Frost Like Night

by Sara Raasch

  The courtyard is in chaos.

  Shouting Cordellans cluster in groups, relaying information about where the Winterian attackers were last spotted. Some say west, some east—but thanks to my magic, I can tell they’re spread out, one darting over rooftops north of the palace, one east, and one west, each of them flinging whatever projectiles they can to draw the soldiers into attack.

  So when I step out onto the front steps, the already infuriated soldiers turn on me.

  “The queen!”

  “After her!”

  The snow clouds over the city hang thick and gray, fat with condensation. I launch my hands up, calling down every flake in one furious pull.

  Icy shards catch in breathtaking gales; gusts of white blind everyone in the courtyard. The Cordellans howl at the onslaught of the blizzard, armor clanking and feet stomping.

  To Mather, Sir, and Greer, I fling one powerful will for them to meet me north of the palace, then I launch myself there as well. My magic dumps me into the street paces from flailing Cordellan soldiers, fists punching wildly in the storm. Other forms come into view through the onslaught of icy fury—Mather and Sir, crouching against a building across the road.

  I send my magic shooting out, urging them in a wordless certainty to run to me. Mather stumbles forward blindly, and I can tell when my magic no longer needs to lead him—he makes me out in the blizzard and plummets forward, scooping me into a crushing hug so wondrously different from Theron’s that I moan.

  Sir reaches us, but I don’t have time for words—I grab his hand.

  “Where’s Greer?” I shout over the gale.

  Sir shakes his head. “He’ll take care of things for us.”

  I don’t have time to argue. I bury my face into Mather, tighten my fingers on Sir, and send us spiraling for the entrance to the chasm, leaving Theron and my city in the nothingness of the blizzard.

  31

  Meira

  TORCHES ILLUMINATE A room that looks just as I remember it—the diamond-patterned floor; the moist condensation of magic in the air; the door with its elaborate carvings a few paces behind where I put us, just toward the front of the room beside the invisible barrier, our first obstacle to reaching the chasm.

  The last time I was here, the world was a completely different place. Theron was with me, my ally instead of my enemy; I stood in front of this door with awe and apprehension, not determination and resolve.

  The biggest difference now, though, is the soldiers who wait for us along the front wall.

  I rip out my chakram and let it fly.

  My blade is covered with blood before Mather and Sir have even oriented themselves in the room, a wave of magic again clearing their bodies of the effects of travel. They turn, join the fight, and in seconds the Cordellans are dead, their bodies flooding the diamond-shaped carvings in the floor with thick scarlet rivers.

  I sheathe my weapon and stomp toward the looming door, hands balled, eyes level.

  Fingers grab my arm. “Meira, wait—”

  “Don’t,” I snap, unable to look at Mather. “If I stop to think, I’ll fall apart. Please, Mather.”

  I can’t think about Theron’s desires or Ceridwen and Caspar fighting my war or Conall and Nikoletta back at camp or Rares and Oana—snow, what are they even doing? Have they succeeded in gathering support? Did something happen to them?

  Mather holds, grip softening.

  “All right. How do we get in?”

  I scrub at my eyes and reel to the door. “Together.”

  Sir falls in on my other side, and where his silence would usually send me into a spiral of frustration, I’m unendingly grateful for it now.

  The three of us line up, facing the door.

  “Remember,” I whisper, “we have to be united in our desire to reach the chasm.”

  Mather takes my hand, weaving our fingers together, and squeezes. “We’re with you.”

  Sir takes my hand too. “To the end,” he says. That’s all. No my queen—just his support.

  I know, then, that I made the right decision. There’s no one else I’d rather have with me.

  We start walking, taking slow, deliberate steps across the room. Each draws us closer to the barrier, and I hold my breath, my body remembering the horrid sensation of the barrier shredding my nerves.

  I fight to keep from wincing as we cross the middle of the room, the invisible barrier. But we keep walking, with no obstacles or pain, and the moment we pass, every particle of air seems to take a collective breath. The density of magic takes on a new aura—where it had felt present yet still, humidity choking the air with power, it sparks against my skin now, tiny bursts of alertness that flood me with an undeniable sense of purpose.

  The labyrinth wants us here—the magic wants us here.

  Maybe the whole time Primoria wanted to rediscover the magic chasm, the chasm wanted to be rediscovered itself.

  We stop just before the door. Mather shivers next to me. “This is . . . incredible.”

  Sir echoes his wonder with a breathy snort. “Now what?”

  Always the pragmatist. I release their hands and slide forward another cautious step. The door stands a few paces away, but there’s no knob that I can see, just those keyholes in the carvings of vines, books, and masks near the symbol of the Order of the Lustrate in the center.

  I take the keys off the chain around my neck and hand one to Sir, one to Mather. They approach the keyholes on either side of the one I pick and lift their keys.

  Does it matter which key fits which hole? I guess we’ll find out.

  “On three,” I say, and count it out. We plunge our keys into the holes, twist, and . . . wait. They all fit, but nothing happens.

  I step back from the wall. “Maybe we need to—”

  But my voice is ripped from my throat by a sudden onslaught of darkness.

  Mather and Sir yelp. My body registers the weightlessness of falling as the torches’ light fades above me. The fall makes my panic have to scramble to catch up with me as I smack into the wall of a tunnel sloping ever downward, careening me into the earth.

  Mather and Sir aren’t in this tunnel with me—not that I can tell, at least. By the time I catch my breath, the tunnel dumps me onto a smooth stone floor, the darkness giving way to harsh, bright light that’s somehow . . . ancient.

  I’m not sure there’s a spot on my body that isn’t bruised. A moan gurgles in my throat as I roll onto my elbows, head still spinning.

  But that disorientation retracts on a burst of clarity when I turn over and find that the stone floor just ends.

  I scramble back, heart galloping anew.

  I’m on a ledge, at least seven stories in the air, over a long, rectangular room. The tunnel that dumped me here offers the only way off the ledge, but one glance at the smooth stone of the walls and I know climbing isn’t an option.

  I stand, one hand to a particularly nasty bruise on my temple. The residual panic from the fall leaves a metallic taste on my tongue. This has to be the first test of our worthiness. What did the Order’s clue say?

  Three people the labyrinth demands

  Who enter with genuine intent

  To face a test of leadership,

  A maze of humility,

  And purification of the heart.

  To be completed by only the true.

  This will be the test of leadership.

  My arm drops. Rares said the Order wasn’t told what the actual tasks would be, beyond this message, and I haven’t wondered what they could be either. Partly because I had no idea where to even begin wondering, and partly because a piece of me didn’t really believe I’d get here.

  But I am here. In the labyrinth. A place no one else has reached in centuries.

  I take a deep breath. I’ve come this far. I can make it through these tests too.

  Roaring fire pits crown the room. A circular dais waits directly below me, too far to jump without receiving a number of broken bones, and beyond it, a wall rises
halfway up, cutting the entire room down the middle.

  I drop to my knees and bend over the edge, trying to get a better view. Like the floor of the entrance chamber, this floor seems to be carved—but not into diamonds, into platforms. Mismatched shapes spread from wall to wall on either side of the divide, and the edges are carved deeper than normal, giving the illusion that each platform stands independent of the rest.

  That would have been odd enough, but as I lean forward to get a better view, my fingers touch something cold on the ledge. I jerk back, hand tingling in a way I know all too well—conduit magic.

  A small silver oval sits embedded in the rock, coated with the fine brown dust of years. I use the hem of my sleeve to wipe the dust clear—and laugh.

  It’s a mirror. At first glance, it looks like any other mirror, but as I tip my head to the side, the light catches and reveals a luminescent picture—the Order of the Lustrate’s seal. Just like the one I found in Yakim’s library. This one, though, is firmly planted in the stone; it’s not a gear to be cranked as the one in Yakim was. I frown at it, then press my finger to its reflective surface.

  Instantly the platforms below me start to softly glow—green, white, brown, red, maroon, silver, gold, and purple.

  Snow above—these are the colors of the conduits. White for Winter, brown for Autumn, red for Summer, silver for Ventralli, gold for Yakim, and purple for Cordell. The green and maroon must be for Spring and Paisly.

  Again my hand starts to tingle, and I know this mirrored plate has been infused with magic as the keys were. When I touched those keys, they showed me visions of what I needed to do to reach the chasm. Maybe this plate will show me what I need to do next? It makes sense—if the Order created this labyrinth to keep unworthy souls out, they’d still want a worthy soul to pass it someday, to rid the world of magic, as was their original goal. But how to make sure a worthy soul would pass the tests when the time came?

  I lower the barriers I have around my mind and open myself to whatever help the plate can offer.

  A single scene flows into my mind—the platforms below me, the colors glowing brighter in pairs. One green platform on the left side; one green on the right side. And on and on, starting at the other end of the room and finishing below me, at the dais just under my ledge.

  I pull back, confused. I’m not given long to think on it—shouting pulls me to my feet so I can peer down the length of the room. At the ends of both sides, small holes of black release two figures onto circular daises like the one below me. Mather and Sir tumble out, one on each side of the divide, separated from me by the long expanse of glowing platforms.

  “Are you all right?” I call, my question echoing off the towering walls.

  My voice jerks Mather’s head up. “Yes.” He leaps to his feet, stumbles to the edge of the dais. “Are you?”

  Sir rises too, his eyes darting over the room. When he looks at me, he squares his body as though he expects a fight to come storming in at any moment.

  “I’m fine,” I shout, ignoring every injury that says otherwise. “The labyrinth is testing us.”

  I glance over the room again. Mather is on the left side of the divide; Sir is on the right. The vision of the matching platforms created a haphazard path from them to me.

  Realization sparks like a wildfire.

  “I think you have to get to me.” I point at the dais that sits where the divided wall ends below me.

  Sir surveys the platforms. “This seems elaborate for such a simple task.”

  But Mather shrugs. “I’m not just going to stand here.”

  And he steps off the dais, onto a platform that glows silver. It drops under his weight. He stumbles, arms flailing, and as the floor sinks beneath him, the gaps around the platform release something that makes me shout a warning. Not that he needs the warning—the moment the flames burst around the platform, shooting up to his waist, Mather curses and stumbles back onto the dais, beating the fire that caught on his pants.

  The platform returns to normal, the flames extinguishing as if they never existed at all.

  I wobble forward, rocks skittering off under my boots and shattering on the ground below. I recognize this too. From where I found the key in Summer—the pit that opened up, the fire ring at the bottom. This is far more severe, though, and falling into these pits seems like a quick way to get incinerated.

  Sir paces his platform, attention cutting from me to the wall that separates him and Mather. “What? What happened?”

  “Fire happened,” Mather shouts back. “It looks like we have to cross the room without stepping on the platforms.”

  Sir crosses his arms, analyzing the rest of the space around him. “We could—”

  “Wait!” I shout. “You have to step on the same platforms on each side. I’ll guide you.”

  Mather eyes me, hands still out like he expects the entire floor to give way. Sir looks equally pensive, but he steps to the edge of his dais. They both wait.

  My heart sputters. This is the test—leadership. Testing my ability to lead, and their ability to follow.

  Months ago—snow, even weeks ago—I would have shriveled at the thought of being the one to give orders and expect them to be followed. I’d have been weighed down by thoughts that Sir would be better than me in this situation, or Mather, and that I should have been the one following, the soldier meant to facelessly carry out missions.

  But I can’t afford doubt. Yes, I harbored fear the whole time, but being a competent, worthy leader doesn’t mean being only competent and worthy—it means being so despite whatever emotions might arise.

  I draw in a breath, my heart flapping until concentration breaks away everything else.

  “Mather—to the green platform. Sir—green, on your right. Mather—red, just ahead. Sir—jump over the brown platform and land on the other red one—”

  My hands snap out to point at the corresponding platforms that I saw in the vision; my orders are clear and unwavering. Every muscle hums with adrenaline, every nerve flickers in alertness as I take stock of the platforms around them and calculate which ones they need to reach.

  Mather and Sir hop from platform to platform, faltering as each one locks into place. They don’t hesitate to listen to me, don’t question how I know what they need to do, as if obeying orders from me is a natural state for them.

  I hardly recognize the woman standing on the ledge over the room, spouting orders with all the confidence of a queen. Once, Mather lands on a platform a breath before Sir and the whole thing plummets down, fire bursting up around him in a spiral of orange and yellow heat. But I scream for Sir to jump, jump now, and he obeys in time so that both their platforms level out safely.

  The fate of everyone I love hangs on me getting Mather and Sir through this.

  And I know, above everything else, that I will not fail.

  Finally, they leap simultaneously onto the circular dais below me. I drop to my knees, beaming at them as they share a relieved look.

  I almost say something to them, but the labyrinth doesn’t allow us that luxury this time.

  The ledge I’m on tips, along with their dais.

  “Not again,” Mather groans as the three of us go plummeting into another tunnel—this time together, a tangle of limbs and sheathed weapons and shouts that get muffled in the dusty darkness of the labyrinth.

  32

  Mather

  THIS TUNNEL SPIT the three of them into a small square area enclosed by smooth walls. Torches flickered on three of the walls, casting enough light for Mather to sweep his eyes over Meira, checking for any injuries she might be hiding.

  But she was the first on her feet, her hands absently beating her pants to remove the sheet of dust that had attached to every free space on all of them.

  “That was too easy,” she breathed.

  Mather checked that none of his weapons had come loose during the fall and stepped beside her. “What did you expect?”

  Meira shrugged and finally
looked at him, holding his gaze. Looking at him, really looking at him, like she had in Autumn.

  Mather weakened.

  She broke the look with a tip of her head. “The next test will be of humility,” she said, directing the statement to William as well, who walked deeper into the room with overly cautious steps. Two unexpected drops into mysterious tunnels had made them all a little distrustful of the floor.

  “How did you know how to complete that test?” William asked her as he analyzed the room.

  Meira too started looking around, though her gaze stayed on the floor. A moment passed, and she stopped, standing in the dead center of the room.

  She crouched down and brushed away dirt. The torches caught whatever she had revealed—a mirror? And from this angle, Mather could see the symbol that had decorated Rares and Oana’s compound carved into the reflective surface. The beam of light hitting a mountaintop.

  Meira pressed her hand to the mirror and stayed there, body hard. Mather’s gut cramped even tighter with anxiety. When she looked up, she shot William a steady gaze.

  “The Order created the labyrinth to keep out anyone who would abuse magic,” she said. “But they eventually wanted someone worthy to reach the chasm to destroy all magic—so they left these plates, just like they left the keys I found.” She waved her hand when she saw both Mather and William’s brows furrowed. “I never told you about that, but it doesn’t matter—they’re conduits, infused with enough magic to show a vision whenever a conduit-wielder intent on reaching the chasm touches them. The last mirror showed me the path you needed to take to get across the room.”

  “What did this one show you?” William asked. He accepted her explanation so easily. Not that Mather expected him to fight her; but Mather had to clamp his jaw shut to keep from making a lot of worthless statements, like These people put a lot of faith in a pure conduit-wielder getting into the labyrinth and They’re helping you die faster. I hate them.

  Meira stood, frowning at the walls of the room. Mather followed her gaze—