Free Frost Like Night by Sara Raasch

alongside the shouts of soldiers, the stomping of bootedfeet, and the clashing of weapons.
    Mather dragged Jesse around the wall before he smashed them back against it, hidden in a patch of shadows. The palace’s courtyard fanned out, dim in the night, and five soldiers guarding one lone wagon stood near a cluster of torches. Mather’s mind whirled through possible escape plans. They couldn’t retreat into the palace—they couldn’t cut across the courtyard without being seen—was that another door in the wall up ahead? Where did it lead? It didn’t matter; it had to be better than—
    Jesse stiffened. “That wagon . . . no. She wouldn’t have . . .”
    He stumbled forward, nearly into the light of the torches, when Mather grabbed his arm.
    â€œAre you stupid—”
    But his words were drowned by the sudden blast that echoed over the area. A warning siren sang out from the roof of the palace, delivering wordless orders to the five soldiers by the wagon. They shifted upright from their posts, revealing the gray Ventrallan crown silhouette on their purple uniforms, their silver masks glinting in the torchlight.
    One nodded to two others. “You two, keep guard. We’ll find out what’s going on.”
    Mather pressed himself deeper into shadow as three of the guards broke off. Thankfully they turned toward the main entrance of the palace, jogging for orders from within.
    The moment they were gone, Jesse launched forward. “You!”
    The two remaining soldiers leaped to attention. When they saw Jesse, their eyes shifted from alert to amused.
    Mather groaned and stepped out of the shadows, Phil following.
    So much for stealth.
    Jesse pointed at the wagon. “Who is in there?”
    One of the soldiers smirked. “Queen Raelyn informed us you might—”
    â€œWe don’t have time for this.” Mather let the chakram fly. It sliced through the soldier’s thigh, sending the man to his knees, and ricocheted back to Mather. The other soldier drew a blade in his right hand and Mather let the chakram cut through that shoulder. The soldier screeched, dropping his blade as Mather strode forward, bloody chakram pointed menacingly.
    â€œWho. Is in. The wagon?”
    The soldiers cowered, whether from Mather’s merciless air or the equally withering glare Jesse threw at them. “The Summerian—”
    That was all Jesse needed to hear. He dove forward, tugging at the locked doors. “Ceridwen! Cerie! Are you all right? Answer me!”
    It took another slice of the chakram to get the soldiers to hand over the keys, and with the horn still crying over them, Jesse fumbled to unlock the wagon. The doors flew open.
    But when light from the torches flickered inside, it revealed only walls stained the same wine color as the outside, and a few pillows and quilts on the floor.
    Jesse whirled, grabbed the nearest soldier, and slammed him against the floor of the empty wagon. “Where is she?” he bellowed.
    â€œYakim!” the soldier cried. “A Yakimian paid us for her. Paid us to take the wagon back so Queen Raelyn wouldn’t know—”
    Jesse’s mouth fell slack. “Yakim?” He looked to the wall of trees that formed the southern edge of the palace complex, as if he could see that kingdom from here.
    â€œWhat?” Mather swung forward. “Why would Yakim take her?”
    The soldier waved his hands again. “I swear it! They took her!”
    When Jesse turned around, Mather expected him to be livid. These men were either lying or had sold Ceridwen to Yakim for no reason he could fathom—but Jesse’s face was light, almost smiling, and he released the soldier to grab Mather’s arm.
    â€œI think I know where they would have taken her.”
    The soldier, still on the floor of the wagon, shot upright. “I can’t let you—”
    But Jesse spun, his fist slamming into the