me. Lots of Winterians, and I’m so cold that I feel like one strong exhale will send magic spiraling out of me.
Thankfully, Theron takes his father’s arm. The movement distracts me, one beat of relief.
Until I hear what he says.
“We found it,” Theron exhales, massaging the back of his neck like he has to coax each word out of his throat. “The magic chasm. We need your help to—”
“Theron!” His name splits my heart.
The magic must have muddled my brain, because surely he didn’t say that.
But he never actually promised he wouldn’t tell his father about the magic chasm. He knows how I feel about it, and I know how he feels about it—but I never thought he’d do this.
I didn’t realize how desperate he truly was for the chasm, how that spark of hope in his eyes is so anchored to this discovery. Because now, as he stands there, hanging on Noam’s reaction, Theron looks more like himself than he has in months.
He needs this.
Noam turns to me. Squints. And smiles. A smile to put all others to shame, cracking across his face like he’s been saving it for this day.
“Did you, now?” he asks me—just me, like Theron isn’t the one who told him.
No, I want to say. No, Theron’s lying, we haven’t found anything—
Noam steps to the side and waves me toward the palace, his eyes never leaving my face. “I believe we have a few things to discuss, Lady Queen.” His smile hardens. “In private.”
Sir comes up beside me. Too late to do anything, but he reads the aghast look on my face and spins on Noam. “Is there a problem?”
Noam grins. “My son just told me of your discovery. You’re welcome to join the conversation, General Loren.”
Noam nods at his men and I feel more than see them surround us. They’re not overtly threatening, and the hum in the square continues just the same—hammers pounding, voices buzzing in conversation. Even Conall, Garrigan, and Nessa remain by the horses, wholly unaware of the way Noam ushers us to follow him into the palace like it’s his.
Sir throws Theron a glare when Noam gets a few paces ahead. “You told him?”
The bite in Sir’s voice is the same growl he threw at me so often growing up. But this time, it’s distorted with the smallest flicker of remorse. Not for himself, I realize when my eyes snap to his. For me.
He knows what happened. Understands it more than even I can at this point.
Theron betrayed me.
My lungs hitch.
The Cordellan soldiers urge us forward, and we start walking toward the palace.
“I had to,” Theron says, beseeching, but when I don’t look at him, he clears his throat and roughens his voice. “We have to open that door. We need Cordell’s resources to figure out a way to do so—and I have a plan that will make my father need my help to open the door too.” His eyes sparkle. “Trust me, Meira.”