Frost Like Night (34 page)

One arm crosses over his chest, the other cups the back of his neck as he bows his head, his eyes closed where he
stands before two golden saplings in dirt mounds. One, older; the other, far too fresh. Lanterns spaced along the pathway shine light onto us, but shadows still seep in, warping details. He doesn't move at my approach, and it gives me time to study him.

His once long hair has been cropped short, feeding into a beard that roughens his face. His Cordellan uniform bears more medals than when last I saw it, and the material is finer, a weave of deep-emerald velvet with gold accents.

All in all, he looks far more like his father, in only the best ways. Noam's surety and confidence and control, but none of his harshness or pomposity.

I stop two paces back from Theron, clinging to handfuls of my skirt.

Breathe, Meira.
“Nikoletta said you'd be here.”

Theron, eyes still closed, smiles, but it doesn't stay when he looks at me.

“She's become far too protective,” he says. “Did she send you to check on me?”

“It was heavily implied.” I try to smile. “But I've been wanting to speak to you anyway.”

Theron drops his gaze back to one of the trees. Noam's sapling, his name showing in the hazy light. Theron stays silent, massaging the back of his neck, before he pulls upright and drops his thumbs into the belt that holds a decorative sword at his waist.

“Well, as I told Nikoletta, and Jesse,
and
my advisers,
I'm fine.” He meets my eyes again. “You owe me nothing, Your Highness. I'm pleased simply that you have come to participate in the world's unification.”

“Theron.” The bite in my voice rumbles up from the complicated tangle in my gut. “You don't have to treat me like that.”

His laugh is bitter. “I said something similar to you once. Do you remember what you said in return?
‘You are Cordell, just as much as I am Winter. You'll always have to choose your kingdom over me.'
Well, my lady—you have chosen correctly.”

I don't respond, opening the silence like a door flooding light into a dark room.

Theron keeps his eyes on me, the hard laughter slipping off his face in favor of a broken grunt. He licks his lips, shaking his head at me, at himself, at the graves before us.

“I remember everything,” he starts, a soft whisper. “And I'm so sorry, Meira. I don't know where to begin with apologies. That's part of why I invited everyone here—I helped destroy this world, so I will help rebuild it. But you—golden leaves, I owe you so much more than that.”

“I didn't come here for an apology.” My voice breaks. “I came here to . . . well, to apologize to
you
, for not coming sooner. For not checking on you. This war began as Winter's problem, and I pulled you into it,
I
put you in Angra's path, and—”

“Angra.” Theron practically sobs the name, a violent wince making him fold his chin to his chest. “You may have
put me in his path, but I chose to walk down it.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. I've feared that from the start, that the things Theron did were more him than Angra. But the look in his eyes chases away my concern.

“The Decay made me want things I never dared let myself admit. It was so freeing.” He stops, folds his arms over his chest. “Until Angra . . .”

His tears break free. He scrubs at them, laughing at himself, eyes on the darkening sky.

“I killed my father because of him. I did terrible things because of him. And yet I admired him. I worshipped him. He was so strong, and I had felt weak for so long.”

Theron looks at me.

“But I will be strong now. On my own.” His words are a promise, the most alive he's sounded yet.

I move without thought, putting my hand on his arm. “You have the greatest capacity to love of anyone I've ever known. You loved your father despite his flaws; you loved
me
even when you knew nothing about me, other than that I was just as unseen as you were. You are so much stronger than me. Stronger than Angra too. And with you guiding us, I know Primoria will achieve a state of peace and equality that will honor everyone we lost.”

Theron doesn't move, tears still glistening in his eyes.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be enough for you,” he whispers.

My fingers tighten against him. “I'm sorry I couldn't be enough for you either.”

Theron pulls away to rub the last few tears off his face. “We should gather with the rest,” he says, voice clear now. “There are many important things to discuss.”

I nod and take one step back, but Theron doesn't follow me. “Are you coming?” I ask.

He blinks up at me, his lips quirking. “A few more moments. Go on without me.”

When I raise my brows, he dips into a bow.

“On my honor as the Cordellan king, I promise, I'm fine. I just need a moment.”

“All right.” I pause. “We will be. Fine, I mean.”

Theron tips his head. “Lady Meira,” he says.

I turn, leaving him standing over his parents' graves.

The important thing, though, is that he's standing.

The ballroom is packed by the time Mather and I return. Musicians play lively tunes from a platform between the staircases, complementing the hum of chatting dignitaries. Ceridwen, Lekan, and Kaleo stand with Caspar and Nikoletta; Giselle talks with the Spring general, a man I met when he came to Winter a few weeks ago to bridge the hurt between our two kingdoms. A group of Ventrallans has arrived, talking in animated tones to Jesse.

But they aren't the only ones who have arrived late.

Someone moves toward us. I spot his robe, the scar stretching through his dark skin, and I drop Mather's hand to collide with Rares. “You came!”

Rares squeezes me so tight I cough in protest. “Of course, dear heart! Paisly must be represented.” He sets me down, his hands on my shoulders. “And I hold you responsible for the sheer misery of traveling now. I specifically remember telling you how I much
hated
traveling, and one of the few good things that magic gave us was the ability to get anywhere instantly. But no, you had to go and take it all away—and give us something far better in return.”

At that, he pivots to reveal Oana behind him.

I smack my hands over my mouth and yelp into my palms. “You're—”

She hugs me, the slight bulge in her stomach pressing between us. “Four months now.”

I can't do more than screech, my hands fluttering from her shoulders to her belly and back again. Rares hoots at my speechlessness and swoops in to plant a kiss on top of my head.

“I imagine you've been busy these past months as well.” He nods at Mather and leans in to flick him in the forehead. “Treat her well.”

Mather rubs the spot, stifling a laugh. “I do, I promise.”

Rares looks at me for confirmation, and I smile, sliding my arm around Mather's waist.

“Not that I ever thought you'd pick someone who wouldn't,” he tells me with a wink. “I believe we should make the rounds. Quite the gathering we've got here. Downright magical.”

“There's nothing magical about this,” Oana says. “We've earned all that happens here.”

Rares nods his head. “Which seems magical to me, my love.” He gives me one more hug. “Where is King Jesse? I hear Ventralli is evolving most curiously.”

Mather points into the throng. “He's across the room—I'll show you.”

He leads them away. So many people catch my eye—representatives from every kingdom, all gathered to negotiate the best way to continue our peace.

And that unity makes the holes in the crowd feel complete. Where Sir should be standing next to Mather as he talks with Jesse, Rares, and Oana; where Nessa and Garrigan should be following Conall as he weaves toward me through the crowd; where Henn and Finn should be talking with Greer at the edge of the room; where Noam should be laughing with Nikoletta and Caspar.

I don't fight the smile that eases across my lips, the tears that blur the colors and light of the ballroom into a shifting, sparkling kaleidoscope.

Rares and Oana were both right. We are our own magic now. And nothing can stop us.

IF YOU READ
my acknowledgments for
Snow Like Ashes
and
Ice Like Fire
, you know that I like to babble and basically thank every person I've ever known. And by this point in the series, a LOT of people have come into my life who have impacted this book, soooo . . .

LOTS OF PEOPLE TO THANK.

LET'S GET STARTED.

Mackenzie Brady Watson. Agent of my dreams. The combination of you + New Leaf is perfection of the highest caliber, and I am grateful every day to be your client.

HarperCollins. Yes, the entire company. But particularly: Kristin Rens, of course, always, forever, for finagling a coherent book out of whatever it is I first give you (which could usually be classified firmly under “hot mess”); Erin Fitzsimmons; Caroline Sun; Nina; Megan; Gina; Kelsey;
Margot; Nellie; and every other person who helped not only this book, but this whole series. Cheesy and clichéd as it is, you have all made my dreams come true, and for that there aren't enough thanks in the world.

Jeff Huang. Seriously now, LOOK AT THIS COVER. I am so honored my books get to wear your art.

Kate Rudd and Nick Podehl. You both gave voice to this series in an utterly mesmerizing way.

Shifting gears to the more personal side of things: Kelson. At the risk of getting too mushy, I'll just immortalize here that I love you, and I'm so happy I get to live this life with you.

My parents—I gave this book to you, but I still owe you far, far more.

Melinda. Okay, so your character's bits got edited out of
Frost Like Night
. You are a crazy whirlwind of energy and beauty, and honestly, Character Melinda got scared she couldn't compare to you.

To the rest of my ever-growing family: Annette, Dan, Trenton, Caro, John, Karen, Mike, and Haydin; Grandma and Grandpa, Debbie, Dan, Aunt Brenda, Lisa, Eddie, Mike, Grandma Connie, Suzanne, Lillian, William, Brady, Hunter, Lauren, Luke, Delaney, Garrett, Krissy, Wyatt, Ivy, Brandi, Mason, and Kayla the Librarian.

To my writer friends, near and far: J. R. Johansson, Kasie West, Renee Collins, Natalie Whipple, Bree Despain, Michelle D. Argyle, Candice Kennington, LT Elliot,
Samantha Vérant, Kathryn Rose, Jillian Schmidt, Claire Legrand, Jodi Meadows, Anne Blankman, Lisa Maxwell, Kristen Lippert-Martin, Sabaa Tahir, Sarah J Maas, Susan Dennard, Evelyn Skye; Akshaya, Madeleine, and Janella; and, always, Cousin Nicole.

Special thanks to my writer-wife, Kristen Simmons. I still can't believe I didn't get to thank you in
Ice Like Fire
. Our friendship may be new, but god, darling. You've changed my life.

Now for perhaps the hardest yet most rewarding part: thanking all of YOU.

In
Ice Like Fire
's acknowledgments, I blubbered on about many of the bloggers/reviewers/fans who have made my life so freaking magical. If I did that again, I fear this section would be as long as
Frost Like Night
itself, so I'm going to sum up as best I can:

You know how in this trilogy, everyone is always struggling so hard to get magic? They fight and they suffer and they sacrifice, all for this elusive, sparkling thing that promises to make their lives better. Then, as in Meira's case (and as also happens so often in real life), they get it, and it isn't quite as wonderful as they expected.

You guys have been nothing like that.

As I said in
Snow Like Ashes
's acknowledgments, you are, each of you, better than any conduit. You're better than the most fantastic magic I could conceive of. One of the biggest themes of this trilogy has, for me, been the idea of
being
enough
—of not needing outside influences to make you “better” or “worthy.” And while I hope I have imparted that belief to at least some of you, I am not at all too proud to say that I've failed myself in that belief. Because I wholly, irrevocably admit that I need each and every one of you. This publishing journey is fraught with so many high highs and low lows, but having you guys there, my little Winterian fandom, has made each moment not only worthwhile but utterly enchanting.

I am so honored I got to share this story with you. Twelve-year-old Sara, scribbling in notebooks, dreaming dreams of a white-haired girl and a wintry kingdom, did not dare fathom the absolute wonder that would come about, more than a decade later.

And it's because of you, and all the magic created just by being
you.

So, thank you.