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Laughing, he merely leaned aside and her
blade missed him entirely. “I thought Gregar taught you better than that,
Khul’lanna.”

Letting the missed slash carry her arm
in a full arc, she whirled with the stroke and flipped the
rahke
smoothly in her palm for the rear attack. Gregar had drilled
her ceaselessly, both against himself and her Blood until the day she’d stabbed
Sal in the abdomen and nearly killed him.

She didn’t try to gut Varne. Not yet.
But his sharp exclamation told her she’d cut him deeply.

Finishing the full circle, she flipped
the
rahke
back up in the traditional
strike position and gave Varne the best wide-eyed foolish outlander look she
could muster. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

His mouth fell open and shut, his jaws
grinding, his face flushed. “You stabbed me, Khul’lanna!”

“Aye,” she drawled. “I gave you formal
challenge.”

“Women—”

Before he could complete the insult, she
slashed the
rahke
across his left
shoulder. The wound gaped, a deep cut through muscle that would definitely
require stitches to heal appropriately. Hissing beneath his breath, he clamped
a hand on the wound and growled. “This is not formal challenge. You don’t give
honor with wounds such as this.”

“You’re absolutely correct.” This time
she marked his right thigh right above his kneecap. He’d have trouble keeping
his weight on that leg. Already, he’d lost enough blood that he must feel
lightheaded.

Distantly, she thought she should
probably feel something. Some regret, some shame for deliberately maiming and
humiliating this warrior who’d dedicated his life to Khul. He wasn’t a bad man,
evil like Stephan or Theo. He was simply stupid and arrogant, blind and
prejudiced.

:Are
you sure?:
Dharman asked softly through their bond.
:Gregar always suspected him.:

I
am not the only Shadowed Blood
, Gregar had once said.

Perhaps she should test that claim.

Dharman’s bond crackled with flames.
:Nay!:

Not even Fire would melt her frozen
heart of sorrow. Ignoring him, she arched a brow at Varne and gave him a smile
as deliberately insulting as the many he’d shown her over the years. “I thought
you were Khul’s most formidable Blood. No wonder he died.”

Lips a firm slash and his face dark,
Varne growled and rushed her, limping on his badly injured leg. She sidestepped
and blocked his blow with her left forearm. She felt the impact thud all the
way down her arm and deep in her shoulder.

A small crack of concern appeared in her
calm. He could flatten her on her ass with a single punch of his fist. She
didn’t have the physical strength to grapple with a warrior a foot taller and
outweighing her by ten stone. If he used his full strength against her, she’d
have no choice but to kill him quickly and cleanly.

So
much for my leisurely lesson in punishment
, she thought
wryly.

Using his strength against him, she let
his momentum drive her arm down, turning her body away from his
rahke
. For a moment, he was face to face
with her, his breath panting against her. His eyes raged, but not with the
emotion she expected.

Shame and grief welled in his eyes. If
he weren’t such an obstinate arrogant bastard, he’d fall on her and blubber
like a baby, begging her forgiveness.

The crack widened in her frozen lake.

Ruthlessly, she spun away and feinted at
his face, just as Gregar would have done, and tossed the blade to her left
hand. Well familiar with the move, Varne countered easily.

Deliberately, she pretended slowness
with her left hand, leaving her side completely open.

Dharman’s bond exploded like Vulkar’s
Mountain, nearly destroying her concentration entirely. She actually feared he
might ignore the rules of the challenge and intervene.

:I’ll
never forgive you,:
she warned.
:This is my fight.:

Yet there was no need for any concern.
She knew Varne saw the opening; any warrior worth his salt would have seen it
and taken the opportunity to mark her flesh, especially a warrior raised from
birth to honor blood sacrifice. Small wounds, blood only, meant more honor, yet
he made no move to strike her unprotected flank.

He saw her as having no honor. So why
would he even consider giving her a small wound to honor her?

Cold fury sliced through her as vicious
as the ivory
rahke
in her hand. He
did nothing but stand there, chest heaving, bleeding, and still hating her.

“Damn you to the Three Hells,” she
whispered. “You can’t do it.”

Implacable, he stared back at her, his
face rock hard with a faint sneer on his face.

With a low, vicious snarl, she attacked
with every ounce of skill Gregar and the Blood had drilled into her over the
years. She spared no blow. She held nothing back. She maimed this warrior who
stood by and did nothing while Vulkar killed her love. She wanted his blood to
fill the frozen lake of her heart. Maybe then it would melt. Maybe then she
could feel something, anything, again other than this horrible empty grief.

Varne fell to his knees, dropped his
rahke
, and smiled.

So smug, so arrogant, even in his death
he would be honored by Khul’lanna who butchered him with her grief. She threw
her head back and howled as the White Dragon had done. If she had claws she
would rend this fool, tearing him limb from limb.
As I did to Gregar.

“I should have known Gregar would assist
you.”

Shaken, she clamped her mouth shut, her
scream still echoing in her mind.
:I’m
sorry, my Shadowed Blood.:

Gregar didn’t respond.

“Why—” Wincing, she cleared her throat.
Her vocal chords felt like she’d swallowed jagged ice. “Why would you say that?
Gregar’s not here. He hasn’t been back since the dragon took me.”

The shock on Varne’s face was matched by
her Blood. Dharman blazed through her mind, a quick, hot flame flying through
her body.
He searches for Shadow.

Unsurprised, she let Dharman grip her
bond and hold her firm while he flowed through her like molten honey.

“You flickered with Shadow,” Varne
whispered. “Like Gregar used to do when he wore his Shadow of Death.” He
wheezed a harsh bark of laughter. “I guess I should have allowed you to keep
the black
rahke
after all.”

Without hesitation, she reached out and
grabbed a handful of Varne’s hair. She jerked his head back, bearing his
throat.

:Khul’lanna.:
Dharman touched the frozen lake within her, trying to warm her and break the
ice holding her pinned.
:Let Jorah do
this small task for you. He welcomes the opportunity to serve you.:

:Varne’s
mine.:
Cold and distant, she looked down at the warrior
waiting for her
rahke
. She listened
in her mind, waiting for Gregar’s voice from beyond, the cold blanket of his
presence against her back, the dance of his ghostly
rahke
up her neck. Nothing, absolutely nothing whispered to her.

Maybe
he’s gone too.

The thought should have sent her heart
wailing at loss, but she felt nothing except the vast frozen shores of the lake
in her mind. Varne thought to die with honor as Khul had done; instead, she
would make him live with dishonor.

She drew the
rahke
down Varne’s left cheek. “Live, and remember your failure
every single day.” She cut his other cheek the same way, so deeply that white
gleamed through the torn flesh of his face. “Live, and remember the honor you
once had.”

He made a small, choked sound, regret,
grief, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. The sound didn’t, couldn’t touch her.
She shoved him and he sprawled on his back in the brown dead grass. Thick, wet
snow fell, dulling her senses and covering the world. She could leave him like
this and he’d die, buried in snow, but was that what she wanted?

She laughed, and the avalanche inside
her shifted ominously. Carefully, she sent some of that holy water, however
frozen, into the downed warrior. She watched numbly as the wounds she’d given
him Healed, leaving behind jagged white scars he’d carry the rest of his long,
miserable life.

“What are you now, nearest Blood of my
dead Khul? What do you have now?”

Kae’Shaman
lit the pyre. Khul’s other Blood reverently pushed it into the Silver Lake and
within moments, Rhaekhar’s body was blanketed with smoldering snow.

 
The towering blizzard shifted again, tearing
loose in her chest. Her world blurred white, dizzying white, and so very cold.
“
Na’lanna
. What do I have now?”

Dharman caught her, lifting her into his
arms and carrying her away, somewhere, she didn’t care. “You have us,
Khul’lanna.”

“Don’t call me that.” She winced at the
sharpness in her voice. Ice was so cold, so sharp. She could leave scars on her
Blood and not even know it. “I’m Khul’lanna no more.”

Gingerbread filled her nose, the thick
pelt of auburn hair sliding into her face. “Then you have us,
na’Qwen
.”

“The twins—”

“They went with Alea and Drendon,”
Dharman assured. “They're safe.”

The Blood lowered her to cushions. She
knew without opening her eyes that this was Rhaekhar’s tent. She smelled him
everywhere. Even in her Blood’s arms she could still smell her warrior. Pain
tore at her again, convulsing her fingers into claws, her teeth aching with the
strain of not screaming and railing at the unfairness of her loss.

Dharman pressed his forehead to hers.
“You will always have us.”

“You could die; Sal could die. Don’t
promise the impossible.”

“I swear on your very life that neither
Sal nor I shall ever leave you. When you die, we die, and not before. You’ll
always be our
na’lanna Qwen
.”

Ice burned in her veins. She gripped his
arm, too hard, her nails digging into his flesh, but he didn’t complain. “Don’t
call me that either. You don’t have the right.”

“Are you my Queen? Aye. Do I love you
more than life itself?”

She meant to flatten her palm over his
mouth to keep him from saying the last aye, but her hand connected sharply with
his lips. She hadn’t meant to slap him; she merely wanted to stop the words,
those burning, painful words.

The strike of her palm on his face felt
good. She actually felt it. Small heat flared in her skin, transferred from his
body.

She jerked her hand away and closed her
fingers into a fist. She ached, pounded by the maelstrom of grief, rage, and
despair. If Rhaekhar managed to appear as Gregar had done in her Dreams, she’d
use that
rahke
on him until he
dropped dead at her feet again. She’d punish him, as she’d punished Varne, as
she’d torn Gregar in the Tenth Camp, until maybe, just maybe this awful pain
would lessen and she could breathe again.

But neither Rhaekhar nor Gregar were
here. They’d never be
here
again.

“I’m here,
na’lanna Qwen
. Use me.”

She gritted her teeth and averted her
face. Pound, kill, fight, such violence raged through her blood. How could she
unleash such awful, dark emotion on the warriors sworn to protect her with their
very life? What choice did they have? They couldn’t even defend themselves.

No wonder Shadows had begun to cloak
her. Maybe she was already doomed. Maybe that’s why she still lived and
everyone she loved had died.

Run,
brightheart. Run to death. Run to me.

Dread curdled her stomach, even as her
muscles tensed and her heart raced, more than ready to begin the fight. “You
don’t know what you’re asking.”

Dharman and Sal both released her and
moved to kneel before her, their hands on their thighs, their young faces open
and eager.

“I know exactly what he requests,” Sal
said. “I ask that you use me too.”

Blowing snow scoured through her mind
and blasted her heart with burning pain and rage.
So this is what it feels like to be a White Dragon
. No fire, but vicious,
mindless need to kill and punish. She scrambled up with them, blowing hard,
eyes clenched shut as she fought the need to simply tear them apart.

“This isn’t your fault,” she ground out.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s an honor to serve.” Dark anticipation
rose in Dharman’s eyes. “Use me however you wish. There’s nothing you could do
that will truly hurt us, as long as you never send us away. Do anything,
na’lanna Qwen
, anything at all. Share
your pain with us. We are yours as no other could ever be.”

She shuddered, arm aching to just rear
back and…

“Do you think the Black Dragon in your
Dream could love you as much as we do?”