Free Icicles Like Kindling by Sara Raasch Page B

himself, his face severe. I blink and he moves, throwing his body toward me in a single swoop. I gasp, swinging the chakram blindly, the circular blade ringing when Mather smacks it with his dagger. His laughter echoes as I fumble around the barn, his white hair and glinting blue eyes flashing before he dives again, parrying and thrusting and cutting around me. Every few seconds I feel his dagger strike lightly against my body.
    “Mather!” I spin. “Stop! Wait—I can’t—”
    “You said you could do this,” he taunts.
    “I
can
do this!”
    “Just because—oh, look!” Mather drops to his knees and digs at something between the floorboards. His pause gives me time to orient myself, and I pivot back into the starting position, panting, gripping the chakram’s handle in both my fists. But Mather seems to have forgotten our fight—he stands back up, clutching a small blue stone covered in bits of mud. It’s pure blue beyond the dirt, the same intense color as his eyes.
    “What is it?” I snap. “We’re fighting, remember? It can’t—”
    He ignores me. “Remember what William said about conduits?”
    I keep my grip tight on the chakram in case it’s a trick. “Of course,” I say. I remember everything Sir says.
    Mather rolls the stone around his palm, brushing the dirt off it. “He said that everyone used to have objects that they put magic in, before the rulers took them away and made the Royal Conduits. What if they missed some? What if this stone has magic?”
    I snort at him. “If they had missed any small conduits, wouldn’t people have found them already? Besides, only the eight Royal Conduits exist now.”
    Mather’s shoulders tense and I bite back my moan. There aren’t eight Royal Conduits anymore—there are only seven that still work. Because King Angra of Spring broke Winter’s.
    “If everyone had magic, we wouldn’t have to fight,” Mather mutters to the stone. “We wouldn’t need to get the two halves of our conduit back from Spring. We wouldn’t have to worry about our magic returning to it, because we’d all just
have
magic, and we’d be strong.”
    I exhale. “I think we are strong. Even without magic.”
    Mather looks up at me, his frown slack. “What?”
    Something about the way he stares at me, like he’s desperate to hear my answer, makes me toe the floorboards. “I don’t think we need magic to be strong. We’ve lived for ten years without magic. I mean, we’ve suffered a lot, but we’re still alive.” I pause, heart clenching. “Some of us, at least.”
    “But…” Mather’s voice dips, like he’s suddenly not as certain as he wants to be. “We need magic. All the kingdoms in the world have it. We won’t free our people unless we get our conduit halves from Angra and we are
right
again.” He stops, and I risk a glance at him to see him glaring at the blue stone.
    “But… ,” he repeats. “It would be nice. Not to need magic.”
    It would be nice not to worry every day about Angra finding us, about how many of our people are still alive in his work camps. It would be nice if Sir would let me help with this war, because I
know
we can be strong without magic, but…
    I know we need it too. We won’t stop Angra without it.
    I raise the chakram and let loose a battle cry to end all battle cries.
    Mather jerks his head up, his face falling into an emotionless mask as he looks at the barn door behind me. But I’m running toward him, too focused, I’ve got him now,
I’ve got him
—
    The chakram is gone.
    My fingers grope the empty air above my head.
    “Meira!”
    I freeze. My chest leaps with half a breath of excitement—
Sir saw me fight!
—until I register the bite in his voice.
    Mather slips the stone into his pocket and offers a shrug of encouragement as I turn to the looming man holding my stolen chakram in one giant fist. The morning sun shoots through the door, creating shadows against Sir’s body. Every time I see him, it’s like the first