Winter

by Marissa Meyer

  He looked burdened and afraid.

  He also looked hopeful.

  A few of the shanties had flower boxes hung from their windows, and some of them even had live flowers. The house Wolf was staring at was one of them—a messy cluster of blue daisies spilling over the rough-hewn wood. They were a spot of beauty, simple and elegant and completely at odds with their dreary surroundings.

  They paused in front of the house. There was no yard, only a spot of concrete in front of a plain door. There was one window but it had no glass. Instead, faded fabric had been tacked around its frame.

  Wolf was rooted to the ground, so it was Thorne who shouldered past him and gave a quick rap against the door.

  With the fabric alone acting as a sound barrier, they could hear every creak of the floors within as someone came to the door and opened it a timid crack. A small woman peeked out, alarmed when she saw Thorne. She was naturally petite but unnaturally gaunt, as if she hadn’t had a complete meal in years. Brown hair was chopped short, and though she had olive-toned skin like Wolf’s, her eyes were coal black, nothing like his striking green.

  Thorne flashed his most disarming smile.

  It had no obvious effect.

  “Mrs. Kesley?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said meekly, her gaze sweeping out to the others. She passed over Wolf first, then Cinder and Iko, before her eyes rounded, almost comically. She gasped and looked at Wolf again, but then her lips turned down with distrust.

  “My name,” Thorne said, with a respectful tilt of his head, “is Captain Carswell Thorne. I believe you may know—”

  A strangled sound escaped the woman. Her shock and suspicion multiplied by the second, warring against each other as she stared at her son. She pulled open the door the rest of the way and took one hesitant step forward.

  Wolf had become a statue. Cinder could feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves.

  “Ze’ev?” the woman whispered.

  “Mom,” he whispered back.

  The uncertainty cleared from her eyes, replaced with tears. She clapped both hands over her mouth and took another step forward. Paused again. Then she strode the rest of the way and wrapped her arms around Wolf. Though he dwarfed her in every way, he looked suddenly small and fragile, hunching down to fit better into her embrace.

  Wolf’s mother pulled away far enough to cup his face in her hands. Taking in how handsome and mature he’d become, or maybe wondering about all the scars.

  Cinder spotted a tattoo on her forearm, in the same place where Wolf had one marking him as a special operative. His mother’s, though, was stamped simply RM-9. It reminded Cinder of how someone might mark their pet, to be returned home in case it got lost.

  “Mom,” Wolf said again, choking down his emotions. “Can we come inside?”

  The woman raked her attention over the others, pausing briefly on Iko. Cinder wondered if she was confounded by Iko’s lack of bioelectricity, but she didn’t ask. “Of course.”

  With those simple words, she extracted herself from Wolf and ushered them inside.

  They found themselves in a tiny room with a single rocking chair and a sofa, a seam ripped open to reveal yellow stuffing inside. A fist-size holograph node was stuck in the center of one wall and a squat table was pushed beneath it. There was a drinking glass full of more blue daisies.

  One doorway led to a short hall where Cinder assumed there were bedrooms and the washroom. A second door offered a glimpse into an equally small kitchen, the shelves and counters overflowing with dishes.

  It looked like it hadn’t been dusted in a year. But then, so did the woman.

  Wolf hunched in the room as if he no longer physically fit inside it, while his mother gripped the back of the chair.

  “Everyone,” said Wolf, “this is my mother, Maha Kesley. Mom—this is Iko and Thorne and … Cinder.” He chewed on the words like he wanted to say more, and Cinder knew he was debating whether or not to tell his mom her true identity.

  Cinder did her best to look friendly. “Thank you for welcoming us. I’m afraid we’ve put you into a lot of danger by coming here.”

  Maha stood a little straighter, still wary.

  Thorne had his hands in his pockets, as if he was afraid to touch anything. “Will your husband be home soon?”

  Maha stared at him.

  “We don’t want any surprises,” Cinder added.

  Maha pursed her lips. She looked at Wolf, and Cinder knew. Wolf tensed.

  “I’m sorry, Ze’ev,” said Maha. “He died four years ago. There was an accident. At the factory.”

  Wolf’s expression gave away nothing. Slowly, his head bobbed with acceptance. He’d seemed more surprised to see his mother alive than to learn of his father’s death.

  “Are you hungry?” said Maha, burying her shock. “You were always hungry … before. But I suppose you were a growing boy then…”

  The words hung between them, filled with a lost childhood, so many years.

  Wolf smiled, but not enough to show his sharp canine teeth. “That hasn’t changed much.”

  Maha looked relieved. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and bustled toward the kitchen. “Make yourselves comfortable. I think I might have some crackers.”

  Twenty-Five

  Jacin felt heavy with dread as he entered the throne room. The seats reserved for the members of the court were empty. Only the queen sat on her throne, with Aimery at her side. Not even their personal guards were with them, which meant that whatever this meeting was about, Levana didn’t trust anyone to know of it.

  Cress, he thought. She knew about Cress. He’d been hiding her in his private quarters, keeping her safe like he’d promised Winter he would, but he knew it couldn’t last forever.

  How had Levana found out?

  A screen had been brought into the room, a large flat netscreen like the ones they used for two-dimensional Earthen media, only this one was more elaborate than anything Jacin had seen on Earth. It was set on an easel and framed in polished silver, bands of roses and thorns surrounding the screen as if it were a piece of art. The queen sparing no expense, as usual.

  Queen Levana and Thaumaturge Park both wore dark expressions as Jacin came to a stop and clicked his heels together, trying not to think of the last time he’d stood in this spot. When he was sure he would be killed, and Winter would have to watch.

  “You summoned, My Queen?”

  “I did,” Levana drawled, running her fingers over the arm of her throne.

  He held his breath, racking his brain for some way he could explain Cress’s presence that didn’t incriminate Winter.

  “I have been thinking a great deal about our little dilemma,” said the queen. “I desire to put my trust in you again, as I did when you were under Sybil’s care, yet I haven’t been able to convince myself that you serve me. Your queen. And not…” She whisked her fingers through the air, and her beautiful face took on something akin to a snarl. “Your princess.”

  Jacin’s jaw tensed. He waited. Waited for her to accuse him of sheltering a known traitor. Waited for his punishment to be declared.

  But the queen seemed to be waiting too.

  Finally he dipped his head. “All due respect, Your Majesty, my becoming Princess Winter’s guard was your decision. Not mine.”

  She shot him a sultry look. “And how very upset you seemed about it.” Sighing, Levana rose to her feet and walked behind Winter’s usual chair. She smoothed her fingers along the top of the upholstery. “After much deliberation, I have devised a test of sorts. A mission to prove your loyalty once and for all. I think, with this mission completed, there will be no qualms about placing you back into the service of my head thaumaturge. Aimery is eager to have your skills under his command.”

  Aimery’s eyes glinted. “Quite.”

  Jacin’s brows knit together and it dawned on him slowly that this wasn’t about Cress at all.

  He would have felt relief, except, if it wasn’t about Cress …
>
  “I told you before of my promise to my husband, Winter’s father,” Levana continued. “I told him I would protect the child to the best of my ability. All these years, I have held to that promise. I have taken care of her and raised her as my own.”

  Though he tried, Jacin could not stifle a surge of rebellion at these words. She had raised Winter as her own? No. She tortured Winter by making her attend every trial and execution, though everyone knew how she hated them. She had handed Winter the knife that disfigured her beautiful face. She had mocked Winter relentlessly for what she saw as her mental “weaknesses,” having no idea how strong Winter had to be to avoid the temptation of using her glamour, and how much willpower it had taken her to suppress it over the years.

  A wry smile crept over Levana’s bloodred lips. “You do not like when I speak of your darling princess.”

  “My queen may speak of whomever she pleases.” The response was automatic and monotone. It would make no difference to try to deny he cared for Winter, not when every person in this palace had witnessed their childhood antics, their games, and their mischief.

  He’d grown up beside Winter because their fathers were so close, despite how improper it was for a princess to be climbing trees and playing at sword fights with the son of a lowly guard. He remembered wanting to protect her even then, even before he knew how much she needed protecting. He also remembered trying to steal a kiss from her, once—only once—when he was ten and she was eight. She laughed and turned away, scolding him. Don’t be silly. We can’t do that until we’re married.

  No, his only defense was to pretend he didn’t care that everyone knew it. That their taunts didn’t bother him. That every time Levana mentioned the princess, his blood didn’t turn to ice. That he wasn’t terrified Levana would use Winter against him.

  Levana stepped off the raised platform. “She has been given the best tutors, the finest clothes, the most exotic of pets. When she makes a request of me, I have tried my best to see it done.”

  Though she paused, Jacin did not think she was expecting a response.

  “Despite all this, she does not belong here. Her mind is too weak for her to ever be useful, and her refusal to hide those hideous scars has made her a laughingstock among the court. She is making a mockery of the crown and the royal family.” She set her jaw. “I did not realize the extent of her disgrace until recently. Aimery offered his own hand in marriage to the girl. I could not have hoped for a better match for a child who has no royal blood.” Her tone became snarling and Jacin felt her studying him again, but he’d recaptured control of himself. She would get no rise from him, not even on this topic.

  “But, no,” said the queen at last. “The child refuses even this generous offer. For no other reason, I can fathom, than to jilt my most worthy counselor and bring further humiliation on this court.” She tilted her chin up. “Then there was the incident in AR-2. I trust you remember?”

  His mouth turned sour. If he had not been so careful to hide his mounting dread, he would have cursed.

  “No?” Levana purred when he said nothing. “Allow me to spark your memory.”

  Her fingers glided across the netscreen. It flickered to life inside its elaborate frame, showing footage of a quaint little row of shops. He saw himself, smiling at Winter. Nudging her with his shoulder, and letting her nudge him back. Their eyes taking glimpses of each other when the other wasn’t looking.

  His chest felt hollowed out. Anyone could see how they felt about each other.

  Jacin watched, but he didn’t have to. He remembered the children and their handmade crown of twigs. He remembered how beautiful Winter had looked as she put it on her head, unconcerned. He remembered ripping it away and stuffing it into the basket.

  He had hoped the whole incident would go unnoticed.

  He’d known better. Hope was a coward’s tool.

  His attention shifted back to the queen, but she was scowling at the imagery, loathing in her eyes. His gut churned. She had mentioned a special mission for him that would prove his loyalty, yet all she’d talked about was Winter and what an embarrassment she’d become.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Sir Clay.” Levana rounded on him. “I thought I could trust you to keep her under control, to make sure she didn’t do anything to embarrass me and my court. But you failed. Did you think it was proper for her to go gallivanting around the city, playing at being a queen before her loyal subjects?”

  Jacin held his ground, already resigning himself to death. She had brought him here to have him executed after all. He was grateful she had decided to spare Winter the sight.

  “Well? You have nothing to say in your defense?”

  “No, My Queen,” he said, “but I hope you’ll allow me to speak in her defense. The children gave her a gift as thanks for purchasing some flowers from the florist. They were confused—they didn’t understand what it would suggest. The princess meant nothing by this.”

  “Confused?” Levana’s gaze turned brittle. “The children were confused?” She cackled. “And how much confusion am I to tolerate? Am I to ignore the sickening way they idolize her? How they talk about her beauty and her scars as if they were a badge of honor, when they have no idea how weak she is! Her illness, her delusions. She would be crushed if she ever sat on a throne, but they don’t see that. No—they think only of themselves and their pretty princess, giving no thought to all I’ve done to bring them security and structure and—” She spun away, her shoulders trembling. “Am I to wait until they put a real crown on her head?”

  Horror filled up Jacin’s chest and this time he couldn’t disguise it.

  She was psychotic.

  This he’d known, of course. But he’d never seen her vanity and greed and envy enflame her like this. She’d become irrational, and her anger was directed at Winter.

  No—Winter and Selene. That’s where this was coming from. There was a girl claiming to be her lost niece and Levana felt threatened. She was worried that her grip on the throne was loosening and she was overcompensating with paranoia and tightening control.

  Jacin placed a fist to his chest. “My Queen, I assure you the princess is not a threat to your crown.”

  “Would you not bow to her?” said Levana, spinning back to face him with venom in her eyes. “You, who love her so dutifully? Who are so loyal to the royal family?”

  He forced down a gulp. “She is not of royal blood. She can never be queen.”

  “No. She will never be queen.” She swayed toward him, and he felt like he was being encircled by a python, smothered and choked. “Because you are my loyal servant, as you have so vehemently proclaimed. And you are going to kill her.”

  Jacin’s tongue ran dry as moon rock. “No,” he whispered.

  Levana raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean—My Queen.” He cleared his throat. “You can’t…” He looked at Aimery, who was half smiling, pleased with this decision. “Please. Ask her to marry you again. I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she agrees. She can still be useful—it’s a good match. She’s just nervous—”

  “You dare to question me?” said Levana.

  His pulse thundered. “Please.”

  “I offered my hand to the princess as a kindness,” said Aimery, “to protect her from the offers of far less sympathetic suitors. Her refusal has demonstrated how ungrateful she is. I would no longer take her if she begged me.”

  Jacin clenched his jaw. His heart was racing now and he couldn’t stop it.

  The queen’s attention softened, full of honey and sugar. She was close to him. Close enough that he could grab his knife and cut her throat.

  Would his arm be faster than her thoughts? Would it be faster than Aimery’s?

  “Dearest Sir Clay,” she mused, and he wondered if she’d detected his desperation. “Do not think I am unaware of what I am asking you to do and how difficult it will be for you. But I am being merciful. I know you will be quick. She will not suffer at your hands. In this way, I al
so fulfill my promise to her father, don’t you see?”

  She was insane. Absolutely insane.

  The worst of it was that he thought she might actually believe what she was saying.

  His fingers twitched. A drop of sweat slipped down his neck.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I won’t. Please … please spare her. Take away her title. Turn her into a servant. Or banish her to the outer sectors, and you’ll never hear from her again, I promise you…”

  With a withering glare, Levana turned away and sighed. “How many lives would you sacrifice for hers?” She strolled toward the screen. The video was paused now, showing the three children in the doorway. “Would you rather I had these children killed instead?”

  His heart kicked, trying to free itself from his rib cage.

  “Or what about…” She turned back to him, tapping a finger against the corner of her mouth. “Your parents? If I recall correctly, Sir Garrison Clay was transferred to a guard post in one of the outer sectors. Tell me, when was the last time you spoke to them?”

  He pressed his lips together, frightened that any admission could be turned against him. He had not seen or spoken to his parents in years. Just like with Winter, he had been sure the best way to protect his loved ones was to pretend he didn’t love them at all, so they could never be used against him. Just as Levana was using them now.

  How had he failed like this? He couldn’t protect anyone. He couldn’t save anyone—

  He knew his face was contorted with panic, but he couldn’t stifle it. He wanted to fall to his knees and plead for her to change her mind. He would do anything, anything but this.

  “If you refuse me again,” Levana said, “it will be clear that your loyalty is false. You will be executed for treason and your parents will follow. Then I will send Jerrico to deal with the princess, and I do not think he will be as gentle with her as you would have been.”

  Jacin choked back his misery. It would do him no good.

  The thought of Jerrico—the smug and brutal captain of the guard—being given this same order made his blood run cold.

  “Will you complete this task for me, Sir Clay?”