Free Icicles Like Kindling by Sara Raasch Page A

afternoon sunlight.
    “And what do I keep saying?” she presses.
    My fingers close over the three remaining leaves and I clear my throat. “No matter what Sir says, keep trying. He needs me.”
    “No matter what Sir says,” Crystalla echoes.
    I pull the leaf out of my hair and add it to my stack. It’s larger than the other three, swallowing them up with its veins of dark red on scarlet skin. The longer I stare at the leaves, the more the colors blur.
    Crystalla puts her hand over mine, covering the leaves. “I’ll come back. I always do.”
    I sniff. “All right. I believe you,” I say, even though I don’t.
    I want to help you. I know I can help you.
    A gust of wind blows Crystalla’s white hair into a frenzy, whipping up the leaves around us. She laughs and grabs a handful of leaves and tosses them at me, and I toss some back at her, and we’re lost in a storm of colors.
    The storm passes, along with that day, and soon it’s been one month since she and Gregg left. I stand, hands on hips, staring at the weapon on the floor of the old barn. When I woke before everyone else, I meant to grab a sword or a dagger from the weapons tent, something I could practice thrusting on my own. But then I saw this. Sir said it’s an Autumnian weapon called a chakram, a circular blade as big as my head with a wooden handle through the middle. It’s thrown like a disc, whirling through the air as it slices anything in its path. I shift from foot to foot, tingles of nervousness making my whole body hum.
    I’m going to throw it. I’m going to fight.
    I sigh. I should wait for Crystalla to get back and have her convince Sir to let me help—but it’s been a whole month with no word from her or Gregg.
    Leaves crunch on the wooden barn floor, disintegrating under my boots, and each crunch makes my frown tighten. I have to do something.
    Two fingers press against the bare skin of my neck. “You’re dead.”
    I bite back a scream and grab the chakram off the floor. My heartbeat flies against my ribs when I whirl to the attacker, but it’s just Mather, smiling at me.
    His smile makes my heart leap even faster, his blue eyes level with mine, and I scowl so he can’t see how startled I am.
    “I only let you sneak up on me because you’re our future king,” I declare.
    “Uh-huh.” He drops his eyes to the chakram, and his brows shoot up.
    “What are you doing?”
    I square my shoulders, keeping my chin high. “I’m going to teach myself how to fight.”
    Mather’s eyebrows stay raised. “William won’t be happy.”
    I clench my jaw. The heaviness of the weapon and the way my fingers hurt around the handle reminds me of how right Mather is. I’m ten years old. I shouldn’t be fighting. But that’s what Sir would say, even though he lets Mather fight and he’s ten.
    “I’m tired of waiting for Sir to give me permission,” I say. “I’m tired of listening to stories about King Angra and how he imprisoned our people, and I’m tired of moving all the time so he doesn’t find and enslave us, too. I’m
tired
, Mather, and I’m going to help so none of us are tired anymore.”
    I pant, the words spilling out of me in a rush of need, and I pause when I see the look Mather gives me. Calm and thoughtful, he bobs his head in agreement.
    He bites his lip and draws a short dagger out of the holster on his belt.
    “William said chakrams can be used close range too. Fight me. I’ll teach you.”
    I inhale, sharp and excited. “Now?”
    “Now.”
    Beyond the barn’s dilapidated walls, I hear the sounds of the camp waking up, of a fire crackling to life and voices buzzing. Sir will be looking for Mather soon to begin his morning training. He’ll check the barn.
    I spread my legs in a close-range stance. Weapon up, one hand out for balance, body cocked so it’s not an easy target—the lessons Sir taught Mather fly through my mind. I only caught bits of their training, but I know enough to start.
    Mather readies