Ashes of Snow

Chapter 12

IT TAKES BOTH Violet and Daisy to get me out of the dress. And when they finally do, instead of meekly accepting another nightgown and crawling into bed, I demand they return my stolen clothes and kidnapped chakram. After a few good minutes of them telling me that's not what ladies wear and me telling them I'm their future queen so they'd better obey me—it took me several tries before I could say it without crying—they relent and retrieve my things.

"We cleaned them, at least," Violet says, and hands me my shirt. It does look white now, not brown and crunchy.

"And I had one of the guards tend to this." Daisy lifts my chakram. "It's sharpened."

Daisy is my favorite.

They leave and I tug on my much more comfortable clothes.

That stupid blue stone is in my pocket before I can analyze why I still want it after everything Lucien did, why I feel better with it in my possession than leaving it behind. I loop my chakram into its usual place of honor between my shoulder blades and race from the hallway door to the balcony. Moments before my feet leave the bedroom floor, I grab one of the white curtains and propel myself out onto the balcony railing. The speed I picked up from the sprint shoots me out into the air and I bet my life quite literally on the chance that the curtain won't rip in two.

Somewhere between my being fully airborne and breaking my leg on the ground below, the curtain catches and holds, swinging me back in toward the palace. The familiar surge of adrenaline rushes into me, the same freeing burst I felt on the mission in Lynia. A pure rush that makes me see more clearly, makes my head lighter. I release the curtain and grab for a ledge just above my balcony. It would have been possible to climb out of my room without the curtain theatrics, but not nearly as fun.

Once I'm there, a few easy jumps and pulls get me to the roof. It's made of the same curved tiles as the rest of Bithai's roofs, but instead of a steep slope to the ground, it's flat and walkable. Good for lookouts in times of war—and for a restless future queen who feels like exploring her new home.

My nose curls involuntarily at the word. This isn't my home. I've never even been to my real home, and now here I am with a replacement I never asked for. I should feel grateful, lucky even— most Winterians call a Spring work camp their replacement home. But I can't feel anything more than frustration.

I start running on the shingles. The palace is huge, wings shooting off at every crossing, occasional domes of glass hinting at skylights. But it's the tower jutting out of the northernmost wing of the palace that calls my name.

It's empty and a little dusty, its disuse proof that Bithai hasn't seen a war in years. I pull myself over the railing and kick aside an overturned table. Finally one place Theon doesn't keep pristine.

I can see why they built the tower here. It's open on every side, giving a complete view of the city and the kingdom beyond. To the east, most of Bithai sleeps under a clear sky and a half-moon. To the west, farmlands roll off into the horizon, green and dark in the absence of city light. To the south...

I dig my fingers into the railing. To the south are the Seasons. Spring, with its brutality and blood, and Winter, with its snow and ice and coldness that never ends, with its queen who haunts my dreams through images of the refugees and baby Lucien.

Lucien.

I feel liable to explode, everything in me hot and heavy and choking off air. I hate him for caring for making me think he liked me too, for giving me a flash of hope as small as a stone and a kiss on my jaw when both of us knew we could never, ever be more than what we are.

"You shouldn't blame him."

On a sharp breath, I yank my chakram into my hand and aim it at the shadow behind me.