“You’re joking, right?” I ask, though I have a feeling it’ll just anger her more.
It does. She scoffs, spit flying from her mouth. “You think I’m joking?”
Sir steps in, putting a hand on her arm to pull her attention elsewhere. “Dendera—”
“Talk to her, William! She can’t keep doing these things! She has responsibilities now. I never see her long enough to talk to her about colors or food or decorations—”
I shoot a glance at Sir. “What is she talking about?”
Dendera quiets when Sir looks at me. Everyone seems to take one giant step back, like they know that whatever Sir is about to tell me isn’t going to be received well.
Sir’s face is impassive. “That’s what we came to talk to you about, Meira,” he starts. A part of me relaxes when he doesn’t use my title, just my name. Just Meira. “The wedding is scheduled for the end of the month, and Dendera is on the committee in charge of the celebration, so she needs your cooperation—”
“The what?” I screech. “Wait, wait, stop. The wedding? At the end of—that’s in two weeks! I’m doing the training, these stupid lessons—”
Sir keeps going, ignoring my outburst. “She needs you to cooperate. There’s still a lot to be done if we’re to cement this alliance.”
I stare at him. At all of them. Everyone watching me and backing him up and—
Mather won’t look at me now. His back is to me as he clutches the piano, head down, the muscles in his shoulders moving under his shirt as his grip tightens on the polished black lid.
“So that’s it?” I whisper. It catches on tears in my throat, tears that come when I realize this is how my life will be now, and I should have expected the wedding to happen quickly, what with how close we are to getting our conduit back. But I can’t even present some great revelation about magic and how it works and what they need to do with the conduit and how Hannah’s been talking to me because Hannah hasn’t been talking to me, not really, and I can’t even read a stupid book and I’ve been spending all my time learning how to use fancy forks.
There’s nothing else. This is really all I can do. I can’t think of anything else.
Sir’s face finally breaks a little. His lips twitch, his eyes redden.
But I shake my head before he can say anything. “Fine. That’s fine. I assume plans are all set? Noam’s ready to send men down with you to Spring to get the other locket half?”
No one says anything, and their not saying anything pushes me to talk faster, harder, grabbing onto the hole in their otherwise solid wall of superiority.
“That has to be it, right? Because I can’t imagine you’d be in such a rush to get me into this if Noam wasn’t also keeping up his end of the deal. If preparations weren’t being made on both ends.”
Dendera flinches. Her eyes dart to Sir, and Finn looks at Sir, and everyone looks at Sir because he’s the one who’s supposed to lead us through this.
His jaw tightens. “Noam will uphold his end of the bargain when we have fulfilled ours.”
I run Sir’s words through my head. Noam isn’t doing anything to help us. He’s just letting us pretend that he’s going to fulfill his end while Dendera and Alysson and Finn and everyone stares at me like I’m some doll they’re playing with.
I snarl at Sir. “No.”
Sir reaches for me but I shove through his grip, pushing by everyone—Dendera, who shouts something about floral arrangements, and Alysson, who says something about calming down, and Mather, who says nothing because that’s what he does, he just stands there while I’m supposed to close my eyes and obey.
If I have to close my eyes and obey, Noam does too.
CHAPTER 16
AS I FLY out of the library and down the hall, Theron unfolds himself from the wall beside the door and falls into step beside me.
“You didn’t tell me they were already planning our wedding,” I snarl as I march, working my way to the ballroom and from there to Noam’s study. “I guess I should have realized we wouldn’t have a lot of time to get to know each other.”
Theron keeps pace with me. He throws a glance behind us and I follow his gaze, my eyes locking on the herd of Winterian refugees behind us. Sir is at the lead, and when I look back at him his face darkens.
“Meira, stop!” Sir shouts. Mather grabs his arm and says something that keeps the procession from following me any farther. A wave of gratitude flies through me for half a breath before I shoot around a corner and lose them.
“I’m sorry,” Theron says when it’s just us hurrying down the hall. “I didn’t want to tell you until I had a chance to talk my father into delaying it.” He spins around a corner after me and nearly smashes into a servant carrying a tray of vases. The servant cries out, both of them fly in opposite directions, and miraculously nothing falls as Theron continues down the hall beside me.
“Why does he think he can pull strings and make us dance around like this?” I growl.
Theron doesn’t say anything.
When we get to the ballroom I charge down the stairs. Halfway across the floor Theron realizes where I’m going and flings himself in front of me, walking backward because I don’t stop.
“Meira, this isn’t going to fix anything—”
“Don’t care.”
“I’ve talked to him every day since he announced the engagement; if I can’t change his mind—”
I grit my teeth. “I. Don’t. Care.”
Theron stops walking and I dart around him. I don’t think; I don’t do anything as Noam’s study looms in front of me. All I know when I pound my fist on the closed door is that I am so, so tired of this. So tired of Noam and Herod and Sir and Angra and all these arrogant, puppet-master men who hold all the strings and refuse to give them up. Life could be so easy if they would just let it go, if they would just let me go, because I am so tired of this. . . .
I slam my fist on the door again. “Noam!” I shout.
No answer.
I try the handle. Unlocked. Stupid king.
“Meira, wait—”
Sir has finally caught up to me, as has everyone behind him, all staring like I’m an escaped animal from Bithai’s menagerie. Sir takes a step forward and I snarl. Maybe I am an escaped animal, and maybe they should look at me with that little flicker of fear. This is who I am, isn’t it? The untamed, unpredictable, useless orphan girl. I don’t want to hate them this much. I don’t want to blame them for this. But I do, and that hating and blaming makes my chest burn until I think I might incinerate from the inside out.
“Congratulations, everyone,” I announce as I open the door to Noam’s study. “You’ve finally broken Meira, the crazy, orphaned soldier-girl. She’s snapped, all thanks to the mention of floral arrangements.”
Dendera whimpers but I put her behind me as I step into the study. Noam isn’t in here. No one is. A desk sits directly in front of the door with tall auburn bookcases all around, mimicking the dark and cozy aura of the entryway just behind me. Papers and quills and ink jars clutter the top of the desk, books sit on stacks of other books and a ledger leans open on a stand.
“He’s not here, Meira,” Sir says behind me. “Leave this—”
He puts a hand on my arm, reaching over the threshold to me.
Don’t you dare touch me.
I snarl at him. “You can’t order me around. You aren’t my father, Sir.”
I slam the door on him before he responds. Before anyone responds. Before they realize I’ve locked the door and barricaded myself in Noam’s study and my little tantrum just went from little to really, really big.
“Meira!” Sir shouts from the other side of the door. He slams his fist against it and jiggles the knob and slams again. “Open this door right now! Do you have any idea of the consequences of breaking into the Cordellan king’s study—”
Alysson and Dendera start shouting too. I swear I hear Finn, Henn, and Greer chuckle, but I could just be imagining it in my delirious tantrum state.
I drop into Noam’s chair. What am I doing? I do know the consequences of breaking into the Cordellan king’s study and locking myself in here, because if he finds out—when he finds out—I’m pretty sure my time in Cordell will be spent in prison, if anything. Not that Noam’s helping us now.
Or is he?
I grab the ledger off the stand and flip through it, looking for some clue that he might actually be helping us, but the only entries are calculations for crops and trade amounts. I drop it back on the stand and look over the nearest stack of papers. Correspondences with a duke in Ventralli, complaints from a farm on the outskirts of Bithai that got flooded. I shove it all aside and start pulling open drawers. Extra quills and blank papers and—
The top left drawer is locked.
I pull again. It holds tight. I grab a letter opener off the table and break the lock just as a new voice joins the fray outside.
Noam.
“She what?” he bellows. “She’s your charge, William; your responsibility. I give you shelter and aid and allow you free rein of my palace, and this is how Winter repays me? By Cordell’s golden leaves, I swear I will—”
I rip open the drawer to papers, lots of papers, and grab the first one. Calculations for iron? The next looks similar but shows estimates for precious gems. Another is a map of . . . mines? Winter’s mines, dozens of lines swirling through the Klaryns. And then . . .
A letter.
Every bit of frustration, the tantrum I just had, floats up out of me. All that’s left is the steady pulse of realization, the dull, empty thud that echoes through my chest with each word on each page of this letter.
Copy. Original Sent the First Month of Proper Autumn.