This scene comes at the end of Chapter Two, when Meira is preparing to leave for a rather important mission.
For whatever reason, whenever I write scenes from the POV of other SLA characters, I can only do so in third person past. So this scene is in third person past, even though SLA itself is in first person present. #authorquirks
This is a very very rough draft. Like my eyes are the only ones to have seen this baby. Be gentle.
For whatever reason, whenever I write scenes from the POV of other SLA characters, I can only do so in third person past. So this scene is in third person past, even though SLA itself is in first person present. #authorquirks
This is a very very rough draft. Like my eyes are the only ones to have seen this baby. Be gentle.
They had been in Ventralli the first
time they had seen snow.
Mather couldn’t remember how old
they had been—ten? Eleven? Young enough that they instantly tried to catch
snowflakes on their tongues, old enough that they knew not to say out loud how
neither of them had seen snow before. William and Greer had been inside a shop,
picking out various types of dried beans to add to their supplies, while Mather
and Meira had been outside with the already laden cart, stricken with awe when
the first crystallization landed on their skin.
Meira held her hand up, staring at a
snowflake perched on her palm. She didn’t say anything, no cry of joy or
exclamation of wonder—she just stared, and gaped, her eyes wide, her lips
parted. Mather himself could barely breathe, afraid any motion would send the
snowflakes scattering away like ants running from a boot.
She closed her fingers around the
snowflake and shot him a smile through the specks of white that streaked the
air. Her smile called to his, powerful, ardent happiness expressed in one swift
cut of her lips.
He’d seen that smile on her so
infrequently throughout their life. In truth, he’d seen such happiness so
infrequently that he could count every occurrence on one hand.
But after today, he just might need
both hands.
He’d faked an injury so she could go
on a mission to Spring. And she’d smiled at him like she had in Ventralli, like
he was the first snowfall she’d ever seen.
“How’s that ankle?”
Mather jerked forward, dropping the
wood he’d been stripping, his knife scattering into the embers of the fire at
his feet. One leg sat cocked under him; the other, “injured,” stretched out in
a semi-useless position.
“Fine,” Mather said without looking
up at William. He scrambled for his knife and hissed when the embers singed his
fingertips.
William dropped into a crouch next
to him but Mather kept his eyes averted. “You want Alysson to take a look?”
“No. Just a sprain. It’ll be better
soon.”
“Awful lucky.”
“Sure is.”
William knew he was lying. Mather
knew that William knew he was lying. Both were waiting for the other to admit
first. Neither would.
Movement caught Mather’s attention
and he swung toward the tents across the fire. Sunlight made the flames
unnecessary but for cooking, and the pot of stew that boiled sent plumes of
steam into the air, obscuring the scene so all Mather could see was the faint
outline of Meira slinging a pack over a horse’s back. His stomach cooled, a
knot unwinding in his gut.
She pivoted toward him, or maybe
toward William, but she didn’t hover long enough to do anything, like she
feared William would revoke his order and make her stay instead of go to Spring
if she didn’t leave fast enough.
Meira ducked back into her tent.
William pushed out a grumbled sigh.
“Be careful.”
Mather jerked his attention back
down. “Always am.”
“No,” William countered, and the
tension in his tone made Mather look at him, finally. Hard eyes met Mather’s, a
ground jaw, brows taut. “You’re focused. That’s different. You know what you
want and you know how to get it—but you have a lot to learn about being
careful.”
Mather’s grip on the wood and knife
tightened until his hands cramped. He didn’t want to hear William’s reasoning
again—“When we get our kingdom back, you and Meira will be in two different
worlds. Nothing can happen between you.”
“Then I guess I’ll learn how to be
careful.” The snap in Mather’s voice surprised himself, but he flipped his eyes
back across the campfire to avoid seeing William’s reaction. He’d no doubt have
to pay for such an attitude once his ankle “healed” and he resumed training.
Meira emerged from her tent again,
the chakram on her back glinting sunlight off its blade as she double-checked
her horse. She swung around, surveying the area with the last look of someone
mentally recounting a list, and stopped when her eyes latched onto Mather.
She stiffened, teeth worrying her
lower lip in the quirk Mather had noticed she manifested long ago. Whenever she
was contemplating or fidgety—he wasn’t even sure she knew she did it, but ice
above, it did horrifically detrimental things to Mather’s ability to think.
Meira cast a nod at him, a small
smile, and swung up onto her horse without coming to say farewell or calling
out to him. Maybe because William still knelt beside him, no less severe.
“Yes,” William continued their
conversation like Mather hadn’t looked away. “What concerns me is the cost you
will accumulate while you learn caution.”
Mather clenched his jaw. “I know
well the costs of living. You haven’t let me forget.”
“And I never will.”
Mather glared at him. He couldn’t
help it, but it faded when William returned his glare with a withering,
watchful gaze.
Mather bent his head in something
like a bow of surrender. “I help my people when I can,” was all he let himself
say on the matter, a formal, political, meaningless statement.
William pulled to his feet. “As long
as that’s all she is to you.”
That dug into him, but Mather didn’t
show it, holding until William walked off into camp. When he was gone, Mather
slumped toward the fire until the heat licked his cheeks.
As long as that’s all she is to you.
Mather’s eyes snuck up, searching
the empty area for Meira. But she was gone now, gone with Finn, on their way to
Spring.
He didn’t know if there had ever
been a time when he could have honestly said Meira was “just one of his
people.” But he wasn’t careless, no matter what William said. He wouldn’t do
anything reckless—Meira was capable. She would do well on this mission.
And he couldn’t imagine regretting
something that had made her smile like that.
