Free Frost Like Night by Sara Raasch Page A

soldier’s jaw. The man’s head snapped backward, the jarring pop of his skull on the wood floor sending him into unconsciousness.
    Jesse turned to the other soldier and chucked him inside the wagon. He relieved the man of his weapon—a bow and a quiver of arrows—before slamming the doors and throwing the lock. The wagon rocked, the one conscious soldier’s shouts muffled by the wood.
    Jesse looked back at Mather as he fastened the quiver to his back. “Yakim is an ally of Summer. In trade, at least—perhaps they heard of the takeover and sought to intercede.”
    â€œBut intercede for which side?”
    Jesse’s fingers hung loose around the bow. The hope in his eyes guttered with doubt. “The river. Yakim is a short boat ride from here, and there’s one dock reserved specifically for the queen’s use. They’re there.” He paused. “They have to be.”
    â€œAll right.” Mather didn’t need further explanation. This was Jesse’s mission, and the sooner they completed it, the sooner Mather could listen to the tension in his muscles that compelled him to get to Paisly.
    But Jesse blew out a steady breath. “No. You’ve done enough. Your queen needs you.”
    Though he felt a rush of relief at that release of duty, Mather didn’t move. “Are you sure?”
    Jesse nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you at the camp.” He flashed a smile. “Thank you.”
    He sprinted toward the southern wall of trees, vanishing into the shadows. Mather watched him go, waiting for shouts of alarm from any soldiers who might havebeen waiting, but none came.
    He turned to Phil. “Now we—”
    Every muscle in Mather’s body sprang to readiness and he lifted Meira’s chakram.
    Phil, body rigid, stood with a blade making a threatening indentation across his neck. The hand that gripped the blade belonged to Theron.
    All sensation drained out of Mather as soldiers rushed around them, filing out of the servants’ entrance. But he didn’t really see any of them, too consumed by the malice radiating from the new Cordellan king.
    For once, Mather was grateful that Meira was far away from all of this.
    The soldiers formed a ring, closing him alongside the wagon while more men worked to free their comrades imprisoned within. And when something moved on Mather’s right, realization rushed back to him, letting him feel every stupid thing he’d done.
    They’d been caught. They were surrounded. And it wouldn’t be the dungeon for them this time, not with the madness in Theron’s eyes—and especially not with the cloying smile Angra threw at him.
    Angra stopped, studying Mather first, then Phil. Theron kept the blade to Phil’s throat as if there was still a chance Mather might fight back, but they all knew who had won.
    â€œJust the two of you?” Angra noted, one brow lifting.
    Mather ground his jaw and lowered Meira’s chakram. “You expected more?”
    Angra’s other brow lifted to match the first. He shook his head and a spark lit the air. As soldiers moved forward, Mather realized what it was.
    Angra’s magic. He’d sent a command to his men much as normal Royal Conduits sent commands to soldiers during battle—but Mather could feel this too. He imagined it snaking around each person in the area, diving into those who had already given themselves over to Angra—and coiling across Mather’s skin when the magic recognized someone it had not yet possessed.
    It slithered over his body, sending up images of power, strength, and unbreakable resolve. The magic whispered to him, a soft caress he fought to scrub off—fought more the urge to soak it in. If this was how Angra swayed people to his side, Mather almost couldn’t blame them for surrendering.
    Two of Angra’s soldiers grabbed Mather and kicked him to his knees while the other two rid him of weapons.