“When Meira finds out about Noam’s order, she’ll kill him,” Mather countered. “She’ll never allow this. We should keep training, Noam be damned.”
William shook his head. “Going against an explicit order will only hurt us after—” He paused, wincing at the memory of the ceremony four days ago. Mather had hated himself even more for leaving once he’d heard how Noam had reacted to Meira’s change of payment—he should have stayed, gone to her, given her more support.
He wanted this, though. What he had told her in her room—he was done being in her life.
“We will obey this request until we can regroup in a way that does not outright defy Cordell,” William continued. “Divvy up the trainees to aid with rebuilding or mining, but no Winterian is to lift a blade until I give the order.”
Mather growled. “You mean, until Noam gives the order?”
William’s knuckles tightened on the arms of his chair. “You will not speak to me like that. I am the head of this kingdom in our queen’s absence, and as such you will obey me.”
Alysson and Deborah remained silent, and any rebuttal that Mather had was suffocated beneath his years of obeying William without thought. He wondered now if maybe he shouldn’t have obeyed this man so boldly. If he should have been more like Meira.
“Is that why you let her leave?” Mather felt his insubordination like a fist to the skull. He realized in the looming silence how badly hewantedWilliam to lash out at him, to be angry and put Mather in his place—to be himself again.
But William said nothing, and as Mather’s eyes darted across his weathered skin, he felt everything Feige said click in his mind. She was right, that demented girl. She was right about William carrying around his guilt so heavily that he refused to see anything that hurt. She was right about everyone around Mather being caught in a web of remorse.
That web would get them all killed.
“Of course not,” William finally responded. “Our queen went because that is what she must do now—form alliances. You of all people should understand politics.”
Mather grimaced. Yes, he should. But he only understood his own guilt at this moment, his own failings, his own pain, and how much he wanted to be rid of it all.
Every part of him trembled. “You’re ashamed of failing Winter sixteen years ago, but you should be even more ashamed that you don’t have the courage to face it. I won’t ignore it. I willnotend up like you.”
He shoved past Deborah, who put her hands over her mouth, past Alysson, who watched him but said nothing. They let him leave, every one of them. Just like they had let Meira leave, because it hurt too much to focus on their problems.
The sounds of construction hummed outside, hammers and saws creating a steady tune. Mather hurried toward the training barn, darting past men carrying buckets of nails, women lugging wheelbarrows of scrap wood. For as tense as the air had been in William’s office, it was far too light in the city. People chatted, moved about their days as if they had always been this normal. As Mather got to the door of the barn, he paused, a sad thought flashing through him.
Were most Winterians like William? Did everything they do just cover up their scars?
Meira shouldn’t have left. If Mather had been moreclearheaded, he wouldn’t have walked out of her room four nights ago. He wouldn’t have avoided her every day since, slumping back to join Phil and the boys each night. He would have sought her out, stayed with her as long as it took, demanding that she remain in Winter—for their kingdom. Not for him.
His mind flashed back to one of the last times Meira had left. He had watched in numbing horror as Angra’s general had lifted her body, sneering down at her with an expression that said more than any threat ever could. And Mather could do nothing but scream for her while Cordellan soldiers hauled him back toward Bithai.
He would not fail her again.
Mather caught his thoughts and growled.Winter. He would not failWinteragain. Meira wasn’t his to worry about anymore, beyond her status as queen.
Mather threw himself into the barn. Training should have started an hour ago; most of the men were pacing from having to wait so long. Except Phil, Hollis, Trace, Kiefer, and Eli—they looked perfectly happy with the extra moments of rest. Anger had forced Mather’s hangover away—well, that, or possibly the forsaken drink Alysson had given him—but they still looked frazzled and exhausted.
Mather shoved his hands into his pockets. “Cordell has ordered that training cease immediately.”
A murmur swept through the barn, a few grunts ofdispleasure. Mather opened his mouth to split the group into miners and construction, or even to explain why, to come up with a reason that made sense. But as he stared at the cracks in the worn wood floor, he couldn’t think of anything, and the longer he stood in silence the more the trainees glanced at one another, until a few started to leave in clouds of confused muttering.
“What caused that?” Phil asked when they were alone.
Mather tore his eyes from the floor. “Denial.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Kiefer interjected, his attention on a passing group of Cordellans who peered into the barn and scoffed because they knew how weak Winter was. How broken.
Trace pressed his face into his knees where he sat on a barrel. “What’s strange?”
Kiefer shrugged, shoulders moving against the wall of the barn. “We’re home, but it doesn’t feel much different than Bikendi. Scraping by, ruled by another kingdom.”
Phil flinched, his head popping up from where it had been hanging lifelessly against his chest. “That isn’t—” He stuttered, his mouth dangling open. “It’s better here. We’re free.”
“Shouldn’t have expected the queen to be any better than Angra. Just like royals, I guess,” Kiefer continued. “Care more about their cushy lives than their lowly subjects.”
