So from then on, I called him Sir. Yes, Sir. No, Sir. You are not my father and I will never be your daughter and I hate that you’re all I have, Sir.
Now he ignores me, pulling his horse onward. His decisions are final, and no amount of arguing will change his mind.
Like that’s ever stopped me. “This isn’t enough! And while I can’t fault you for caring about the most efficient ways to save our kingdom, I know I can do things for Winter too.”
A few paces behind me, Dendera moans, still hanging off Henn’s neck. “Meira,” she says, her voice worn. “Please, dear, you should be grateful you aren’t needed.”
I whip to her. “Just because you’d rather be patching dresses doesn’t mean all women should want that.”
Her mouth drops open and I pinch my eyes closed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I sigh, forcing myself to look at her. She leans more heavily on Henn now, her eyes glistening. “I just meant that you shouldn’t be forced to fight when you don’t want to, and I shouldn’t be forced to not fight when I want to. If Sir let me go, maybe you wouldn’t have to go on missions. Everyone would win.”
Dendera doesn’t look any less hurt, but she glances at Sir, a quiver of hope hidden behind her pain. She used to be like Alysson, tending to camp, until Sir got desperate—he started needing her for missions just as he started letting me help with food scouting. She’s never argued with him, not when he makes her train or when he sends her out on missions like these. But one look in her eyes and I can see how much this life terrifies her, how badly she’d rather be back at camp. She’s as uncomfortable with weapons as I’d be in a gown.
Mather strides over to me through the grass, and I think he might try to offer words to break the tension. But after a few paces, he crumples to the ground like the earth sucked him down and refuses to release him. I frown as he grips his ankle.
“Oooww,” he howls.
Sir bends down in a quick rush of panic. “What happened?”
Mather rocks back and forth and winces as everyone else moves closer. “Meira beat me in that last fight, didn’t she tell you? Knocked me flat out. I don’t think I can go to Lynia.”
The wrinkles in Sir’s face relax. “Didn’t I see you run out to meet us?”
Mather doesn’t miss a beat, still rocking and wincing. “I ran through the pain.”
I suck in a breath until Sir looks up at me, and Mather winks discreetly above a wide grin.
“You beat him?” Sir asks, disbelieving.
I shrug. I’m a horrible liar so I just leave it at that. Mather is helping me. A blush warms my cheeks.
Sir has to know we’re lying, but he won’t risk sending Mather on the chance that he really did sustain an injury. He does trust him, more than anyone here. A moment passes before Sir rubs his temples and shoots a sharp breath out of his nose. “Help Mather into camp, then get your chakram.”
I bite back my squeal of triumph but it comes anyway, a weird blubbery noise that catches in my throat and bursts out of my still-frowning mouth. Sir stands, takes his horse, and marches into camp with renewed determination, like he doesn’t want to face me now that he’s given in. Everyone trails after him, leaving me to help Mather the invalid.
When the others are out of earshot, I fall to the ground and throw my arms around him. “You’re my favorite monarch in the history of monarchs,” I babble into his shoulder.
His arms come around me, squeeze once, shooting rays of chill through my body as I realize . . . we’re hugging.
I fly to my feet and extend my hand to him, certain my face will be permanently stained red. “We should get back.”
Mather takes my hand but pulls down as I pull up, keeping me from leaving. “Wait.”
He turns to fish for something in his pocket and I lower to my knees beside him, my eyebrows pinching slightly. When he pivots back, his face is solemn, and the ball of nervousness in my stomach expands. In the center of his palm sits a round piece of lapis lazuli, one of the rarer stones Winter used to mine from the Klaryns long ago.
“I found it when we were staying in Autumn a few years back,” Mather starts, his eyes soft. “After the lesson William gave us on Winter’s economy. Our mines in the Klaryns, digging up coal and minerals and stones.” He pauses, and I can see the child he was then. We moved to Autumn eight years ago, a boy-prince pretending to be a soldier and a girl-orphan who wanted nothing more than to pretend right alongside him.
“I liked to think it was magic,” he continues, his face severe. “After our lessons about the Seasons sitting on a chasm of magic, and our lands being directly affected by the power, and Angra breaking Winter’s conduit and taking our power in one swift crush of his fist, I wanted—needed—to believe that we could get magic somewhere else. Our world may seem balanced—four kingdoms of eternal seasons, four kingdoms that cycle through all seasons; four kingdoms with female-blooded conduits, four with male-blooded. But it’s not balanced—it will always be tipped in favor of monarchs who have magic versus people who don’t, like their citizens and . . . other monarchs whose conduits break. And I hated being so . . .” His voice trails off. “Helpless,” he finishes.
My brow creases. “You’re far from helpless, Mather.”
His half smile returns and he shrugs. “At the very least, this lapis lazuli was a connection to Winter. And having it helped me feel stronger, I guess.”
I bite my lip, not missing how he brushed past what I said.
He takes my hand and rolls the stone into my palm. “I want you to have it.”
Giddiness floods my senses when Mather doesn’t let go of my hand, doesn’t look away from me. And the light flickering in his eyes—this is important to him. He’s passing me a part of his childhood.
I pull the lapis lazuli closer to examine it in the dying sunlight. It’s impossibly blue, no bigger than a coin, with darker strands of azure running along its surface.
Outside of the lost chasm, magic has only ever existed in the Royal Conduits of the eight kingdoms in Primoria, reserved for rulers to use as needed. Not in objects like this small, blue stone, sitting so inconspicuously in my palm. But I know why Mather wanted to believe the stone has magic: sometimes placing our belief in something bigger than ourselves helps us get to a point where we can be enough on our own, magic or no magic.