The Winter King (50 page)

When she was finished, Tildy set out two hourglasses. A large glass that counted down the hour with a steady stream of pink sand, and a smaller glass whose blue sands ran out every twenty minutes. Three times an hour, as the blue sands ran out, she replaced the poultice and honey-soaked cheesecloth with fresh.

Every hour, when the last of the pink sand ran out, Tildy poured an unpleasant-smelling potion made from willow bark, garlic, purple coneflower root, and barberry down Wynter’s throat, then summoned them all back to Wynter’s side. Valik and five other men would hold him down, and Khamsin would clasp her wrist to his, while Tildy and Galacia removed the poultices and packing, irrigated the wound thoroughly, then repacked the wound with fresh, steaming strips of linen, applied a fresh poultice atop that, and laid a honey-soaked cheesecloth over the entire area.

And so it went the rest of the day, all through the night, and on through a second day. The relentless pace took its toll on all of them, except Tildy, who seemed powered by an inexhaustible supply of energy. Near midnight the second night, when the linen strips they pulled from Wynter’s body came away free of infected matter, Tildy pronounced the most immediate crisis passed.

“The next few days will tell,” Tildy said, “but so long as the infection does not retake a firm hold, he should pull through.”

“Praise the gods.” Kham slumped in relief, leaning forward to rest her forehead on Wynter’s arm. His skin felt cool again.

A tender hand brushed her cheek. “You should rest, dearly. You’re asleep on your feet.” Tildy’s voice grew crisper as she added, “In fact, all of you should seek your beds. I can manage the next few hours on my own.”

“Lady Frey, you and the queen sleep,” Valik seconded. “Ungar, Tol, and I will stand watch with Nurse Greenleaf. I insist,” he added with cold implacability when Tildy started to object. “Go, Laci, Khamsin. I’ll wake you if there’s the smallest hint of trouble.”

Khamsin was too exhausted to argue, so she just pushed to her feet, stumbled down the hallway to the bedroom she had been using this past week, and fell into bed. She was asleep before her head hit the lavender-stuffed pillow.

Sometime later, while the night was still dark and long before she’d slept long enough to feel rested, Khamsin found herself shaken awake.

“Wha—?” she blinked in groggy confusion.

“Here, drink this.”

A wooden cup tapped against Kham’s teeth. Warm liquid splashed over her lips and into her mouth. The liquid, whatever it was, had a strong, sharp flavor and a bitter aftertaste. Kham started to spit it out, but more poured into her mouth, accompanied by a command to “Swallow” and a sharp pinch to close her nostrils and ensure she obeyed.

Left with no choice, Kham swallowed, then coughed as some of the liquid went down her windpipe.

“Quickly,” the same voice ordered in a hushed whisper, “we don’t have much time. I dosed everyone with valerian at the evening meal, but I didn’t dare use enough to keep them sleeping for long.”

“Tildy?” Kham frowned up at her nurse. “What’s going on? Is it Wynter?” Thinking he must have taken a turn for the worst, she leapt out of the bed.

“The Winter King is fine, but it’s time for us to make our escape.” Tildy shoved a woolen gown and thick, furred coat into Kham’s hands. “Here, you’ll need to dress warmly. We’ve a long way to go.”

Khamsin stared at the clothes in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are we escaping?”

“I’m sorry, dearly. I’m so terribly sorry. I’d heard he was an honorable man, or I should never have proposed he wed you. I never dreamed he would murder his own wife if she didn’t bear him a child within the year.”

Kham gaped at her nurse as her groggy mind started to make sense of what was going on. “Are you talking about Wynter?” She shook her head. “He isn’t going to murder me, Tildy.”

“I’m sorry, dearly, but he swore as much to your father, which is of course exactly why Verdan—may he scorch in the fires of Hel!—conspired to prevent you from conceiving a child. I thought by encouraging this marriage, I was sending you away from mortal danger, and instead, I unwittingly sent you into its very jaws. Thank the gods you sent for me before it was too late.” She realized that Kham hadn’t started getting dressed, and exclaimed, “Hurry, dearly! If we’re not well on our way before the valerian wears off, our chance for escape will be lost.”

“Tildy, I’m not going anywhere. I know what Wynter told my father, but the ‘mercy of the mountains’ isn’t the certain death it sounds like. I’m in no danger here.” Kham laid the dress and coat over the back of a nearby chair.

“You may be willing to bet your life on that, but I am not. And neither is your brother.” Tildy snatched the dress up again and sifted through the long folds to find the openings for Khamsin’s head and arms.

Kham stared at Tildy in shock. “You’ve heard from Falcon? But when? How?”

“We’ve been in contact since shortly after your wedding, when I found out the Winter King intended to kill you if you didn’t bear his child within the year. I sent word to him when I found out I was coming here. As soon as we get away from here, I’ll send him a signal, and he’ll let us know where to meet him.” Her face darkened with a scowl. “And you can rest assured, I’ll be informing him about your father’s latest crime against you. Keeping you barren so your blood would be on the Winter King’s hands instead of his own. He has gone mad!” Having located the gown’s neck hole, she loosely scrunched up the wool to make a circle of fabric.

“Here. Raise your arms.” Tildy held up the gown, ready to drop it into place over Kham’s head.

“Tildy.” Kham took the dress from her, tossed it on the bed, and caught her nurse’s hands. “Tildy, stop. If you sent Falcon a signal telling him we’re coming, you’d best send him another one telling him there’s been a change of plans. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do. I am Wynter’s wife, his queen—”

“Whom he intends to stake out on some mountain glacier and leave to die!”

Kham shook her head. “He isn’t going to kill me. If that’s what he wanted, I’d already be dead. The only reason he’s out there on that table”—she pointed in the direction of the lodge’s main room—“fighting for his life, is because of me. I was attacked by
garm.
Just one of them could wipe out an entire village, and Wynter fought off four of them to save me. Does that sound like the actions of a man who wants me dead?”

Tildy looked momentarily nonplussed, but then her shoulders squared, and her jaw firmed. “And if he doesn’t survive? I’ve watched the others closely since I arrived. Lord Valik doesn’t strike me as the trusting sort. None of them do. If the Winter King dies, they’ll kill you without a second thought.”

Khamsin honestly didn’t know what Valik and the others would do, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. “I won’t leave him, Tildy. And I’m very sorry to have to do this, but you’re not leaving either. At least not until I’m sure he’s out of danger.”

It took a lot to surprise Tildy, but that did. “You would hold me here against my will?”

“To ensure my husband’s survival? In a heartbeat.” Kham tried to soften her ruthless declaration with persuasion, reaching for her former nurse’s hands and squeezing them gently. “I ordered Valik to bring you here because I knew you were the only person in the world who could save Wynter, and that’s what I need you to do.”

“And if I nurse him back to fitness, will you come with me then?”

Kham considered lying. Tildy would believe it because it was what she wanted to hear. But she wouldn’t do that to her nurse. “No, Tildy. My place is here, with my husband and the people of Wintercraig. This is my home now. This is where I belong.”

“But what about your brother? If he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll assume the worst.”

“Are you using preset signals, or can you send him an actual message?”

“Why do you ask?”

That Tildy had answered the question with a question gave Kham all the answer she needed. “You can send messages. Good. Because, I’ve got one for him.”

Khamsin stayed up with Tildy the rest of the night, ostensibly to assist with tending Wynter but really to make sure her nurse didn’t sneak off before Valik and the others roused. Her motives left her feeling guilty and a bit vile—Tildy was the closest thing to a mother Kham had, not some enemy—but Kham kept an eye on her all the same.

Her message to Falcon had been short and sweet: Verdan gone mad. I am safe with Wynter. Stay away. We will defend Wintercraig. Storm.

Falcon and his Calbernan allies might have already invaded Summerlea, but hopefully the realization that Wintercraig had not one but two powerful weathermages to defend it would convince them to turn back.

It was something of a relief when Valik woke. He stirred groggily at first, then jerked full awake, bolting upright in his chair and scanning the room with agitated swiftness when he realized he’d dozed off. Finding nothing amiss, his golden cheeks flushed a dusky red. He didn’t appear to suspect he’d been drugged, and Kham wasn’t about to tell him. Wrong or right, Tildy was family. Unless she directly threatened the safety of Wintercraig, its people, or its king, Kham wouldn’t betray her.

Valik cleared his throat, checked on Wynter, then went round the room kicking the other guards awake. “I was just resting my eyes,” he declared gruffly when he made his way back to the hearth.

“The last weeks have been wearisome,” she agreed without rancor.

Valik rubbed the back of his head, grimaced, and muttered, “Much as I hate to admit it, you were right to send for your Summerlea nurse. She has worked a miracle.”

The admission startled a smile from Khamsin. “Miracles are her forte,” she said. “And I don’t blame you for your suspicions. You love him. You want to protect him from harm.” She glanced down at Wynter and caressed his lean, golden cheek with her fingertips, brushing the snowy hair back from his temple. “I can understand that.”

Her voice trailed off, and in the ensuing silence, she felt the weight of Valik’s gaze. Old instincts kicked in, and she pulled her hand back, burying her softer emotions so they could not be used against her. She took a step away from the cot where Wynter lay. “Of course, he’s not out of the woods yet. The slightest infection could destroy all our progress in a heartbeat. But Tildy says she’s never seen a man so determined to live.”

“He is Wynter of the Craig,” Valik said as if that said it all. And perhaps it did.

A huge yawn came upon her without warning. “Sorry. Clearly, I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“Then you should return to your bed.” For the first time, Valik spoke almost warmly.

“Maybe later. First, there’s something I need to discuss with you and Laci. In private.” Falcon had sent birds to follow Tildy. That’s how she’d been able to signal him. But that also meant Falcon knew where to find Tildy—and, more importantly, where to find Wynter. Kham had thought about it all night long and realized there was no way she could keep that information a secret.

Before Valik could answer, one of the White Guard entered the cabin. “Eagle approaching.”

Valik nodded. “Excuse me for a moment.” He took his leave of Khamsin and headed for the door.

While Valik headed out to receive whatever report the eagle was bringing, Tildy called Khamsin to help her with the lengthy process of changing Wynter’s poultices.

“He’s progressing nicely,” she announced when they were done. “He’s not quite so rapid a healer as you, dearly, but if I can keep the king still and free of infection for another week, his chances for survival increase tenfold.”

“That is indeed unfortunate, Nurse Greenleaf.”

Tildy and Khamsin turned in unison to find Valik standing in the lodge doorway. He crossed the threshold and approached the hearth where Wynter lay. His expression was grim, his eyes bleak.

“Like it or not, the king must wake, and we don’t have the luxury of another week to wait.”

C
HAPTER 23

Trust and Treasures

“Guards, protect the king. Do not allow Nurse Greenleaf to administer anything to him until I return.” Valik turned to Khamsin. “Walk with me.”

Not waiting for an answer, the White Sword strode out of the lodge.

Kham gaped after him. She turned to Tildy in surprise. “What’s going on?” Suspicion hit hard. “What have you done?”

Tildy help up her hands. “You have my word, I’ve done nothing more than you already know. Now, go, quickly. See what your Lord Valik has to say.”

Khamsin clamped her mouth shut and hurried after Valik. He and Laci were waiting in the clearing outside the cabin. “Come with us.” They turned and walked into the woods.

Valik’s and Galacia’s long legs covered quite a bit of ground in a single stride, and Kham had to run to catch up to them. They strode through the snow-covered forest and ducked inside a cave a good distance from the cabin. Valik pulled a candle from his pocket and lit it while Laci turned to the mouth of the cave and sketched a design in the air. When she blew on her palm, a layer of ice grew from the rock surface inward until the entire mouth of the cave was sealed by a thick ice wall.

“What in Wyrn’s name is going on?”

Galacia spun abruptly around. She clutched Kham’s shoulders in a painful grip, her blue nails like talons. “Tell me true, Summerlander, where do your loyalties lie? And I warn you, I will know if your words are false.”

Khamsin drew back, offended by both the manner and implication of Galacia’s question. “I thought we’d gotten past all this. I’m not a spy.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked where your loyalties lie.”

“I am Wynter’s wife.”

“Unwillingly wed,” Valik pointed out.

She speared him with a sharp glance. “Perhaps at first,” she conceded. “But no longer.”

“And if you had to choose between Summerlea and Wintercraig?” Galacia asked. “Between Winterfolk and your family?”

Khamsin wet her lips. Unease curled in her belly. “The eagle that flew in this morning. What news did he bring?”

“Answer the question,” Valik snapped.

“I already have,” Kham snapped back. The repeated demands to prove her loyalty and devotion to Wynter had grown beyond wearisome. “Time and time again.”

“Then once more won’t hurt, will it?”

“Oh, for Halla’s sake!” Khamsin cried. “This is my home now! More of a home than Summerlea ever was. Is that what you wanted to hear? That my life there was so pathetic, my existence so miserable, that I am happier here—even living under a constant cloud of suspicion and doubt—than I ever was there?”

“And if you must choose, between your family and Wynter,” Galacia prodded, “who would you choose?”

“Wynter, damn you! I would choose Wynter!”

“Why?”

Kham’s knuckles went white. The words welled up in her throat. They spat from her lips in a fury, each word clear and distinct, no longer bound in silence as they had been in her dreams.

“Because I love him!”

Galacia bowed her head and slowly relaxed her fierce grip on Kham’s shoulders. “Thank you. I told Valik as much, but we both needed to hear you say it.”

Kham spun around and clasped shaking hands across her chest. She loved him. And she’d revealed that vulnerability out loud. To Galacia and Valik.

She swallowed hard and rasped, “What news did the eagle bring?”

“Our defenses in Summerlea have been defeated. Wintercraig is next.”

Kham’s breath caught in her throat. She spun back around. “Tell me.”

Quickly, Galacia relayed the grim news. Leirik’s defenses along the west coast of Summerlea had been overrun by the Calbernans. Aware of Wynter’s illness and desperate to delay the invaders to buy time for his king’s recovery, Leirik had emptied Vera Sola, leading all but a few hundred of the Wintermen under his command to confront the Calbernan army. But no sooner had Leirik emptied the city of defenders than King Verdan, General Furze, and what remained of the former army of Summerlea had retaken Vera Sola. From there, Verdan’s army marched north to join the Calbernans and a force of mercenaries. Leirik and his men put up a strong fight, but cut off from supplies, flanked on two sides and vastly outnumbered, they had been defeated.

“The invaders are even now sailing up the coast,” Galacia concluded. “We believe they mean to take Gildenheim.”

“What can be done?”

“Very little. Without Wynter and his Ice Gaze, there aren’t enough soldiers left to push back a force so large. A contingent of men ride out within the hour to sound the Valkyr’s horn in Gildenheim to summon to service every man, woman, and child old enough to hold a spear.”

“Women and children? Against the armies of Calberna and Summerlea? Are you mad? They’ll be slaughtered!”

“Better an honorable death in battle than life in slavery.”

Khamsin gave a choked laugh, recalling the day she had spoken almost the exact same words to Tildy. That day now seemed a lifetime ago. The Khamsin who’d so passionately spat her defiance was practically a stranger to the Khamsin who now stood before Galacia Frey.

“I once believed the same as you do,” she admitted. “I would gladly have died fighting rather than surrender Summerlea to your people. But if I had, I never would have known what it was to marry, to love. To be happy. Surely even the smallest measure of hope is better than the certainty of death?”

“You have suffered your father’s mercy all your life.” Galacia’s gaze flicked to the imprint of the Summer King’s signet burned into Kham’s cheek. “Would you really wish that on anyone else?”

“That’s different. He hates me. He blames me for my mother’s death. He always has.”

“And you’re his own kin. What do you think he will do to Wynter? To me? To Valik? To the child you’re carrying in your womb? King Verdan has been trying to bleed Wintercraig dry and starve its people into submission since the day Wynter ascended the throne. What do you think he’ll do to us once we have no defenses?”

Kham dropped her gaze, unable to argue the point. “If you truly believe sending all of Wintercraig into battle is the right course of action, then why are we standing here? What do you need me for?”

Galacia hesitated, then admitted, “When the men ride to Gildenheim to sound the Valkyr’s horn, we want you to go with them.”

She glanced between Laci and Valik. “I’m not leaving Wynter.”

“You must. He’s in no shape to fight the armies assembled against us. Even if he were well, you saw for yourself how close he is to losing his battle with the Ice Heart. We dare not let him use his Gaze again, but without it, we stand no chance of defeating the invaders.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here with him.” Kham didn’t see where this was leading.

“There is one weapon we have left. A weapon the invaders will not expect from us.”

“Laci—” Valik gave her a warning frown.

She held up her hands to silence him. “It’s the only choice, Valik. Without her, we’re doomed, and you know it. This way, we at least have a chance.” Turning back to Khamsin, Galacia said, “What do you know about the Book of Riddles?”

Khamsin frowned. What was Galacia up to? “I know that it’s reputed to contain clues to the location of Roland’s sword. It’s what my brother was after when he was here in Wintercraig.”

“Among other things,” Valik confirmed in a flat voice.

Galacia grimaced at him. “Yes, he took the Book. And it does contain clues leading to the location of Roland’s sword. Your brother has spent the last three years deciphering and following those clues.”

Kham’s mouth went dry. If Falcon had been on the trail of the sword, and now he had amassed an army to attack Wintercraig and reclaim Summerlea . . .

“Falcon has found the sword?” That was the only thing that made sense. He was bringing his army to Wintercraig because he had the sword and was planning to use it to wrest control of Summerlea back from Wynter.

“No, he hasn’t. Not yet. The location in the Book of Riddles does exist, but the sword was moved from there nine hundred years ago.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because for nine hundred years, the High Priestesses of Wyrn have kept the new location of the sword a secret.”

“You’re saying you know where the Sword of Roland is?”

“Yes.” Galacia took a deep breath, then admitted, “Roland’s sword is in the Temple of Wyrn, at the bottom of the Ice Heart.”

Khamsin gaped at her. “If that’s true, and the priestesses have been keeping the secret for nine hundred years, then why are you telling me now?”

“Because we need you to get it,” Valik said.

Waking was a fight, a slow, clumsy slog through layers of thick, clinging mud. Wynter was exhausted beyond all comprehension, and pain throbbed from every quadrant of his body. He wanted to sink back into the soft, comforting blackness of sleep, but some inexplicable sense of disquiet forced him to rouse.

His eyelids were heavy as lead. Each fluttering attempt to open them sapped his strength, and the darkness called him back with a siren’s song.
Rest, Wyn. Sleep. Let it go. Let it all go.

But beneath that hypnotic, oh-so-tempting whisper, a restless tension gathered in his limbs. It crawled through him like a thousand stinging ants.

With a groan, he forced his eyes open.

Blackness greeted him.

At first, he thought it must be night, moonless and lampless. But he could smell burning wood and feel the warmth of a fire whispering across his skin. Fire meant light. Why could he not see it?

Was he blind? Had they taken his eyes to stop him from using his Gaze?

He shook his head in an involuntary denial. Please, Wyrn, not that. Without his eyes, he had no Ice Gaze, and no ability to see his foes in order to fight them. He’d be defenseless as a babe.

But then he realized that, as he shook his head, the blackness in his field of vision lightened and darkened. He became aware of the rub of cloth, tugging at his hair and skin each time his head shifted.

Something was tied around his head, over his eyes.

He reached for it, fingers fumbling at the folds of cloth to pull them away.

Hands grabbed his. “Calm, Wyn. Be calm. All is well.”

The voice sounded familiar. A woman. He quit fighting to reach the bandage covering his eyes and turned his hand to grab hers. Smooth fingers. Cool, long. Slender wrist.

Something missing. Something important. Not her. Wasn’t her.

Where was she?

The sense of urgency was a hammer now. Pounding. He struggled to sit up.

“I need some help here!”

Heavy footsteps pounded across a hard surface as men came running. Metal clanked. Chain rattled. Soldiers. Armored soldiers. The smell of dirt, sweat, men. More hands, much larger and stronger, grabbed his shoulders, arms, and legs, holding him down. Pinning him.

He began to fight in earnest. His body arched, his muscles strained.

“Tildy! Get in here!”

More footsteps. These lighter. Leather soles, not boots. Less weight. Shorter stride. A woman.

Was this one her?

The scent of lemon verbena filled his nostrils. Fear and fury swept through him in equal measure.

Not her! Where was she?

What had they done to her?

He roared. Despite the many hands holding him down, his body came up off the table. One arm broke free. He swung. His arm plowed into something hard and sent it flying.

Crash!
A raucous clang of metal, breaking glass, many things falling.

More running footsteps. More hands grabbed his free, swinging arm and pinned it back down.

“Why is he waking? You said he wouldn’t wake?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. I dosed him enough to keep ten men down.”

“Well, dose him again! Quickly!”

He fought, writhing, roaring. The table beneath him tipped and scooted back and forth.

“Hold him still, damn it! Grab his head!”

Something wet and bitter poured into his mouth. He spat it out and tried to wrench his head free.

“Wyn! Stop it! We’re trying to help you. Please, Wyn. Please. You’re going to hurt yourself.” The familiar voice sounded sad, pleading, worried.

But she was not
her.

She was one of the ones trying to keep him from her.

He redoubled his efforts to free himself, fighting all the hands holding him down. Pain ripped through him and set his belly on fire.

Where was she? Why wasn’t she here?

Had she left him?

A wave of ice swept over the fire, numbing the pain. He went still as stone.

Was that it? She had left him? Abandoned him?

Betrayed him?

“Tildy! Hurry!”

Hands grabbed his face. Pinched shut his nose. Pried open his jaw. More bitter liquid poured in.

He tried to spit that out, too, but now the hands were holding his jaw closed.

He choked, sputtered, started to fight again. The liquid ran down his throat.

Traitors! He would kill them. He would kill them all.

His limbs went heavy as stone. His struggles grew weaker. He couldn’t fight. His thoughts grew hazy. But not even the drug that sapped his strength and dragged him back down into the darkness could numb the growing ache in his heart.

Where was she? Why had she left him?

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

When Khamsin and her escort passed through the village of Konundal, they found it deserted. Not a soul to be found and
garm
tracks crisscrossing the snow and slushy streets. Now Gildenheim lay before them. The outer gates were open, there were no men on the wall. Blood and the scattered remains of bodies were strewn across the road.

Ungar held out a hand, waving his men into silence and urging them all to crouch. To a man, the Guardsmen drew their bows and nocked an arrow in place, ready to draw and fire.

“Stay here, Your Grace,” Ungar whispered.

“But—”

“Stay! Sven, you, Karl, Leif, and Jan stay with the queen.”

Kham glowered but stayed hunkered down, off to one side of the road, while Ungar and the remaining eight of his Guard crept towards the bloody scene outside Gildenheim’s gates. Clearly, the
garm
she and Wynter had killed weren’t the only ones that had come down from the Craig. She counted at least three
garm
corpses, arrows prickling their hides like porcupine quills, and three times as many dead Winterfolk lying alongside them, some torn to shreds, others burned and bristling with almost as many arrows as the
garm.