The Winter King

CHAPTER 14

The Mercy of the Mountains

Rays of sunlight fell over Khamsin’s face, bringing warmth and the familiar, energizing tingle of power sparking in her veins. Lost in hazy, pleasant dreams of summer and her brother Falcon sneaking up into the Sky Garden to play Swords and Warriors with her, she tried to resist consciousness, but the dreams faded despite her strongest efforts to cling to them.

She stretched, then hissed as a dozen tiny needles of pain stabbed her abdomen in response. She opened her eyes, blinked at the silvery blue satin canopy overhead, and sat up.

She was in her room in Gildenheim. She sensed the sun’s position high in the sky. Her brow creased in a frown. It was midday, and she was still abed?

A whisper of fabric and a cool wind made her turn towards the bedroom door. Lady Galacia Frey entered.

“Ah, you’ve finally awakened. Good. How do you feel?”

Kham scowled. Feel?

“You lost quite a bit of blood. Between that and the restorative herbs I gave you, you may still feel a little . . . disoriented.”

Memories were coming back. Terrible cramping pain. Bright red blood, so much of it the air filled with a sweet, metallic stench. Her own hoarse screams as she writhed in agony, feeling as though her body were ripping apart from the inside out.

“You are a very lucky woman, Summerlander. If Wynter hadn’t acted so quickly to get you back to the palace and had the foresight to have me waiting when you arrived—and if your own powers hadn’t fought so hard to heal you—you would not be alive.”

“What happened?”

Lady Frey gave a small, elegant shrug. “You were poisoned. One of the servingwomen in the tavern in town admitted to putting a Wintercraig emetic called Lady’s Blush in your food. She lost her husband, father, and three brothers in the war. Grief turned to madness when she heard you claiming Summerlea suffered more greatly in the war than Wintercraig.”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Lady’s Blush isn’t normally lethal. She claims she only meant to make you sick, but she must have been far more heavy-handed with the herb than she admits. One of the side effects is a raised heartbeat and blood that flows much more rapidly through the veins, both of which give the ladies who consume it a blush in their cheeks—hence the name. When the orphan boy kicked you, he must have ruptured a vessel in your womb, and with the Lady’s Blush in your system, you began to hemorrhage. If Wynter hadn’t used the Ice Gaze to freeze your blood and slow down your heart rate, you would have bled to death before I could determine the cause of your illness and administer an antidote.”

“Where is Wynter now?”

Lady Frey turned to a small bedside table on which rested several stoppered flagons. “Attending important matters of state.” She uncorked a silvery blue bottle and poured a thin stream of liquid into a crystal glass, then added chartreuse liquid from a small green vial and a powder from a third, capped pot. She stirred the concoction with a long, thin silver wand and turned to offer it to Khamsin. “Here. Drink this. It’s a restorative that will help you regain your strength. Drink,” she added again when Khamsin hesitated. A smile flirted on Lady Frey’s smooth, pale lips. “I promise, it’s not poison.”

Kham took the glass and sniffed cautiously at its contents. It smelled of verbena and something she didn’t recognize. Deciding that if Lady Frey had wished her ill, Kham would be dead already, she tilted the glass to her lips and drank. The liquid had the slightly thickened consistency of warmed honey and a sharp aftertaste that the lemony verbena couldn’t hide. She made a face and handed the glass back to Lady Frey.

“Perhaps not poison, but I think I’ll just have broth or borgan the next time.”

The priestess gave a small laugh. “Wynter is not fond of my potions either. If it can’t be killed and stewed or roasted, he wants nothing of it.”

“Sounds good to me.” She sat up and threw back the covers. A rush of dizziness made her sway, but she fought it off.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Kham glanced at the priestess in surprise. “I’m awake. I’m getting up.”

“Absolutely not. I forbid it. You very nearly bled to death. You’re still bleeding, in fact, and probably will be for another week or two until your womb heals. Your body hasn’t had any substantial nourishment in two days—”

“Two days!” Kham exclaimed.

Lady Frey grimaced impatiently but explained, “It was vital that you stayed as motionless as possible while we tried to stop the hemorrhaging, so I added a sedative to the Lady’s Blush antidote. You’re only awake now because the worst of the bleeding has passed and because I didn’t dare keep you without food any longer. You stay where you are. You’re not leaving that bed for at least another day.” She turned her head and barked over her shoulder, “Boy!”

A small white-blond head poked through the doorway.

“Has the queen’s maid returned from the kitchens?”

“No, ma’am. Not yet.”

Kham stared at the child. There was something familiar about him. He cast a shy, hesitant glance in her direction, and his silvery blue eyes met hers. Recognition dawned. The boy. The little pinch-pocket from the Konundal fairgrounds. What was his name?

“Krysti?”

The boy jumped as if a ghost had popped out of the bed, and cried, “Boo!” then lurched into an awkward bow. “Your Grace.”

Someone had scrubbed him from head to toe and found him a set of spotless, well-tailored clothes to replace his previous moldy tatters. His face was small and thin, with a pointed chin, arching brows, and a dusting of silvery freckles that looked like snowflakes across the bridge of his nose. The corners of his eyes were tilted up, and the ears peeking through the thick strands of his pale, raggedly cropped hair had a slight point at their tops. If a snow fox had transformed into a boy, Kham fancied he would have looked just like Krysti.

“I am surprised to see you here,” she said.

The child shrugged and grimaced. “It’s not like I had much choice. Lord Valik brought me here for questioning the day you were—the day you got so sick.”

“But clearly he has since let you go. You are not in chains, and someone has obviously provided for you.” She gestured to his clean clothes and tidy hair.

“Once they found out about the poisoning, they let me go.”

“Yet you are still here. I’m sure you could have run away if you’d wanted to. Why didn’t you?”

“You said I owed you a year of service. The king commanded me to stay to serve it.” Krysti dropped his head and stared hard at his hands. His fingers were clenched so tight the knuckles were white. “I shouldn’t have stolen the slingbow. My parents were honest folk, and they raised me to be the same. I only took it because I was hungry. My traps haven’t been catching much, so I thought I’d have better luck with a slingbow.” He looked up, his eyes earnest. “Honest.”

“I believe you, but since it seems you are to be in my service, I must warn you. I will not tolerate thievery in future. Is that clear? You are a page to the new queen of Wintercraig. Your behavior will reflect upon me.”

The child nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Then for your first task, my young page, please find my maid Bella and tell her I wish to dress.”

The boy bowed and darted off. When he was gone, Lady Frey lifted a cool brow. “I’ve told you how close you came to death, Your Grace. I must insist you stay abed to recuperate. I will summon the king to ensure your compliance if I must.”

Khamsin smiled a challenge. “Lady Frey, there are two things about me you should know. First, I am far harder to kill than anyone gives me credit. My sire has been trying for years without success. I am awake and alive, which means I’ve already survived the grieving widow’s attempt. As long as I avoid vigorous activity, sunshine and fresh air should have me completely healed by dinnertime tomorrow.

“Second,” Kham leaned forward, and her smile faded, “no one—not my father, not my husband, not the Sun God himself—can make me do something I do not choose of my own will.”

Lady Frey’s expression did not change. “You are very young to make such a bold statement. Life has a way of throwing such challenges back in our faces.”

“What makes you think it hasn’t already done so many times over?”

To Kham’s surprise, the priestess’s cold mask cracked. She smiled. “Ah, now I understand why you have Wynter tied up in such knots. You are a Valkyr in the flesh. He probably can’t decide whether to protect you, battle you, or toss you on your back and fark you. Wyrn help him.”

Kham tried not to let the shock show on her face. She had Wynter tied up in knots? Was the woman serious?

“What an heir your child will make. Wynter chose well.” Still smiling, Lady Frey began to pack her things in a small, fur-lined case.

“He didn’t choose me at all.” Some perverse need to wipe the smile off Lady Frey’s face made her point that out. “He wanted one of my sisters and my fa—the Summer King tricked him into marrying me instead.”

“Did he?” Lady Frey chuckled and shook her head.

“You find that amusing? Wynter did not, I can assure you.”

“That is not what I find amusing—well, it is, but not in the way you mean.”

“Explain.”

“You say no one—not even the gods—could force you to accept something not of your own choosing. Wynter is no different, or do you not recognize your own qualities when you see them in another?”

“I—” She frowned. “He signed a treaty. He could not break it once it was signed, and our marriage was consummated.”

“My dear girl, Wynter Atrialan turned his back on our laws, the pleadings and threats of his council, centuries of taboo, and his own almost certain destruction to embrace the Ice Heart, Wintercraig’s most deadly magic. He used that forbidden magic to wreak three years of deadly vengeance on the whole of Summerlea for your brother’s crimes. He was prepared to wipe every Summerlander off the face of the earth. You were all already walking corpses so far as he was concerned. Do you honestly think something as flimsy as a signed piece of paper and a marriage ceremony would have stayed his hand had he not wanted you for his bride?”

The priestess gave a snort of disbelief and shook her head. “Wynter would have parted your head from your shoulders, taken all three of your sisters as concubines, slaughtered everyone else involved in the deception, and frozen the whole of Vera Sola on the spot. After ripping your father’s entrails from his still-living body and calling the snow wolves to feast upon them, of course.”

Kham’s throat felt strangely tight. She swallowed. “He wouldn’t have done that. Honor would have compelled him to keep the agreement.”

Lady Frey’s eyes filled with a mix of pity, irritation, and sympathy. “Honor would play no part in it. He swallowed the Ice Heart. He has used its power to the fullest for three whole years.” She stared at Kham’s blank face, then her own comprehension dawned. “You don’t know what that means, do you? He hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

Lady Frey closed the lid on her potions case and sat on the edge of Khamsin’s bed. “The Ice Heart is a dreadful power. Those who embrace it freeze from the inside out. Once in its grip, compassion and honor are mere things of memory, easily forgotten, just as easily foresworn. Wynter’s heart—his humanity—is freezing. He’s dying. As I told him, I’m surprised he’s lasted as long as he has. A weaker man would have succumbed long ago.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I suppose Valik deserves much of the credit. Wyn loves him like a brother.”

Kham put her hands to her head, framing her eyes and pressing her fingers hard against her temples to block out peripheral distractions and focus on what the priestess was saying. “Wynter is dying, you say. His humanity is freezing. But how has Valik been able to help him?”

“Love, child. That’s what it’s all about. Wyn is losing the capacity to love—to feel anything. And when all warm emotion is gone, the man we know as Wynter will cease to be. A monster of unimaginable power will inhabit his body—a dark god who was once a man, Rorjak, the Ice King.”

“Wyrn’s husband? The one Thorgyll slew with his spears?”

“Yes.”

Khamsin slumped back against the pillows. She’d read the legend of Thorgyll and his mighty ice spears. “Why are you telling me this? I’m an heir to the Summer Throne? Aren’t you afraid I’ll use this knowledge to destroy Wintercraig?”

Lady Frey laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Only a madman utterly lost to reason could even contemplate such a thing.” She leaned forward, her eyes bleak. “Listen to me, Summerlander, for this is the direst of warnings. If the Ice King is born, there will be no victory for any human ever again. The vengeance Wynter wreaked upon your land is nothing compared to what Rorjak will do. He will cast the entire world into endless winter. Your family’s powers, which are derived from the sun, will fade. The Frost Giants and their monstrous wolves, the garm, will reign at Rorjak’s side, and all humankind will be nothing but meat for their table. It is the day the Frost Giants live for: Carnak, the end of the world.”

Even though the poisons had long since been purged from her body, Kham’s stomach gave a queasy lurch. “If this magic is dreadful, what on earth are you doing with it? Why would you keep it unguarded for any man to use?”

“Unguarded? The Ice Heart is Wintercraig’s most carefully hidden and lethally defended treasure. It is the essence of the god-king Rorjak, the mortal-born man whom Wyrn loved so much, she gave him immortality. Because of her gift, even though his body could be destroyed, his godly essence never could. So after slaying him with Wyrn’s spears, Thorgyll gathered that essence and hid it away in a place he thought would be safe. And for thousands of years, it has been. Many have tried to embrace the Ice Heart, but except for a rare few, they died before ever reaching the place of its confinement. Wynter is one of the few. I should have known he would be. He is, after all, a legend in his own right, the man who at the age of sixteen slew a Frost Giant single-handedly.”

“If the Ice Heart is consuming him, how do we stop it?”

“Bear him a child. It was love for his brother—grief over his death—that drove Wynter down this path. Love for his child is the thing he hopes will save him.”

“Love can melt the Ice Heart?”

“It’s the only thing that can.”

“That’s why he said if I didn’t bear him a child within the year, he’d slay me and take one of my sisters to wife.”

The priestess’s eyebrows shot up. “He said he’d slay you if you didn’t give him a child?”

“Several times. Only he tried to pretty it up with a Wintercraig euphemism, saying he’d send me to face the mercy of the mountains.”

Lady Frey scowled and rolled her eyes skyward. “Idiot men. Wyrn save me from them all.” She leaned forward, her piercing eyes intent. “Listen to me, Khamsin. Wynter doesn’t have a year left. The Ice Heart’s grip is very strong, and if he can’t break free of it, he will not long survive. As to the mercy of the mountains, I suspect he has deliberately misled you as to what it truly means. No doubt, he thought fear was the best way to force your compliance because he is a great buffoon of a man who does not understand women with the hearts of warriors any more than he understands women with the hearts of snakes.” Her lips drew back, baring her teeth in what was a very close imitation of a wolf’s snarl.

Despite her initial dislike of Lady Frey, with her chilly aloofness and ice-dagger eyes, Khamsin now realized she could like this woman very much indeed.

The priestess’s snarl faded, and she eyed Khamsin in silent consideration. “Perhaps you should get out of bed today after all,” she finally said. “I know you’ll be doing so anyways as soon as I leave the room, and this way at least I can keep an eye on you for another few hours.” She rose to her feet and, without turning her head, called out, “Come in, Summerlander. See that your mistress eats as much as she can, then help her dress. Bundle her warmly. Krysti, go to the stables and tell Bron to prepare a litter.” To Khamsin, she added, “And you will promise me to stay in the litter and to tell me the instant you feel the least bit unwell. Agree now, or this will not happen.”

“Agreed.” The word popped out before she even thought about it. She blinked and gave a wry laugh. “What did I just agree to? Where are you taking me?”

Lady Frey drew herself up to her full height, looking icy, beautiful and remotely regal. “To the slopes of Mount Gerd, to witness the mercy of the mountains.”

With both Valik and Wynter gone, there was no one to gainsay Lady Frey. Lord Barsul tried, but he withered quickly beneath the priestess’s icy glare. Within the hour, the small party rode out: six armed guards, Lady Frey riding a shining white beauty of a horse, Krysti bundled thickly and riding a shaggy tan mountain pony, and Khamsin borne in a drape-covered litter suspended between two large draft horses.

The litter wasn’t quite as stomach-churning a ride as the carriage had been, and Khamsin alleviated her travel sickness by keeping the curtains drawn back. The brisk, cold air on her face and being able to see where they were going staved off the worst of the sickness.

The journey to Mount Gerd was a two-hour, six-mile trek across rough mountain terrain that ended with a nerve-racking traversal of a crumbling stone bridge stretched over a deep gorge between mountains. On the far side of the bridge, perhaps a half mile from the ice-capped summit, a small round lodge had been built into the mountain. Smoke curled from lodge’s chimney, and as they approached, two guards in leather armor emerged to greet them.

“Where are they?” Lady Frey asked. “And when?”

“Second elevation, about an hour ago,” came the cryptic reply.

“My thanks.” The priestess turned her horse left towards a rocky path that curved around the mountain face. The rest of the party followed in single file.

The road turned down, and the air grew slightly warmer as they descended several hundred feet. Stark, snow- and lichen-covered rocks gave way to carpets of ground-hugging juniper. The rocky path split in two. One fork headed down towards the lower elevations, but they did not turn. Instead, they leveled out, traveling laterally across the mountain’s face. A few minutes later, the horses slowed, then came to a halt. Khamsin stuck out her head to see what was going on, but all she could see was the back end of her guards’ horses. The sound of approaching riders echoed against the stony mountainside. She knew who it was even before she saw Hodri’s shining whiteness and Wynter’s grim face and blazing eyes. Just the sight of him sent a warm, electric tingle shivering through her blood.

He didn’t have the same reaction to her. He took one look at her, and snapped, “Draw the curtains, woman! And pull those furs around you before you catch your death!” He whirled his horse around. “Damn it, Laci! What in Wyrn’s name are you thinking? Two days ago, she lay near death, and today you cart her through the mountaintops? Are you mad, or just trying to finish the job that idiot servingwoman started?”

Laci? Kham poked her head back out through the litter curtains and watched Wynter confront Lady Frey. He did not seem the least bit afraid of her as he bellowed insults at her for her “dim-witted bit of insanity” for bringing Khamsin to Mount Gerd.

Lady Frey seemed neither surprised nor impressed by his rage. “I brought her to witness the mercy of the mountains!” she snapped back. “As she was the injured party, it’s more than her right, and you know it. Besides, some fool has left her with the impression that the mercy of the mountains is a sentence of certain death—and told her that is her fate if she doesn’t bear your child in a year’s time!”

For a moment Wynter looked nonplussed—and decidedly guilty—but then his jaw clenched tight, and his teeth bared in a snarl. “She drew her own conclusions. I told no lies.”

“Idiot! Lunkhead! Bah! I should leave you to your fate. If I liked you even slightly less, that’s exactly what I’d do.” The priestess glared, her usual air of icy remoteness completely shredded.

Kham smiled. Ooh, she could easily like Lady Frey.

“Besides,” the priestess continued, “she was awake. If I’d left her on her own, she’d be running around the palace. This way, I’ve successfully managed to keep her lying down in that litter for several hours.”

Kham’s smile turned into a frown. Then again, maybe not so easily. She didn’t like being manipulated.

Wynter turned his head and caught Kham looking at him. His nostrils flared. “Fine,” he snapped. “Show her and be done with it. But then it’s straight back to Gildenheim, and she stays in bed the rest of the night and tomorrow with no complaints.”

“Agreed,” Lady Frey answered before Kham could do more than open her mouth. “Even if I have to drug her again.” She cast back a look of such icy promise that Kham scowled and sank back against the litter cushions.

Wynter and his riders turned their mounts around and headed back the way they’d come. The rest of them followed. Several minutes later, the path widened to a small plateau carved into the side of the mountain. Here, the snow had been trampled down.

The horses bearing the litter halted. Wynter pushed aside the curtains and lifted her out, but he did not set her down. “You shouldn’t be walking,” he growled when she protested. “You shouldn’t be here at all, so be silent or I’ll stuff you back in that litter and send the horses racing home to Gildenheim.”

She scowled her disapproval of his high-handed ways, then tried not to be too obvious when a brisk gust of wind made her snuggle closer to him for protection. Khamsin could see both hoofprints and boot prints all about. On the far side of the plateau, several large iron rings had been bolted into the mountainside. A pile of chain and two empty manacles lay in the snow near the center rings.

The servingwoman was nowhere to be seen.

“There’s no one here,” Khamsin said.

Wynter grunted. “The mountains have been merciful.”

She glared and thumped his steel breastplate. “Enough of this cryptic ‘mercy’ nonsense. Speak plainly. What happened to the woman from the tavern? Where did she go? Is she dead? Did you even bring her here at all?”

His lips compressed. He strode towards the far side of the plateau. As they neared, Khamsin could see another path leading down the mountain. Fresh footprints had flattened the snow. Wynter pointed down below, where a group of some half dozen bundled people were descending on horseback. “She is there.”

Khamsin squinted at the party. “Alive?”

“Against my better judgment.” Grim dissatisfaction rumbled in his voice. “I would have cleaved her in two when they first brought her to the palace and told me what she’d done, but Laci, Valik, and Barsul stopped me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Winterfolk are the mercy of the mountains. We live in a harsh world, where our survival often depends on one another. There is no room in the clans for people who cannot be trusted, but we are not brutes or barbarians. The woman admitted to putting a purgative in your food, but, even Laci agreed that if she’d truly meant to kill you, there are dozens of more effective poisons she could have used to ensure your death. Those people down there are the folk from Konundal who were willing to climb the mountain and offer her mercy. She will be taken away from this province. If she ever returns, or commits any other serious crime, she will be taken to the glaciers and left there to die.”

Khamsin watched the party below make its way slowly down the mountainside. “And if she had killed me—even accidentally?”

Wynter’s jaw hardened. “Then no amount of mercy could have saved her. You are my wife, under my protection. Harm to you is harm to me.”

“And if I do not bear the child you require? You would really chain me to this mountain and leave me to face my death?”

“I am the King of Wintercraig and you are my wife. I cannot take another woman to wife so long as you live. The mercy of the mountains is a symbolic death. Just as that woman is now dead to us, so, too, would you be.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Symbolically or truly? Do you really think your countrymen would climb the mountain to offer me, the daughter of the Summer King, mercy?”

He held her gaze, his own unwavering. “That, Khamsin, depends entirely upon you. Give us reason to believe you are worthy of mercy, and I have no doubt you will find it.”