I should have gone on this trip to retrieve information for the monarch—I shouldn’t be the monarch herself.
Finn opens his sack and pulls out a bundle while Greer removes one from his waist. “Stopped in Spring first,” Finn says, his attention on the table. Only Conall, Garrigan, and Nessa look out of the tent, watching the Cordellans for any sign of movement toward us. “The early reports that the Cordellans received were correct—no sign of Angra. Spring has transformed into a military state, run by a handful of his remaining generals. No magic, though, and no warmongering.”
Relief fights to sputter through me, but I hold it back. Just because Spring is silent doesn’t mean everything is fine—if Angra survived the battle in Abril and wanted to keep his survival a secret, he’d be a fool to stay in Spring.
And since we haven’t heard a word from him since the battle, if he is alive . . . he definitely doesn’t want anyone to know.
“We passed through Autumn on our way to Summer—both are unchanged,” Finn continues. “Autumn was gracious, and Summer didn’t even realize we were there, which made poking around for rumors of Angra easier. Yakim and Ventralli, on the other hand . . .”
I jolt closer to the table. “They found you?”
Greer nods. “Word spread of two Winterians in the kingdom. Luckily when we said we were there on behalf of our queen, they seemed to soften toward us—but they didn’t let us out of their sight until we left their borders. Both Yakim and Ventralli sent gifts for you.”
He nudges the bundles toward me. I pick up the first one and pull back the matted cloth to reveal a book, a thick volume bound in leather with black lettering embossed on the cover.
“The Effective Implementation of Tax Laws Under Queen Giselle?” I read. The Yakimian queen sent me a book about tax laws she enacted?
Finn shrugs. “She wanted to give us more, but we told her we hadn’t the resources to carry it all. She invites you to her kingdom. They both did, actually.”
That makes me pick up the other package. This one unrolls, spreading over the table to reveal a tapestry, multicolored threads weaving together to form a scene of Winter’s snowy fields overtaking Spring’s green-and-floral forest.
“The Ventrallan queen had that created,” Finn notes. “To congratulate you on your victory.”
I trace a finger down the twirl of silver thread that separates Winter from Spring. “We were in Ventralli and Yakim before Angra fell, gathering supplies and other such things, and people saw us, and never once did the royal families care. Why now?”
Greer’s age deepens in the way his wrinkles crease, his body slouches. “Cordell has its hands in two Seasons now—Autumn and Winter. With such a strong foothold here, they’d be able to take Spring easily too, if Noam chose to do so. Summer has trade agreements with Yakim, but no formal alliance. The other Rhythms know Noam is seeking the magic chasm, and they fear his ambitions. They’re testing Winter’s allegiance to Cordell, to see if they can unseat Noam.”
“They were both most adamant that you visit them,” Finn adds. “Queen Giselle told us you are always welcome. Queen Raelyn said the same of Ventralli—she seems to be the one speaking for the king, though he was just as eager to meet you.”
I shake my head. “Did any of those kingdoms show signs of . . . him?”
I can’t say his name. Can’t force myself to feel it grating on my tongue.
“No, my queen,” Greer replies. “There was no sign of Angra. We didn’t go to Paisly—the trip through their mountains is treacherous, and after the attitudes we observed in Ventralli and Yakim, we didn’t think it necessary.”
“Why?”
“Because Paisly is a Rhythm too—they wouldn’t host an ousted Season king. Yakim and Ventralli were barely willing to host us. I don’t think . . .” Greer pauses. “My queen, I don’t think Angra is in Primoria.”
The way he says that makes me shut my eyes. When I first suggested that someone search the world for Angra, everyone thought I was being overly cautious. He vanished after the battle in Abril, but most believe that the magic disintegrated him—not that he escaped.
“He’s dead,” Sir says. “He is no longer a threat we should concern ourselves with.”
I stare at him, drained. He—and the rest of my Winterian council—still believes Angra was defeated, even after I told them that his Royal Conduit had been overtaken by the Decay, a dark magic created thousands of years ago, before the Royal Conduits were made. Then everyone had small conduits, but when they slowly began to use the magic for evil, that negative use birthed the Decay. With the creation of the Royal Conduits and the purge of all smaller conduits, the Decay weakened, but it didn’t die—it fed on Angra’s power until Mather broke Spring’s staff.
If Angra is alive, he could be like me, a conduit himself, unburdened by the limitations of his object-conduit. And the Decay could be . . . endless.
But if Angra is alive, why would he be hidden away? Why wouldn’t he have swept through the world, enslaving us all? Maybe that’s what makes Sir so certain he’s dead.
Everyone watches me, even Conall, Garrigan, and Nessa. My eyes shift past them and open wide. One second, no one watched the Cordellans for one second—
“Trouble?”
A Cordellan soldier ducks into the tent, flanked by three others. The moment their armored frames fill the space, my council yanks to attention, casting off any pretense of ease.