Shatter Like Glass-Cinderella Retold

Part Thirty-Nine

It didn't take long for Jag to secure the extra sleighs. Ashen wasn't too keen on having their group separated, but her suspicions of the Frost Weavers lessened when she actually saw their sleigh. It was small. More space than the two of them would need, but it wouldn't comfortably fit more than five people. In fact, it wouldn't have uncomfortably fit more than five people. So, she, Jag, and Peder rode in the back row while the two Frost Weavers shared the front. The coloring of their two horses had surprised Ashen—and Peder, by the look on his face. Neither had ever seen a white horse before. Jag must have, because he dismissed their questions rather quickly. Now that he was in Calarian, he seemed somehow less keen to discuss the kingdom.

Ashen didn't press the issue. She had an idea of how he felt. She hadn't liked talking about Azure—or Nikolai—for the past seventeen years. It had only gotten worse once Arrow was dead. She had hated the kingdom for what had happened to her parents.

She frowned. Jag had never mentioned his parents. She'd heard stories of Frost Weavers killing the parents or families of young Weavers when the council came to collect them. That would explain why he despised his sister so much. Her being a Frost Weaver might have cost his parents their lives.

Leaning closer to the front row of the sleigh, Ashen asked, "How long will it take to reach the capital?"

The female Frost Weaver did not glance back as she replied, "Several hours."

Hours . . . she couldn't see her father for hours! Smiegal might have already killed the council by the time she arrived in the city. Then the Frost Weavers—maybe even the ones in front of her—would end George's life in retaliation.

"Is there anything we could do to make this thing go faster?"

"No."

"You could ice the runners," Jag murmured. Ashen turned to look at him.

"Would that work?"

"Yes," Jag said, but Ashen was looking at the Frost Weavers. They hesitated.

"Perhaps," the woman said after a moment. "It is . . . risky."

For the first time since they had gotten into the carriage, Peder spoke.

"Your council is in danger," he reminded them. "The Kingslayers could have reached the capital by now. What will happen to your rule if the revolutionaries slaughter your leaders?"

"They could not have reached the capital, not yet," the man said.

Ashen shook her head. "We don't know that. Smiegal left East Sienna hours before we did. Even if he didn't beat us here, he might have supporters in the city. There's no guarantee they will wait for Smiegal to arrive to attack."

Sighing, the woman said, "Deva, stop."

The man—Deva—tugged on the reigns. As the sleigh slowed, Ashen realized that Deva always let the woman make decisions for the two of them. They were not in a relationship—Deva was much too old for the girl, and Frost Weavers did not have relationships or feelings of affection. No, she was his superior. To Ashen's knowledge, the Frost Weavers didn't have ranks like soldiers did. The only Frost Weavers above the rest were those on the council.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" she demanded as Deva climbed out of the sleigh. The woman did not look back at her.

"You will have to be more specific if you expect an answer."

"A member of the council," Ashen stated. She felt Jag tense beside her.

"Yes," the woman told her. "I am."

"Of course," Peder said. "They would only trust something this important to one of their leaders."

"Rightfully so," the woman replied.