I wave Sir, Greer, and Finn forward, each still carrying the crates. “These past months have allowed us to reopen our mines, signifying that Winter is a viable, living kingdom again.”
The last part I say to Noam, staring at him though my voice carries around the room. His eyes flicker as my men flank me on the dais.
I motion Finn and his two crates forward. “To Autumn, the first of much that is owed.”
The crowd breaks into a reverent applause as Finn lays the goods at Caspar’s feet. Caspar bows his head inwordless thanks and Nikoletta applauds softly. Neither of them seems put off by the small offering—in fact, they simply seem grateful to be here at all.
I wave Sir and Greer forward. “And to Cordell. The first of many payments.”
Noam eyes the three crates that they lay at his feet before glancing at me, to Sir, and even farther back, to the hall door. No one else moves to bring forward the rest of the payment.
His face twists. The glow around the dagger at his hip wrenches from delicate lavender to heavy indigo. “You must be mistaken.” His words are soft, just for those on the dais.
Sir and Greer back away, joining Finn at the edge of the stage. I smile as serenely as I can, ignoring the way Theron watches me, silent, evaluating.
“Winter owes Autumn and Cordell much,” I say, keeping my voice elevated. “And we will continue to pay both until our debts are cleared. We thank these kingdoms for their service and sacrifice.” I start a heavy clap that catches and spreads, signaling the end of the ceremony.
The din of cheers and applause rises again, as does the lyre music, kicking up in a post-ceremony celebration. The guests turn into it, swaying in chatting groups, everyone pleasantly distracted as Noam grabs my arm before I can duck off the dais.
“This is far from over,” he growls, his fingers bruising my bare skin.
I look up at him, but I don’t see him. The stronger pull of conduit magic living in my body connects to Noam’s magic through skin-to-skin contact, and memories pour from his head into my own, the same I’ve seen before: Noam, at his dying wife’s bedside, but something about his remorse is . . . off.
A flood of violent emotions hits me, overpowering everything else.
I will destroy her,Noam thinks.I will not be denied what is mine by a child.
Sir pushes Noam back. “None of that here,” he growls through clenched teeth.
A movement on the edge of the dais says the Cordellan soldiers have readied themselves, waiting for Noam to give the order. Beyond them, the laughter and music of the party doesn’t dwindle, no one outside of us noticing the tension.
I lean close to Noam. “We will repay what we owe you, but Winter never agreed to the things you demand.”
Noam eases forward, his hot breath bursting across my face. “You cannot win against me, child-queen. I will raze this kingdom as brutally as the Shadow of the Seasons if I have to.”
Theron grabs his father’s arm. “You don’t mean that?”
Noam doesn’t turn away from me. “I do.” He tips his head, his anger lighting in a new expression: scorn. “What do you intend to do with the resources you kept? Go ahead. Use this trip to negotiate aid for your pathetic land. Butknow this—” He jabs a finger at me and I lurch back, shock making me pliable. He knows what I intend to do? “No amount of allies will save you from my wrath. You think I fear the other Rhythms? No, Lady Queen—this is the final act of impudence I will tolerate. I will stay in Winter while you search the world, and if you return without a way to open that door, I will forcibly take your kingdom. No more games, no more stalling; Winter will bemine. Prove to me that you are useful. Make me glad I let you live.”
Theron shoves his father back, teetering him toward the edge of the stage.“Stop.”
But Noam is too far gone for intervention. His top lip flickers in a snarl and he catches Theron’s arm in an unrelenting grip. “Don’t think I don’t know where your heart is, boy. This trip isn’t just a test for Winter—prove to me that you are worthy to be my heir. I will tolerate no more games fromanyof you.”
My mouth closes, muscles cramping so all I see, feel, think is a pulsing, reverberating panic that starts in my gut and spreads through my body. The magic rises up into a swirling, threatening gale, pushing higher and higher for the surface.
I swallow, choking.No, not now—
Before I can add more proof to Noam’s crusade of my weakness, I rush off the dais, hand against my chest, trying and failing and begging the magic to compress back inside of me.
I did this. Of course Noam would figure out my plan—it was stupid to think he wouldn’t. And we have a deadline now.
Should I have let him bleed my kingdom dry? Should I have not fought back? No, of course not. But not like this. Not like . . . me.
The magic sputters inside me, knocking the air from my lungs. I stagger through the door and dump myself back into the hall, the noise of the celebration muffling in the high, narrow walls. Someone says something to me, distant and fogged, and my knees crack as I drop to the ground. But I will not use my magic—I am not weak, I am not afraid,I am the queen.
“My queen!” Sir kneels in front of me.
I brace myself against the floor, gritting my teeth. “I . . . I did that. . . .”
