Page 132 of Frost Like Night

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 lovedmeeven 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 muchhatedtraveling, 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.