Frost Like Night (29 page)

Ceridwen punched one of the Summerians, who fell to the ground, stunned at her attack. The rest moved to help him, fighting as best they could, but she was augmented like all of Angra's other puppets now. She was unstoppable, and burn it all, she
felt
unstoppable.

Stop! They aren't your enemy!

A body slammed into her, tackling her on the Autumn side of the field.

“Ceridwen!” Lekan shouted and pinned her arms by her head. Others joined him, helped him hold her to the ground. “Cerie, stop!”

She wailed, thrashing under him. He was weak too. He'd never understand the
need
she felt, how this power came with the responsibility to use it—and use it she would.

“Cerie, we need you,” Lekan pleaded. Blood spread across his forehead, mud caked in a tan-black coat down his neck. “This isn't you, but you're the strongest person I know. You can fight Angra.”

That name spoke to the magic in her. Angra deserved this power. Only Angra could wield it.

“He's the enemy,” she forced herself to say, out loud. Ceridwen dragged those words into her heart, compelling them to stay just as strong and relentless as the hatred that still urged her to attack Lekan and the Summerians.

Lekan nodded, but part of him slouched, defeated. “Bind her,” he told one of the men holding her. “We can't afford to—”

They lifted Ceridwen, and Lekan continued giving orders, but she bade herself to ignore them. She didn't want to hear any information that the Decay could make her use against them.

The battle begged for her attention, anyway. What was left of their army had merged around them into a tight
cluster of the most persistent fighters, those who could ward off Angra's Decay by strength of will. Caspar stood nearby, shouting with some of his remaining generals. Less than half of their original numbers still stood, which went beyond tragic—it was an exercise in suicide.

Their soldiers fought, but more fell than enemies. Their soldiers resisted, but every few seconds, one turned on their brethren in the same ferocious hatred that had possessed Ceridwen. Cannons tore through their cluster, leveling half a dozen soldiers at a time.

Angra stood in the center of his army, elevated on a stack of barrels or a crate or maybe the backs of the soldiers he had killed, his arms stretched, the Decay still gushing out of him. His joy had broken, the slightest strain showing, but that didn't stop him. Nothing would stop him.

Ceridwen realized that now—nothing could defeat him.

Not even Meira.

AS THE DOOR
appears in the maze wall, I peer through it and search the exterior for another of those plates that will help me on the test. But there's only that door, white light streaming around me.

Then I remember what the final test will be.

Purification of the heart.

Even though they helped me on the other two tests, the Order would have wanted only those who are truly pure of heart to pass the labyrinth.

It's entirely possible they meant for everyone to face this test without help.

But help won't be necessary. I'm ready for this; I will pass whatever test gets thrown at me.

I clear my mind and enter the room.

And gape at who is inside.

Hannah.

I stand there for what feels like lifetimes before Sir's maze dumps him through a door on my right. He rushes forward, spots her, and stops as if the floor has grabbed onto his feet.

Seeing Sir and Hannah staring at each other jolts an image through my mind of Rares and Oana. How different they were from these two people before me. And though it has never been real, I can't help but see two versions of a life: Sir and Hannah, my parents; Rares and Oana, my parents. One pair always harsh and unloving; the other kind and gentle and everything I wanted.

A door opens on my left and Mather enters, weapons in hand and eyes darting over each of us as he steps closer to me.

Good—at least one of us is capable of movement.

“You've reached the end of the labyrinth. You've come so far,” Hannah finally speaks, her eyes widening in encouragement.

“How are you here?” I manage.

I haven't talked to her since before I left on the tour of the world, before I thought the magic barrier in the chasm entrance had broken my connection to her—before I found out I was keeping her away on my own, because I didn't need her anymore.

And I had been fine not seeing her. I was
fine
when she was gone.

Seeing her now, smiling at me as if we're just an innocent
mother and daughter, as if I'm not moments away from dying for the mistakes she made, lights frustration that burns out to every limb. Why would she be here?

Purification of the heart.

I press a hand to my chest.

This is a test of heart. Anyone who harbors hatred, or anger, would be deemed unworthy.

But I thought I'd made my peace with Hannah at Rares and Oana's home. I let go of my anger at her and at Sir and realized that all the things I wanted from them were ill-placed expectations that could never be.

Sir lurches toward her, but his feet don't move, just his shoulders jolting before he straightens.

He's afraid.

Cold sweat washes down my body.

“I don't think it's really her,” I tell him.

Hannah smiles. “Why would you think that, sweetheart?”

My hands curl into loose fists. “Because I've been blocking the real Hannah for weeks now, and I haven't stopped. You're a test. You're the magic playing tricks on us.”

Her smile widens. “I've been magic all along, haven't I? Was I ever the real Hannah?”

I frown. “You—”

An explanation. Please, let there be an explanation.

But the longer I stare at her, the longer I realize she might be right.

I'd assumed the conduit that links us in our bloodline
kept her connected to me. Or has it ever really been her?

I shake my head. “Stop it! You're just trying to unsettle us.” I turn to Sir so Hannah is almost behind me. “We have to get through this test—it's a test of heart.”

Sir still stares at her, his lips in a thin line. He doesn't look at me, doesn't react at all.

“You could have imagined me, Meira.” Hannah's voice is just as soft as I remember, invoking feelings of awe that make me want to listen with rapt attention to her every word.

“I didn't imagine you,” I say to her, though I stay facing Sir, while beside me Mather remains poised. “I didn't even know you when you appeared to me. How could I have made up all those things you told me?”

“How can you be a conduit yourself?” Hannah counters. “How is anything in this labyrinth possible? When you touched the keys, you saw what you needed to see to get here. When you touched the plates in this labyrinth, they showed you pieces of the tests to help you pass them. Maybe the magic took what form it had to in order to help you during those early days as well. It created what you needed—a mother.”

I spin on her, fingernails biting into my palms. “I made my peace with you in Paisly. I saw what real parents are like—I saw what a true family can be. And I know now that whatever relationship I had with you was
wrong
. Everything you did was your own doing, and none of it is my burden.
But I will fix your mistakes, Hannah.
I am better than you.
”

“I know,” she says, and she smiles again. “Your heart isn't the one that needs peace.”

My mouth cocks open.

“Who—”

Hannah pivots to face Sir. “I gave her to you for protection. She was forced to seek help from the magic because you failed me.”

Sir.

Panic cracks through me and I take two reeling steps toward him, but he still won't look away from Hannah.

“Sir, don't listen to her! Look at me—”

“You failed me, General,” she says, and this time, the bite in her voice is unmistakable. “You failed Winter.”

“He did not fail Winter!” I whirl on her.

Mather appears beside me, his hand on my shoulder, trying to tug me away. “He has to pass this test.”

I step directly in front of Sir, talking only to him. “Hannah caused all of this.
She
caused this.”

Sir blinks. Movement that makes me sigh in relief, until he latches onto my face as if seeing me for the first time.

“I grew up with your mother. Did I ever tell you that?”

I freeze. Even Mather, still trying to coax me away, stops. We both recognize the melody in Sir's voice, the tone he's always taken when reciting history lessons.

“We were both children in Winter's court. Much like you two grew up together.” He encompasses Mather with a
glance. “I saw her awkwardness in youth. I saw her mistakes, her breakdowns, her faults—which made it harder than I expected to see her as a queen, once she was crowned.”

He looks past me, at Hannah. “I made the mistake of not treating her with the respect owed to her position. And when she grew more solemn and distant as the war intensified, I comforted her as a friend would help a friend, not as a soldier would help his queen. I should have been only her general, and I wasn't. I should have guided Winter away from the path she was taking us down, and I didn't.”

I grab Sir's arms. “You didn't know she had made a deal with Angra. You can't expect to—”

His eyes drop back to me and he lifts his hands to my arms. He's never touched me like this before—in a desperate way that feels all too much like he's begging. Delirium beats in his eyes the more he talks, awakened by Hannah, by this labyrinth, by everything we've endured for the past few decades, and as I watch him, the terror that shoots through me is unlike any I've ever experienced.

I'm afraid for him.
I'm
afraid for
Sir
.

“I swore to myself I wouldn't make that mistake again,” he tells me, his fingers clamping around me. “I told myself I would see you as a queen, every moment of your life, so I would never lose focus. But I still failed.”

Tears. On Sir's face.

“William.” My voice cracks. “William, stop—”

“Angra took my kingdom,” he continues. “I wasn't
allowed to raise my son as my own. I did everything I could, but it wasn't enough, and the only reason I could ever find was . . . you.”

“Me?” Were Sir not holding on to my arms, I'd collapse at his feet.

“It was so foolish of me.” Sir's grip spasms. “I realize that now, Meira. I blamed you for
years
. But you never accepted that blame, did you? Snow above, you fought it, fought
me
, every chance you got. And I think, somewhere in all that fighting, I realized my blame was misplaced. You weren't the reason for our past failure—you were the reason for our hope for the future. I may not have gotten to raise Mather as my son, but I got to raise both of you.”

My heart surges against my ribs, full to the point of bursting.

“But you're right,” he says, a laugh. “You're right. All this, everything that happened, was Hannah's doing. And Angra's doing. And I let them take even more of our lives by misplacing my blame for so long.” His eyes cut to Mather. “I'm sorry I wasn't a better father.”

He shifts back to me.

“I'm sorry I wasn't a better father to
both
of you,” he tells me, his apology falling directly into my ear as he pulls me forward.

Sir is hugging me.

I made my peace with him too, in Paisly. I resigned myself to the roles he'd chosen for us, and I was fine.

But I wasn't fine.

Because wrapped in Sir's arms, I come undone.

I'm sixteen years old, hugging him in the vision Angra dredged up in Abril.

I'm ten years old, sobbing against him in the wake of Gregg's and Crystalla's deaths.

I'm six years old, rocking back and forth in his arms after a nightmare, the one time he ever willingly hugged me, the episode branded on my heart and held as a beacon for everything I wanted out of our lives.

I fling my arms around his waist now, bury my face into him. Dust from the labyrinth sticks to his shirt, the forms of small knives in sheaths across his chest press into my face. His heart thumps against my ear, his lungs fill with raspy breaths that match my own.

This is better than all those moments. This erases them and starts fresh.

I rise up to look at him and stretch one hand out to Mather, beckoning him in. “We'll fix this, together, and the world will be healed.”

The tears that fall down Sir's face glisten on his cheeks, fold into the wrinkles that line his eyes. He lifts his head to look at Hannah again. Is she still there? It doesn't matter. We passed this test, all of us. We're healed now, and we can move forward.
Together.

A crack forms in my joy.

No, it won't be together. But I will die knowing Sir loves
me. I will die knowing everything I wanted for us wasn't a hapless wish—it came true.

The crack splits so loudly that it rings in my ears when the look on Sir's face shifts from bittersweet happiness to nothing but sorrow.

Unrepentant, screaming sorrow.

“A test of heart,” he whispers. “We're supposed to forgive her.”

“We did,” I tell him, but the look on his face . . . “We can go—”

The ground rumbles as the wall to my left grates, something black and tall forming in my peripheral vision.

“A door!” Mather cries. “Come on, we can—”

But the ground doesn't stop rumbling. And Sir won't move.

I heave on his arms, and Mather dives in to help, both of us pulling and shouting as the ground shakes. The pillars around the room react to the vibrations, chunks of rock chipping off and shattering in small explosions around us.

Sir grabs my shoulders, his eyes too calm, too knowing. “Run.”

“You have to run too!” I shout over the building roar of the room quivering apart.

But Sir shakes his head. He motions to his legs, bends his knees in a jerk to demonstrate.

He stopped walking on his way into the room, as if the floor grabbed his feet. And it
did
.

He hasn't forgiven Hannah. The room won't let him leave until he does.

“You have to let her go!” My voice screeches in desperation, my fingers knotted in his shirt. Mather hangs on to Sir's arm, his eyes cutting between us and the door, the rubble gathering in collapsing bursts, the floor tiles breaking and—

Snow above—the floor is starting to disintegrate, like the other times it swallowed us. But these holes aren't tunnels to drop us into the next test or even ringed with flame like in the first room—they're just empty. Just blackness.

“No, Meira.” Sir loosens my fingers from his shirt, still so calm. “I had to let
you
go. But I can't forgive Hannah, especially for the fate she made for you. For all of us.” He shakes his head. “I can't. I'm sorry.”

Mather balks. “You aren't . . . no. You have to come with us!”

Sir looks at him.

Puts a hand on his son's shoulder.

And pushes him toward the door.

Then he meets my eyes.
Go,
he mouths.

I slam my body into Mather, pinning my arms around him and propelling us toward the door. Gaping holes bar our path, making me tug him back and forth as we stumble in a flailing mess for the exit. Mather staggers along beside me and releases a raw scream that hammers into my heart.

We reach the door and I push Mather through, pausing just once.

The scene behind me is a mess of stones and tiles and yawning holes. In the midst of it all, Sir and Hannah stand, motionless, staring at each other.

A pillar falls, slamming down two paces from me, and I leap through the exit just as the whole floor drops into nothingness.