The Winter King (26 page)

Finally, a quiet gong called the ladies to luncheon. Khamsin took the queen’s seat at the head of the table, conscious of the many eyes upon her as the servants offered her all manner of strange, unfamiliar dishes. She tried to steer clear of foodstuffs she couldn’t identify or those with an odd smell, especially after the fishy aroma of several different seafood dishes left her feeling rather green about the gills.

“You don’t like fish, Your Grace?” Reika Villani asked after Kham waved away a particularly odiferous mackerel dish. “How unfortunate. Seafood is a staple of every Wintercraig meal.” Her tone made Khamsin’s aversion sound like a calamitous shortcoming.

Kham’s jaw clenched. “Quite the contrary, I love fish,” she declared, and just to wipe the mocking, superior smile off Reika Villani’s face, she forced herself to accept a portion of the next fish dish that came her way. Though the smell and texture made her want to retch, she ate several bites, holding Reika Villani’s gaze the whole time.

Two seats down on Khamsin’s right, Galacia Frey watched the visual skirmish between Reika and Kham, and when it was over, she gave Kham what looked like an approving nod and tucked into her own meal. Kham would have basked in what felt like a small victory, except that for the rest of the meal, what she’d eaten kept trying to make a reappearance. Outside, pale gray clouds began to gather in the clear, sunny sky.

After the meal, Galacia Frey took her leave, and the rest of the women retired to the gathering room next door to work on needlecrafts and socialize. Khamsin was hopeless with a needle and woefully inadequate as a casual conversationalist. Her questions sounded more like interrogations, and because she was so uncertain as to which ladies were Reika Villani’s cronies, her own answers were so guarded they came across as curt and off-putting.

Only with Lady Melle Firkin was Kham able to relax. The wife of Lord Chancellor Barsul Firkin had kind eyes, a warm smile, and a disarming way of putting Khamsin completely at ease. Within the first half hour of the luncheon, Lady Firkin’s polite, deferential use of titles gave way to “my dear” this and “my dear” that.

With any other person, Khamsin might have stiffened up and drawn away from such familiarity, but she couldn’t bring herself to rebuke the elderly woman for speaking to her more like a daughter than a queen, especially when the lady confessed, “Lord Firkin and I had a daughter, Astrid. She died of lung fever when she was seventeen. You remind me of her. She had the same fire in her eyes that you do. She never backed down from anything, even things that frightened her.” Then she patted Khamsin’s hand, smiled, and said, “I have a good feeling about you, my dear. I think you may be just what our king and this court has needed for a long time.”

“Thank you, Lady Firkin,” Khamsin said with a small, genuine smile.

“Please, call me Lady Melle. I’m not much of one for standing on formalities. I hope you don’t mind. The king has been like a son to Lord Barsul and me. We helped raise young Prince Garrick after their parents died.”

“How did the king’s parents die?”

“Frost Giant attack. Such a tragedy. Wynter barely escaped with his life. And then to take the throne so young. He wasn’t even sixteen. Such a burden for a boy to shoulder, especially when some took his youth as a sign of weakness. But weakness is a trait no one who knows him would ever associate with Wynter of the Craig.”

“No, I would imagine not,” Kham agreed. She started to ask Lady Melle more questions about the man she’d married, but Lady Wyle came up and asked Lady Melle to join a card game. Lady Wyle invited Khamsin to join as well, but the lady’s insincere smirk of a smile and too-watchful eyes made Kham decline.

“No, please go on. I don’t play cards.” Most court card games required four or more to play, so Kham, always alone, had never had the opportunity to learn. And the last thing she wanted to do when her sisters and brothers had snuck up to visit her was while away their precious, purloined time with card games.

It didn’t take long for Khamsin to regret letting Lady Melle leave her side. Sitting alone, without Lady Melle’s warm presence to buffer her, she was acutely aware of the Winterladies watching her every move, many of them sly-eyed, sumptuously gowned adversaries waiting for the first sign of weakness.

Tension coiled inside her. Sitting still for any length of time had never been easy for her, and sitting there while her every move was watched and measured was indescribably unpleasant. She was a child of the elements, accustomed to doing as she pleased and running free through the abandoned towers of the King’s Keep. She wasn’t made to sit for hours on end, confined and coiffed, surrounded by women whose conversation revolved around fashion, running households, and raising children. Kham would much rather be outside with the men, watching them train with their weapons—better yet, swinging a sword of her own. Falcon had often practiced with her, and those were some of the happiest times of life.

Her foot started tapping. Conversation dwindled. Ladies cast sidelong glances her way. She jammed her feet against the ground and kept them there.

Conversation resumed. More baby talk. More discussion of ribbons. One of the ladies had a new maid to dress her hair, and wasn’t she doing a splendid job?

Kham’s fingers began to drum restlessly against the armrests of her chair.

The lady with the hairdressing maid glanced Kham’s way, bit her lip, and fell silent.

Kham clutched the armrests as if her life depended on it.

Outside, the thin clouds that had gathered during the luncheon grew heavy and dark.

“Oh, dear.” Lady Ros glanced out at the rapidly darkening sky. “It looks like we’re in for a bit of a storm.”

“That came up fast,” another woman murmured. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky this morning.”

Now they were going to talk about the weather? Kham leapt to her feet, unable to bear it any longer.

All the Winterladies rose as well and looked her way. “I have a bit of a headache,” Kham lied, working hard to keep the bark out of her voice. “I think I’ll go for a walk outside.”

Lady Melle cast a glance out the windows, where rain had begun to fall. “A walk, my dear? In the cold and rain?”

“I like the rain,” Kham snapped, and the shocked, hurt look on Lady Melle’s face made her feel like a brute. She took a breath, forcing down her temper. “I’m sorry. This headache has me on edge. But I do like the rain, and the cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lady Melle’s polite use of Khamsin’s honorific instead of the warm, maternal “my dear” made Kham feel even worse. The white-haired lady waved to one of the footmen. “Send for our maids, Gunter. We need oiled jackets and rainshades. The queen wishes to go for a walk.”

“No. Gunter, wait.” Kham held up a staying hand. “Lady Melle, none of you need to come with me. Stay here inside where it’s warm.” Lady Melle had a surprisingly stubborn look in her eyes, so Kham moved closer and dropped her voice to a low whisper to admit, “This morning has been just a little . . . overwhelming. I need some time to myself.”

And then, because it suddenly occurred to her that Lady Melle’s determination to accompany her stemmed from reasons other than politeness and court etiquette, she added, “I won’t go far. I’ll keep to the gardens you can see from these windows.”

After a long, considering moment, Lady Melle waved off Gunter the footman, and said, “Of course, my dear. Go have your walk. Only please don’t stay out too long. The king would have my head if you caught cold.”

Kham beamed her first genuine smile in the last two hours. “I never catch cold.” Impulsively, she threw her arms around the older woman and kissed her on the cheek, then just as quickly jumped back and blushed, very conscious of the Winterladies whispering behind their fans. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t suppose I should have done that.” She’d never had cause to put Tildy’s comportment lessons into real practice, but she did know queens didn’t go about throwing their arms around their ladies and smacking kisses on their cheeks.

Lady Melle, once she got over her surprise, just smiled even more warmly than she had before and patted Kham’s hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear. Gunter, send someone to fetch the queen’s wrap, then please escort the queen to the east garden.”

Fifteen minutes later, with a warm fur coat over her red velvet dress, Kham turned her face up to the icy drizzle that even now was softening to a fine mist as the dark clouds began to lighten and break up. She took a deep breath of the clean, brisk air, flung her arms out, and whirled in a circle. Summer Sun, that felt good!

The garden was empty and quiet. The bustling sounds from the two large baileys at the front of Gildenheim were muted here. Several fountains burbled peacefully among manicured walks. Instead of beds of bright summer flowers, the gardens here had been planted with evergreen shrubs and sculpted trees and plants that sported bright leaves or berries in shades of purple and red and a ghostly silvery gray.

There was a maze in the center of the garden, grown from holly bushes. Kham glanced back at the arching windows of the banquet hall where she had lunched with the ladies of the court, then turned and dove into the maze, following the twisting paths between the dense hedges. It wasn’t a particularly difficult maze, and Kham found the center after only a couple of wrong turns. There, a ring of wooden benches surrounded a lovely, three-tiered fountain.

Scarlet flashed at the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see a bright red cardinal alight atop one of the benches on the other side of the fountain. She smiled. She’d always loved birds. They reminded her of her brother because wherever Falcon went, birds always congregated. They flocked to him with the same eager devotion as his many beautiful female companions.

Kham watched the cardinal hop down and peck at the cold ground beneath the bench and wished she’d brought bread crumbs from the luncheon. She’d have to do that tomorrow.

A shadow passed over the center of maze, and the cardinal took wing, disappearing into the dense holly bushes. Kham glanced up to see a large, snowy white falcon soaring across the sky. It circled Gildenheim on outstretched wings, then dove in to land on a window ledge near the top of the castle’s tallest spire.

“Where are you, Falcon?” she murmured aloud. Had her brother finally found Roland’s sword? And if he had, when he heard about the conditions of her marriage—the threat hanging over her head—would he come to Wintercraig to save her? That was just the sort of grand, heroic gesture Falcon loved most.

So why did the idea of Falcon riding to her rescue fill her with dread?

Her gaze wandered down the gray stone spire and traveled across the rings of fortified battlements that protected Gildenheim as if it were the greatest treasure of the kingdom. She thought about the cheers of the people gathered in the bailey to greet their king and his new bride, and the genuine care and concern he’d shown for the villagers they met along the way.

She was married to Wynter of the Craig. She was his now. His wife, his queen . . . and his key to retaining unequivocal control of Summerlea once she gave him an heir. After the last weeks together, she knew enough about her husband to know he would never surrender anything he considered his. If Falcon came for her, there would be battle, a war that would not end until either Falcon or Wynter lay dead.

And if Falcon had Blazing, the victor would not be Wynter of the Craig.

For no reason Khamsin cared to examine too closely, that thought left her feeling more ill than the awful fish dishes she’d not been able to escape at lunch.

Kham met with Vinca later that afternoon, but the tour of the palace wasn’t remotely as helpful or extensive as Khamsin had hoped it would be. They visited only the kitchens, wine cellars, the servants’ quarters, and portions of the lower four levels of the main palace.

Kham didn’t like the wine cellars. They’d been dug deep into the mountain, through solid rock, and they reminded Kham too much of the place King Verdan had taken her to beat her into compliance with his plans. Especially since her connection to the sun disappeared when she stepped across the cellar threshold.

Rattled by those memories, her curt, “Yes, quite impressive,” and the abrupt way she then turned and headed for the door didn’t win her any points with Vinca or the wine steward. She was too proud and too protective of her vulnerability to apologize for her behavior. Instead, she announced briskly, “I believe I’ve seen enough of the kitchens. I would prefer to spend the rest of our tour above stairs.”

She didn’t draw an easy breath until they reached the first floor, and she stood in a beam of sunlight shining through a large, arched window.

Wynter’s palace servants were too well trained to show disapproval, but the tiny hint of warmth that had been in Vinca’s voice at the start of the tour disappeared after that visit to the cellars, and it never returned. With cool, dispassionate efficiency, Vinca escorted Khamsin through the lower four levels of the palace proper, which housed banqueting halls, the throne room, rooms of state, and an entire wing of rooms they did not enter, which Vinca said were used by Wynter, his cabinet, and the many folk involved in the governance of the kingdom. In addition, there were all manner of parlors and galleries and a tremendous library that would have made Summer and Spring sigh with pleasure. Everywhere were terraces and balconies overlooking the mountains, the valley below, Konundal, the village at the foot of Gildenheim’s mountain, and the many, multileveled gardens built into the side of the mountain and integrated into the palace itself as it went up and up.

At the fourth floor, Vinca turned to Khamsin and announced the end of the tour. “What about the rest of the palace?” Kham gestured to the gilded stairways twining up to floors they hadn’t visited yet.

“Naught that would be of interest to Your Grace,” Vinca said. “Mostly just rooms used by the nobles and visiting dignitaries and their servants when they are at court, and most of those are empty now.”

“How many more floors are there?”