The Winter King (58 page)

“Drop the sword, Kham. If you don’t, you won’t be leaving this place alive.”

Her eyes narrowed. She took a deep breath, then said very clearly, very deliberately, “No.”

“Archers!” he rapped out. “Target the boy.”

Kham stood her ground. “That won’t work this time, Falcon. If you kill Krysti, I will destroy every living thing in this valley.” In her hands, Roland’s sword went hot, and the diamond in its hilt grew blinding bright. “You know I can do it.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Not this time.” Her steady gaze never wavered. The light in Blazing’s hilt grew brighter. “Did you not see what just happened here? The
garm
? The dead arising to fight again? I warned you that Rorjak was coming, and this battle proves it. Carnak is upon us. If any of us hope to survive, we have to stop fighting each other and start working together to defeat the real enemy: Rorjak, the Ice King.”

“I came here for that sword, Storm, and I’m not leaving without it.”

“It isn’t yours, Falcon. It will never be yours. Even if you kill me—even if you kill every living member of our bloodline—Blazing will never answer to you. You are not Roland’s Heir.”

“Liar! I bear the Rose. I’m as much an Heir of Roland as you—and the rightful King of Summerlea.”

“Once, perhaps, but no longer. You threw everything away to go searching for the sword. You betrayed everything Roland ever stood for. Now you are a man without a country, and a prince without a crown. Your weathergift and that Rose on your wrist are the only gifts of Helos you’ll ever possess.”

“Archers, fire!”

Kham gripped her sword, and cried, “Shield!” A dome of white-hot flame sprang up around her. Every arrow that flew into the fiery wall disintegrated instantly into ash. She fed more power into the shield, pushing it out along its circumference until the gathered Calbernans and Summerlanders fell back to avoid being incinerated. Within the bright shield, Khamsin turned slowly in a complete circle, targeting each bow aimed her way.

“Burn,” she breathed and carefully orchestrated flows of superheated air snaked out from her shield. Summerlander archers screamed as their bows burst into flames.

Kham dropped her shield. A barely caged inferno burned in her eyes as she met her brother’s stunned gaze. “I meant to offer you a chance to make amends, to recover some part of the honor you threw away, but if death is your choice, then death it will be.
Fire
.” Flames burst to life along Blazing’s shining length. She drew back her arm, keeping the sword pointed at Falcon. “Good-bye, brother.”

Before she could loose Blazing’s deadly fire, the Calbernan leader standing a few feet from Falcon began to laugh.

“Gods, what a woman!” The Calbernan slapped one massive paw against Falcon’s back with enough strength to make him stagger. To Khamsin, the Calbernan said, “I like you,
myerina.
So much more than I like your brother. I will be sad to end your life. Throw down that weapon. Surrender to me now, and I will take you as my
liana
and fill your belly with my offspring.”

Khamsin did not take offense. She remembered the lessons Tildy had drummed into her head about the customs of neighboring kingdoms. The Calbernan’s threat about killing her was a bluff. Calbernans revered women, having so few females of their own kind. And his offer to take her his
liana
—his wife—was an invitation to live in wealth and comfort beneath the powerful protection and devoted care of a fierce warrior of the isles.

“Regrettably, I must decline your gracious offer, Sealord, and extend instead an offer of my own. Wintercraig has long lived in peace with Calberna. You made yourselves our enemy when you joined forces with my brother and invaded our lands. That foolish act can either end in the slaughter of your army and the destruction of your homeland, or you can renounce your alliance with my brother and join forces with me instead to fight an evil that threatens us all. Do that, and the peace between our kingdoms will continue as if this invasion never happened. You have my word, as Queen of Wintercraig.”

The Calbernan cocked his head to one side. The long, dark strands of his hair, wound in dozens of inch-wide ropes slid across his bare, impressively-muscled chest and shoulders. “Death stalks Calberna every day. We do not fear it. But to return home with so many lives lost and nothing to show for our troubles, this would not make my people happy. Besides the prince, your brother, tells me you are queen against your will and for only a year. Forgive me,
myerina,
if I do not consider your word as Wintercraig’s queen a reliable star to sail by.”

“The Calbernans are circling to our left and right,” Krysti whispered.

“I see them,” Kham confirmed. In a louder voice, she said, “You have not yet made yourself my enemy, Sealord. I implore you not to do so now. My brother has—unintentionally, I’m sure—misled you about my situation. I am quite happy here, I have a husband I love dearly, and his child already grows inside me.”

Falcon regarded her in shock. “You are with child?”

Khamsin ignored her brother and continued addressing the Calbernan. “So you see, Sealord, I will be queen of Wintercraig for much more than a year. Thus, I cannot and will not surrender myself, my husband’s child, or my kingdom. Not even to a very handsome and clearly powerful foreign prince, whom I fear has been steered far off course by the counsel of a poor navigator. But I am not an ungenerous woman. Join me to defeat the Ice King, and I will not send you away empty-handed. You shall have wood enough to build twenty ships, and two thousand of Wintercraig’s best furs to trade.”

“Tsk. Tsk.” The Calbernan clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Falcon, you never told me what a treasure this sister was.” He inclined his head towards Khamsin. “Such an offer is indeed tempting,
myerina,
but I did not lead my people to this land seeking merely ships and riches to trade. Your brother promised me wealth, it is true. But he also promised me an unbreakable alliance, bound by blood, and a treasure of treasures to grace the House of Merimydion.”

“He promised you a Season of Summerlea, did he?”

The golden eyes gleamed. “Calbernan blood rules the sea. A
liana
with power over weather is worth more to me than two hundred ships and ten thousand furs. I am of age and have earned my right to claim a
liana
, and the Seasons are known to be as gifted as they are beautiful.”

The promised bride was for him, which meant he must be the prince of House Merimydion, the royal house of Calberna. What was his name? Kham racked her memory for names of foreign leaders Tildy had drilled into her head. Dilys? “You are Dilys Merimydion?”

The Calbernan inclined his head.

“You are aware, Sealord Merimydion, that the weathergifts of my family do not pass outside Summerlea’s direct royal line. Even with a Season for a wife, it’s unlikely your children will inherit the gift—or pass it on, if they do.”

“Such is my understanding although your brother made no mention of it.” She could see her honesty had earned her a measure of respect. “This does not concern me. Any child of mine will have formidable gifts of his own.”

Khamsin’s mind raced. As princesses of a still-independent Summerlea, her sisters had never expected a future that did not include being married off to the royal scions of other lands for the benefit of Summerlea. As the daughters of a deposed, enemy king, their future could easily be much less comfortable. They lived at the pleasure of Wynter Atrialan, and they knew it. Still, Khamsin had been given into marriage to a stranger, and she would not force her sisters into the same situation.

“Calbernans hold their wives in great esteem, do they not?”

“The highest of esteem,
myerina.
”

“Did Falcon promise wives for your men as well?” Only one of every hundred Calbernan children were female. As a result, the renowned seafarers frequently bought their wives from the slave markets in Lukerne or raided weaker lands across the sea and took women captive to be their brides. She had hoped her first bribe would be tempting enough on its own. So much wealth and so many ships would buy many wives.

“He promised them their pick from the whole of Wintercraig.”

Of course, he had.

“That is not going to happen,” she told the Calbernan king bluntly. “But, the war between Summerlea and Wintercraig has left many women widowed, their children fatherless. I am sure there are many among them who would look favorably on the offer a union with a man of the Isles if the union offered security for themselves and their children.

“So here, then, is my offer, Dilys Merimydion, Prince of Calberna: If you and your men join me now to fight the Ice King, Wintercraig will provide you wood enough for fifty ships and five thousand of Wintercraig’s best furs to trade. You and every Calbernan in this army will also be invited to return, in peace, to the royal palace in Konumarr next summer. There, you, Sealord Merimydion, will have three months to court the Seasons of Summerlea and convince one of them to be your bride. I will also invite any woman of Summerlea or Wintercraig willing to take a Calbernan husband to come to Konumarr as well, and your men will have the same three months to win wives of their own.”

The Sealord smiled. “This offer is most generous,
myerina,
to be sure, but why would I or my men sacrifice the certainty of a
liana
now for the possibility of a
liana
later?”

“Trust me, none of you would want an unwilling Summerlea or Wintercraig wife.”

“Ah, but any
liana
of a Calbernan would not be unwilling for long.” The way he said it sent an unmistakably erotic shiver up Khamsin’s body. If she weren’t irrevocably in love with her own Winterman, she might actually have considered throwing down her sword and taking Merimydion up on his offer.

Instead, she gave him a sweet smile, and said, “In that case, my lord, three months should be ample time for you and your men to win the consent of your chosen brides. Or,” she added when he didn’t immediately accept, “I can call upon the deadly power of this sword, and we can all die today in a blaze of Sunfire. And there will be no children and no future for any of us.”

The Calbernan Sealord began to laugh again, slowly at first, then with increasing gusto. There was a pleasing, honest sound to his laugh. The kind of sound that said he was a man who lived life to its fullest and enjoyed every unpredictable moment of it. She knew then that she had won. And she knew that her sisters could do worse than to be courted by such a man.

“Well, Sealord, do we have an agreement?”

“That we do,
myerina.
That we do. And if your sisters are half the woman you are, then I am a very lucky son of the sea.” Still laughing, his smile dazzling white against the shimmering, tattooed darkness of his skin, the Calbernan called out in the fluid, musical tones of his native tongue. His men lowered their weapons.

“What?” Falcon lunged towards his former ally. “Merimydion, you bastard, we had a deal!”

The Calbernan prince turned swift as a shark, the points of his trident halting inches from Falcon’s face. No longer laughing, golden eyes cold and deadly, Dilys Merimydion said softly, “Our deal is done, Falcon Coruscate. Yours are not the only eyes in this forest. I know you struck this brave
myerina.
I know you left her to die. I know she offered you mercy, and still you would kill her if you could. A man who treats a woman—his own sister, no less—with so little care or honor is a man who cannot be trusted.
Myerina
”—the Sealord’s cold, predatory gaze never left Falcon’s face—“say the word, and this
krillo
will never again pollute your radiance with his presence.”

“No. That won’t be necessary.” To her brother, she said, “You are not the man I once thought you were, but you are still an Heir of the Rose. I will need all the help I can get to defeat Rorjak. Fight with me, Falcon, and I will guarantee you safe passage out of Wintercraig on the condition that you never return and never again conspire against Wintercraig in any fashion.”

“Surrender everything . . . for what?”

“For your life, Falcon. That’s more than Verdan Coruscate has. More than Elka has. More than the thousands of people who died because of you have. And for a chance to regain at least some of the honor you spent the last three years throwing away. For a chance to be the Prince of Summer you should have been.”

Leaving him to mull over that, she turned to the forces gathered around her. “To the Summerlanders among you, I offer amnesty for your rebellion against the King of Wintercraig. I am Angelica Mariposa Rosalind Khamsin Gianna Coruscate Atrialan, princess of Summerlea, Queen of Wintercraig.” She rolled her cuff back and thrust her arm into the air, displaying the red Rose on her inner wrist. “I am an Heir of the Rose, Master of Storms, and the wielder of Blazing, the legendary sword of Roland Soldeus. I offer you a chance to return home not to a traitor’s death, but to a hero’s welcome.” She turned in a slow circle, gauging the response. Most of the men looked uncertain. A few remained hostile.

“The monsters that just attacked us? There are more where those came from—as well as an entire army of other creatures whose only desire is to destroy all life and plunge the whole of Mystral into eternal winter. If we don’t stop them now, their numbers will only increase. You saw what happened to your comrades when the
garm
’s blue vapor froze them. It will happen again and again, to every man, woman, child, and beast, until the largest army in the world could not hope to defeat them.

“All I ask is that you swear fealty to me and that you follow me now, into battle, as you followed my brother and King Verdan. Do this, and your crimes against Wintercraig’s crown will be forgiven. Do it not, and every last one of you will perish in fire and blood. This I swear on the sword of my ancestor, Roland Soldeus.”

Wynter lay on his cot, staring up at the roof of his tent. The material was a blank slate of uninteresting tan canvas, unlike the soothing, tattooed beauty of the tent he’d used throughout the three long years of his war with Summerlea. But the very blankness of the canvas was almost hypnotic in its own right.