The Winter King

CHAPTER 25

Roland’s Heir

“If you move him, he will die. Can’t you see that?” Tildavera Greenleaf hissed.

Standing in the far corner of the room, and talking in heated whispers, Khamsin’s old nurse, Valik, and Laci all thought Wynter was asleep and that they were far enough away that he couldn’t overhear them. They were wrong on both counts. Tildavera’s latest potion might have kept him unconscious if he’d actually drunk it instead of spitting it in the cloth beneath his pillow, but the little bit he’d actually had to swallow had only left him pleasantly sleepy. And an acute sense of smell wasn’t the only advantage of his clan-gift. Sharpened eyesight and improved hearing made it easy to read their lips and pick up the gist of their heated exchange, even while pretending to be asleep.

Tildavera planted her hands on her hips and glared up at Valik and Galacia Frey. “It’s only a bit of thread holding his insides inside him. And only my potions keeping him sleeping peacefully instead of writhing about and screaming in pain.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Valik said. “You heard him. The Ice King’s army is headed our way. We can’t stay here. He can’t stay here.”

“If he doesn’t stay here, he won’t last the journey. You’ll kill him!”

“I’m not so easy to kill.” Wyn had tired of eavesdropping and pretending to sleep. Let them discuss their options openly. He opened his eyes and propped himself up on one arm. Pain knifed through his abdomen as the movement tugged at his wound, but he ignored it. “I’m like my wife, in that regard, for many have tried and failed. Who knows? Maybe extraordinary survivability is one of the perks of possessing a weathergift.”

The aged Summerlea nurse pushed past Valik and Laci and stalked over to his sickbed. “You are supposed to be sleeping.” Her face scrunched up in an expression of severe disapproval. She didn’t care that he was king. She chided him like she might any misbehaving schoolboy.

He almost smiled. It was clear Tildavera Greenleaf was accustomed to being in charge, and equally accustomed to speaking her mind and having her orders obeyed. But this was one order he had no intention of heeding.

“I’ve slept long enough. Khamsin told me you were the best healer in all of Mystral, and it’s clear she wasn’t exaggerating. You did a fine job bringing me back from the brink of death. I’m sure you can keep me clinging to life a while longer.”

The old woman’s lips pursed. “My patients do not ‘cling to life,’ ” she snapped. “I pride myself on their making a full and miraculous recovery. But carting them all about the countryside with their insides hanging out is not at all conducive to that outcome!”

“Did Khamsin always do as you told her?”

Tildy scowled and switched tactics. “You want to bring Khamsin into this? Fine. So, tell me, Wynter of the Craig, if you sicken and die from that wound, where will that leave her? Alone and undefended against both the Ice King’s army and the invaders from Calberna and Summerlea. And if you think that father of hers will lift a finger to ensure her safety—”

“Maybe we don’t have to move Wynter just yet,” Laci interrupted, as Wynter’s expression darkened. “Wyn, you say the Ice King’s army knows where you are, and they’re coming for you, right?”

Wyn nodded.

“Then staying here buys us time. If you’re what they want, they won’t go a hundred miles out of their way to attack Gildenheim. Ungar sounded the Valkyr’s horn. He’s assembling the army. If we stay here, we buy him time and keep the Ice King’s army away from Gildenheim—and Khamsin.”

Wynter didn’t like Laci’s logic—mostly because he didn’t like the idea of staying here, doing nothing, when enemies were on the move—but he couldn’t refute it. The last thing he wanted to do was draw the Ice King’s army towards Khamsin. “One more day.”

“Three,” Tildy countered.

He glowered at her. “That’s not an option. Two at the most. Then, whether it kills me or not, we move out.”

Once more clad in her own clothes, with the entrance to Wyrn’s secret ice palace secured and Blazing safely sheathed in the scabbard she had retrieved from a hidden compartment in Laci’s room, Kham picked up Thorgyll’s spear and headed for the public altar room to rejoin the White Guard.

The sight of the young boy standing among them brought her up short.

“Krysti! What are you doing here? I thought you were helping out with the little ones.”

Her young companion-in-mischief flashed his fearless, gamin grin. “You didn’t really expect me to stay there when I found out you’d come back. What’s that you’ve got there?” His too-observant gaze latched onto the spear in her hand. “That’s one of Thorgyll’s spears, isn’t it?” He frowned. “I thought only Lady Frey and her priestesses were allowed to touch those.”

Before she could answer, his gaze zeroed in on the jeweled scabbard at her side and the sword with the enormous diamond shining brightly in its hilt.

“Winter’s Frost!” Krysti swore. “That’s it, isn’t it? That legendary sword you told me about—Roland’s sword, right? The one you said went missing after his death.”

“I—yes.” The boy was too observant by half. But she trusted him as she trusted few people. “It’s Roland’s sword. Made for him by the god Helos, himself.”

“How did you find it?”

“It’s a long story, and I need to get back to the king.” She handed the ice spear to Sven. “Here, take this. If we run into trouble, I’ll be more help with the sword than that spear.”

A look of reverent awe passed over Sven’s face as he curled his fist around Thorgyll’s famed spear. “I will guard it with my life, my queen.”

“And you”—she turned to Krysti—“I need you to go back to Gildenheim and wait for me there.”

“What? No! I’m coming with you.”

“Not this time. I need you here, where I know you’re safe.” Whether the Ice King truly had returned or whether she was simply going to confront her brother’s army and send them packing, things were about to get very dangerous. Too dangerous for a young boy, no matter how brave he was. “Promise me.”

He scowled and kicked at the temple’s stone floor. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, knowing how hard it was to be left behind. Turning to the others, she said, “Let’s go.” As they headed towards the mouth of the cave, Kham murmured to Ungar, “Both priestesses are dead, and there was an ice thrall waiting for me when I went to get the sword. It was Elka Villani. That means my brother is probably somewhere near. Tell the men to be alert.”

Ungar’s square jaw flexed. “Understood, my queen.”

“There’s more. Before she died, Elka told me Reika drank the Ice Heart. She said Reika had ‘unleashed him.’ I think she was talking about Rorjak.”

“What?” Initial shock gave way to a string of blistering curses. “What was she thinking?”

As they neared the cave mouth, Khamsin could feel energy throbbing like a heartbeat in the brilliant diamond at Blazing’s hilt. The Rose on her wrist warmed and pulsed with the same rhythm. The sky was still dark, but the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten. The sun would soon be rising.

A strong wind blew from the south, chill enough that both guards standing by the cave entrance had pulled down their visors to protect their faces from the bitter cold.

“Karl, Geri, time to go, lads,” Ungar said.

Something whistled past Kham’s ear. At her side, Sven grunted. Still clutching Thorgyll’s spear, he toppled like a felled tree. Khamsin’s mind didn’t fully process what had happened until Ungar gave a gurgling cry and clutched at the arrow protruding from his throat. Two more White Guard crumpled in rapid succession, leaving only the two by the cave mouth.

“Krysti! Get down!” She spun towards him, her first instinct to protect him, only to stop short. One of the remaining two White Guards was pulling his bloody sword from the back of one of Ungar’s fallen men. The other held a sword to Krysti’s throat.

“What are you doing? Release Krysti at once!” Kham commanded. She reached for Blazing, half drawing the blade from her belt before a familiar voice called out.

“Storm, don’t! They’re on our side.”

“Falcon?” She pivoted halfway back around as her brother and two white-cloaked Summerlanders emerged from behind a tumble of rocks to her right. “What are you doing here? And what do you mean they’re on our side?” She glanced back over her shoulder towards the mouth of the cave. The White Guard holding Krysti lifted his ram’s head visor to reveal dark Summerlander skin and cold black eyes.

Movement higher up the hill betrayed the presence of a white-cloaked archer. She only saw the one, but there had to be others. Ungar, Sven, and the other two men had gone down in a matter of seconds. That meant her brother had at least four archers hidden amongst the rocks and snow.

Her fingers tightened on Blazing’s grip. Power pulsed against her palm. Playing for time while she evaluated her options, she turned back to her brother. “Falcon, why are you here? Didn’t you get my message? I told you not to come.”

Her brother, the hero she’d idolized all her life, shook his head, and said, “Of course I came. You’re my sister, and I love you. I wasn’t about to let Wynter Atrialan stake you out on some glacier to die.”

He spoke with such absolute sincerity that Kham’s heart stuttered, and for an instant, she truly believed he’d come because he loved her and had to save her. She wanted to believe him, just as she’d wanted to believe the best of him all her life.

But she didn’t.

“If you came to save me, Falcon, then why are you here instead of at the camp where your bird found Tildy and me?”

“I know what that husband of yours can do, and I know better than to face him in battle without a weapon capable of defeating him. That’s it, isn’t it? Roland’s sword.”

She glanced down at the gleaming sword at her waist. Her fingers tightened on the grip. “No,” she lied. “It’s a replica Wynter had made for me because he knows how much I adore the legends of Roland.”

“Oh, Storm, you never were a good liar.” Falcon shook his head in reproof. “So, it’s really real, and you found it. But how did you know where to look? Was it in the Ice Heart?”

She clamped her lips shut and tried to keep her expression blank, but Falcon had always been able to read her too well.

“So that’s true, too, is it? The source of the Winter King’s deadliest magic lies inside the Temple of Wyrn?” He arched a brow, and said, “I don’t think it’s exactly fair that they’ve been hoarding all this power for so long, do you? Maybe I should pay a little visit to the Ice Heart before I meet your husband in battle.”

Her eyes narrowed and she thought of Ungar, Sven, and the people of Hillje, murdered so her brother could claim Roland’s sword. “Maybe you should. Just go inside and take the path to the left of the altar.”

He laughed without humor. “You’ve changed, little sister. Three years ago, you would never have considered sending me to my death. Oh, yes,” he said when she grimaced, “Elka warned me about the dangers guarding the temple’s secrets.”

“Three years ago, I thought you were a hero. I thought you were brave and honorable, a Prince of Summerlea worthy of being Roland’s Heir. But heroes don’t run around murdering innocent people to get what they want, like my men here, and the people of Hillje, and fifteen-year-old boys.”

“Enough.” All hint of brotherly affection evaporated from Falcon’s expression, leaving a cold, hard mask. He extended his hand and flexed his fingers in curt command. “Give me the sword, Storm.”

“No.” She yanked Blazing free of its sheath and held it before her. The white diamond in the hilt sparkled with light. “You’ll get it over my dead body and no other way. I’m taking this sword to Wynter.”

Her brother sighed. “You never could do things the easy way.” His eyes flicked to a spot behind her, and he gave a sharp nod.

She spun, power crackling up her arm as Roland’s sword blazed to life, but the second of the imposter White Guards had crept too near while Falcon and she were talking. He smashed the butt of his sword into her temple. Stars exploded across her vision, then blackness descended.

Khamsin woke with a splitting headache and pain radiating from every part of her body. It was dark, and she was lying on her side beside a fire. Some sort of heavy, hooded cloak was draped around her. She could see the stars overhead, but she couldn’t feel her connection to the sun. She groaned and tried to sit up, but her hands were tied behind her back, and her feet were bound. Her brother, Falcon, was sitting a few feet away on a log by the fire, holding Roland’s sword.

He turned his head in her direction. “You’re awake. That’s good. I was beginning to think Verge had killed you.”

“He nearly did,” she muttered. She struggled unsuccessfully to sit up, then flopped back down with a groan as her head threatened to split in two. “Did he have to hit me so hard?”

The corner of Falcon’s mouth curled up in a familiar, wry smile. He came over and pulled her into a sitting position. “To be fair, you were threatening us with a weapon capable of unparalleled destruction. Which is one of the reasons you’re tied up and wearing that lead cape.”

The flash of affectionate warmth roused by his wry grin winked out. He’d brought a cape lined with lead to cut off her connection to the sun. He’d come to Wintercraig prepared to stifle her weathergifts and render her helpless. So much for his claims of wanting to rescue her.

Falcon returned to his seat and resumed his examination of Roland’s sword. “It looks just like all the old pictures, doesn’t it? I can’t believe it’s really real.”

Once upon a time, she would have shared his awed reverence. No longer. Now he was the enemy, and he’d just stolen a weapon so powerful it could obliterate every living creature in Wintercraig. And he was standing between her and her chance to save Wynter before it was too late.

“Yes, it’s real,” she said. “What are you planning to do with it?”

Falcon looked up. “Take back what’s mine, of course.” He caressed the clear white diamond in Blazing’s hilt, slid the blade back in its sheath. “I know you think the worst of me, Storm, but I’m not a bad man. I did what I had to do to restore glory to Summerlea.”

Khamsin gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Summerlea lies frozen beneath a blanket of snow, its armies slaughtered, its people conquered. Where, exactly, is the glory in that? You think all the children orphaned by the war are singing your praises?”

“Summerlea will rise again. Summerlea will be great once more. The world will tremble at our name, as they did for millennia. This sword ensures that.” He patted Blazing’s jeweled hilt.

“Do you even hear yourself, Falcon? Is that what you think Roland’s sword is for? To make the world tremble in fear?”

“Don’t be simple, Storm. To be strong, a king needs to be feared. Nobility is a fine ideal, but real life demands something a bit more . . . practical.”

“That’s the answer of a weak man, not a strong king.”

“So says the woman married to the man who swallowed the essence of a god,” he shot back.

Kham looked away. Love and grief had driven Wynter to make a terrible choice, it was true. But at his core, Wynter was kind. His people loved and respected him. Yes, he could be harsh when the situation warranted, but that harshness was tempered with a determination to do what was right rather than what was most expedient or most profitable. He was a fair man and an excellent king, unswerving in his dedication to the safety and security of Wintercraig and its people. Kham had never loved or respected a man more. Not even Falcon.

“Is there any part of the brother I loved that was real?” she asked bitterly. “Have you ever truly cared about anything or anyone more than your own ambition? What about Elka. You haven’t even asked what happened to her. Was she just a means to an end like everyone else in your life?”

Falcon’s jaw hardened. “Elka betrayed me. She and her sister went to retrieve Roland’s sword, but they never came back.”

“Elka didn’t betray you. Reika drank the Ice Heart, then she turned Elka into an ice thrall and left her there to kill anyone who came near the Ice Heart or Roland’s sword.”

“You’re lying.” But he looked uncertain as he scanned her face.

“No, I’m not. The Elka ice thrall tried to kill me, but I retrieved the sword and killed her instead. She gave me her pendant before she died. If you or your men didn’t take it from me, it’s still around my neck. Her last words were for you. She wanted me to tell you that she loved you.”

He got up and crossed over to where she sat. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned, then untied her cape and pushed it aside to bare her throat. The pendant was still there. He pulled it free and regarded it with an inscrutable look. “When she didn’t come to the rendezvous point, I thought she had betrayed me and taken the sword for herself. I was coming to find her when I saw you and your men head into the Temple.” He slid the pendant into his pocket and retied Kham’s cape. “I’m glad I was wrong about that.”

“That’s it? How can you be so cold, so devoid of feeling?”

He gave her a look then, a bit wild-eyed, like an animal in pain. “Don’t push me, Storm,” he warned, and she thought maybe, just maybe, her brother really had loved his Winterlady. That gave her a measure of hope. Maybe she could still reach him, talk sense into him before it was too late.

“Falcon, listen to me. Something bad is happening. Something far worse than another war between Summerlea and Wintercraig. That’s why you’ve got to let me take the sword to Wynter.”

“Don’t worry, Storm. I fully intend to deliver this sword to your husband myself”—he patted the golden hilt at his side—“point first and straight through the heart.”

“I’m serious, Falcon. This isn’t some joke! Didn’t Elka ever tell you about Rorjak the Ice King? And Carnak, the end of the world?”

He rolled his eyes. “Those are just fables, Storm. Stories told to frighten children and keep the worshippers of Wyrn paying their tithes to the priestesses.”

“No they aren’t! Carnak is happening right now. The garm—terrible monsters from the remote reaches of the Craig—have been attacking villages. That’s one of the first signs of Rorjak’s return.”

“Is that what all this is about?” He laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Storm, Storm, my gullible little sister. The garm didn’t attack those villages because the world is going to end. They attacked because my men baited a trail to lead them there.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Technically, it was Elka’s sister’s idea. We needed the temple emptied so Elka could get the sword, and she said the best way to do that was to force your husband to call a Great Hunt.”

“Reika suggested luring the garm down to attack the villages?” Kham’s hands curled into fists. That evil bitch had a lot to answer for.

“We met at her father’s estate over a month ago. She was really quite helpful. Doesn’t like you much, though, I have to say.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she muttered. Of course, Reika had helped Falcon. Reika wanted power. When it was clear she was never going to get it through Wynter, she’d found another way. And Falcon was no better. He’d yet again knowingly set innocent men, women, and children up to die as a distraction so he could pursue Roland’s sword.

“Have you always been this heartless, and I just blinded myself to it?” she asked bitterly. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do—anyone you won’t sacrifice—to get your hands on Blazing?”

Her brother’s eye flashed a warning. “No, there isn’t. And you’d be wise to remember that.” He stood up. “I’m going to bed. My men will get you something to eat, and you’re not going to give them any trouble. We’ve still got your little friend with us.” He nodded towards a tree about fifteen yards away. Krysti was slumped over and tied to the tree. “If you value his life—which I know you do—you’ll behave yourself.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Don’t worry, he’s healthy enough. A regular wild child when he gets a chance. Kicked one of my men in the stones and broke another one’s nose on the way here. That’s why they tied him up.”

Good for Krysti, Khamsin wanted to crow. “He’s Craig-bred.”

Falcon snorted. “Untamed little monster, more like. Reminds me of you when you were his age.”

She glared at him. “Tell me, brother, do our sisters approve of what you’re doing? Invading sovereign kingdoms, murdering innocent people, brutalizing little boys?” It would break her heart if her entire family turned out to be as savage and ruthless as her father and brother.

Falcon’s dark eyes flashed, and his jaw thrust out. “This is king’s business, not theirs.”

So no, they didn’t know. Kham sighed in relief. Thank Halla for that, at least.

“Get some rest, Storm. We’ve got a long, hard ride tomorrow, and we won’t be slowing down to see to your comfort.” He headed towards a tent on the far side of the fire.

“Falcon, please, listen to me,” she called after him. “For all our sakes, you’ve got to let me take Blazing to Wynter. Our lives depend on it. The world depends on it. Please.”

He just kept walking.

“Falcon!” She jumped up and started after him, only to stop when his men leapt to his defense, swords unsheathed and ready to skewer her.

“You heard the prince,” one of the Summerlanders growled. He had several scars across his face and an ugly light in his muddy brown eyes. “Sit down and shut up, or that little Winterbrat over there will pay for your disobedience.”

Kham glared at the man and subsided into unhappy silence.

She drank the water they brought to her and, thanks to the sword one of the Summerlander’s held at Krysti’s throat, she made no attempt to escape when they freed her hands so she could eat the journey cakes and dried meat they offered. Whatever happened, she would need her strength, and refusing food and drink hurt no one but herself. When she was done eating, they rebound her hands and laid her down with a curt command to sleep, but she remained awake for at least an hour, observing her captors.

Falcon was traveling with two dozen men, half Summerlanders, the other half blue-tattooed Calbernans. A small party, much easier to hide in a country as large as Wintercraig. The Summerlanders either ignored her or watched her with cold malice, but she noticed several of the Calbernans frowning in her direction and whispering amongst each other. She recalled from Tildy’s endless geography lessons that the island-born Calbernans revered women. They didn’t look kindly on anyone who would mistreat them. If she could provoke Falcon or the others into striking her, she just might be able to drive a wedge between the Summerlanders and their Calbernan allies. Kham filed that away for future reference.

Finally, despite the day she’d spent unconscious from the blow to her head, Khamsin fell back to sleep and stayed that way until Falcon came by before sunup to wake her and lead her to a horse.

“I know you’ve learned to ride, so I’m giving you your own horse so you won’t slow us down,” he said. “But your hands remain bound, and you wear the lead cape at all times. And Storm? The boy will ride between you and one of my men, chained to both saddles. Unless you fancy the idea of ripping him in two, I suggest you keep close to my men.”

Anger curled in Khamsin’s belly. Falcon knew her too well. They’d spent too many years together, playing games of war, plotting ways to escape from imaginary captors.

“When did you become such a monster?”

Falcon didn’t even flinch. “I am no monster, merely determined and more familiar with your ways than you would like. The child is unharmed, and will remain so as long as you do as you’re told. Now get on your horse. We’ve a long way to ride.”

True to Falcon’s word, they rode for hours without stopping. When they finally halted to rest and water the horses, the sun had risen, and she did not recognize her surroundings. Kham shook the leaden hood off her head and turned her face up to the sky, trying to pinpoint her location in relation to the sun. They’d traveled west of Gildenheim, towards Konumarr and the Llaskroner Fjord. More than a hundred miles, by her estimate. Well away from the hunting lodge where Wynter was recuperating.

Her only cause for hope was that the deep snow forced Falcon and his men to keep to the roads and established trails through the woods, which improved their chances of being spotted along the way. Wynter had to have scouts. Hopefully, one would cross their path and get word to Wintercraig’s forces.

She’d tried to leave a trail behind her by picking threads from her cuffs and dropping them into the snow. Thanks to the Wintercraig colors she wore, those threads would blend so well into the snow they’d be impossible to spot, but she dropped them anyways in the hopes that Wynter’s wolves might be able to track her scent.

As she dismounted, Falcon’s men lit a small fire and melted snow to water the horses. They didn’t bother cooking food. Instead, they passed around strips of dried meat and fruit. Falcon himself removed the bonds around her wrists so she could eat without aid.

Her arms tingled, little knives of pain throbbing up and down, and she flexed her elbows, wrists, and shoulders. Keeping her tied had also robbed her arms of strength. She could barely hold the bits of jerky and fruit offered to her.

She chewed slowly on the tough strips of meat and watched her brother. He was staring into the fire, lost in thought, and it struck her how much older and wearier he appeared. The charming roguishness that had always lurked at the corners of his mouth and twinkled in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. He seemed so different from the heroic brother she remembered that she had to wonder how much of that brother had ever existed and how much was the product of a lonely child’s desperate dreams of love and family.

“Is it true you sent your men to rape and murder those villagers in Hileje three years ago?” Falcon didn’t look away from the fire. He either hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. “Falcon?” she prodded. “Did you?”

Now he glanced up. “Is that what you think I did, Khamsin?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. I would never have thought you capable of it before, but the last two days have made me realize how little I really know you. Perhaps I never did.”

“We were children. Both of us. We’re not anymore.”

“Did you send them?”

He stared at the piece of jerky in his hand, then threw it in the fire. “Yes, I sent them, but I never ordered them to rape or kill anyone. They were merely supposed to create a distraction that would get Wynter and his men out of Gildenheim.”

“Who did you send?”

“Noble Redfern and his friends.”

“Oh, for Halla’s sake, Falcon.”

“What?” He shot to his feet. At least he could still looked shamed. And defensive. “I didn’t know what they were going to do.”

“You sent a man you knew to be a vile, drunken bastard who found his pleasure raping servant girls in dark hallways. What did you think he and his equally vile cronies were going to do? You knew what sort of atrocities amused them.”

“I needed time to get away. Elka and I needed time to get away.”

“So, in other words, you loosed the dogs without caring who got hurt or how badly. Just like you did with the garm.”

His fists clenched. He looked like he wanted to hit something. For a moment, she thought it might be her, but Falcon hadn’t become that much like their father yet.

“I didn’t mean for Hillje to happen, all right? I didn’t order it. But I can’t change it. I’m sorry, Storm. I’m sorry it happened. Is that what you want to hear?”

“But that didn’t stop you from killing Wynter’s only brother, did it? Just a boy, barely more than a child, and you shot him in the throat and left him to die in the snow.”

“He shot at me first!”

“You were one of the greatest archers in Summerlea!” she fired back. “You could have wounded him. Slowed him down. You had other choices that didn’t include killing him. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” He wasn’t the only one who’d learned from all the time they’d spent together. Yes, she’d idolized him. Yes, she been blind to the ruthlessness inside him. But she remembered his skills quite vividly.

“And he had talents that went beyond his skill with sword and bow,” Falcon retorted. “He was Snow Wolf clan, just like his brother. If I’d left him wounded, he would just have called the wolves to hunt us down. I had the Book of Riddles, Khamsin. The key to finding Roland’s sword. I wasn’t going to give that up. And I damn sure wasn’t going to surrender to the king I’d cuckolded and beg for mercy.”

“So you plunged two kingdoms into war and ran away. Only to come back three years later to start another war. Oh, how proud Roland would be to witness the noble glory of his line.” Every word dripped with acid, and it pleased her to see how it stung.

Falcon spat in the dirt. “All those tales of Roland were myths, Storm. Legends! A tiny kernel of truth romanticized and prettied up for the ages. But this is real life. Real politics. It’s not noble. It’s not glorious. It’s bitter, brutal, and bloody. That’s what thrones are made of. That’s what kings are made of.”

“No.” She’d seen the truth, the story played out in her mind when she’d first gripped the sword. She’d heard the voice of a god, deep and pure, burning through her body like cleansing fire and taking every doubt with it. “Not all thrones. Not all kings. Roland was better than that. My mistake was thinking you were, too.”

Falcon’s lip curled in a sneer. “And is that husband of yours any better? How many innocents died by his hand? He froze an entire kingdom into submission!”

“Because you drove him to war! Yes, innocents died. But their blood is as much on your hands as his. And if you don’t let me take that sword to stop Rorjak from returning, the blood of every last living soul on Mystral will be on your hands as well!”

“Enough!” Falcon leapt to his feet and yanked Blazing from its sheath. The radiant diamond at the hilt’s center blazed with light. He jabbed the sword in her direction.

A hot wind sent her hair flying. Khamsin gasped and ducked, covering her head instinctively to protect against the gout of flame she expected to come pouring out of the blade. When the expected inferno did not engulf her, she risked lowering her arms.

Falcon was standing ten feet away, staring at her with an indecipherable expression on his face. The snow around the camp had completely melted, leaving bare, moist ground and the smell of damp wood and bracken.

“I . . .” Her tongue flicked out to moisten dry, trembling lips. “I thought you were going to—” She broke off. No need to give him ideas.

“What? Shoot fireballs at you?”

Then again, he’d read the same legends of Roland that she had. “Something like that.”

“It seems we’ve both read too many legends, Storm.” Anger and bitterness sharpened each word. He shoved Blazing back in its scabbard and slammed the hilt home.

“Pack up,” he snapped to his men. “Time to get moving.”

“I’m fine! I told you, I’m fine.” Wynter glowered at Tildavera Greenleaf, who had been after him the last half hour to leave the military planning to his second long enough to lie down and let her tend his wounds.

The Summerlea nurse sniffed. “You won’t be fine if you don’t hush and let me do my job. I’ve let you ignore me long enough. Now lie back, be quiet, and let me look at that wound. It won’t take a minute.”

“Gah. You are a tyrant, Tildavera Greenleaf. Has anyone ever told you that?” Just to get her out of his hair, Wyn eased into a chaise and leaned back.

“Many a time,” Tildy answered without rancor. “Always by patients with more stubbornness than sense.” She glanced up to give him a stern look. “And that includes your wife, for as much good as it ever did her.” She pulled up his tunic and made swift work of peeling back the bloodied bandage wrapped around his waist.

Wynter scowled at the back of Tildy’s gray head as she bent over his belly wound to poke and prod at him and smear some sort of pungent ointment on the wound. She sniffed again and rebandaged the wound.

“Well, you’re doing better than you should be, considering all the moving about you’ve been doing. But”—she wagged a finger under his nose when Wyn started to smirk—“you’re still a long way from being healed. One wrong move, and those stitches will pop, and you’ll be in one very unpleasant mess.”

“Just get me to a point where I can put on my armor and mount a horse. I can’t be carried into battle on a sickbed.”

“That’s out of the question for a week at least. If you go to battle before that, you won’t be coming back.”

“If I don’t go to battle before that, none of us will be coming back,” he countered. In a firm tone that brooked no further defiance, he said, “I don’t need your approval to do my duty, Nurse Greenleaf. All I require is that you get me in the best possible shape in the time available.”

Tildy put her hands on her hips. “Have I not been doing exactly that all this time? Did you think I would stop just because I know you’re going to ignore my warnings and do what you want anyways? Which of us raised our Khamsin from the time she was a wee babe? Or do you think she was a model patient all those years?”

The laugh slipped past Wyn’s lips before he could stop it. “Point taken. She is much more hardheaded than I.”

Tildy harrumphed. “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that. The pair of you seem astonishingly well matched in the stubborn department. There was a time, when she was six . . .”

Telling stories of Khamsin’s youthful exploits was a tactic Tildy employed to keep Wynter calm and resting. He’d discerned her ploy from the start, of course, but he played along because he liked hearing the stories of his wife’s childhood. Khamsin had run her poor nurse ragged—always getting into some sort of mischief or other, never sitting still for long, thwarting every attempt to mold and confine her. Like the storms that answered her call, she was a force of nature, wild and reckless and free. And Wynter wouldn’t have her any other way.

There was a knock on the door, and Valik walked in. Galacia Frey followed close on his heels. Wynter was surprised to see her. She’d taken off without a word last night after receiving a message flown in by a snow eagle.

One look at their grim faces, and Wynter knew their troubles had just increased.

“So, let me get this straight. All this time, you and every High Priestess before you for the last nine hundred years has known the Sword of Roland was at the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter sat at the hunting lodge’s large dining table and tried to keep the freezing power of his Gaze in check. Frost prickled across the wooden tabletop. The pair of them were lucky that the planks of old pine were the only thing frozen at the moment.

“Wyn—”

“And you sent my pregnant wife to dive down to the bottom of the Ice Heart—the most deadly dangerous magic in all of Wintercraig—to fetch it? Have I got that right?”

“Wyn, you don’t understand—”

“Is that what you did?” His fist slammed on the desk, and he half rose from the chair.

Laci blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I did. That’s exactly what I did, and I would do it again, given the same circumstances.” She flung her arms up. “You were unconscious. There was no certainty you would survive, much less be any use to us in battle, and the Calbernans and Summerlanders were invading. We needed a weapon—and that was the most powerful one I knew of.”

“And now my wife is gone, Ungar and his men are dead, the sword of Roland is gone, the second of Thorgyll’s spears is missing, and the Summerlanders and Calbernans are still invading. Oh, and Rorjak’s army is on the march, too. What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking we could save Wintercraig without losing you!” she spat.

“By sending my wife to retrieve Roland’s Sword from the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter ran both hands through his hair just to keep from wrapping them around Laci’s throat and squeezing tight. He turned a glare on Valik. “And what happened to your suspicious nature? Weren’t you the one telling me all along that Khamsin was in her brother’s service—that she’d betray me the first chance she got?”

“Maybe I should have listened to myself,” Valik muttered. “Maybe that’s exactly what happened.”

“No!”

All three of them turned in surprise as Tildavera Greenleaf burst through the door leading to the lodge’s bedchambers. Clearly, after being dismissed so Valik, Laci, and Wynter could talk in private, Khamsin’s nurse had decided a bit of eavesdropping was in order.

“Whatever you believe, you cannot think Khamsin would betray you. She wouldn’t. Not to her brother, not to anyone else. I know, because I gave her the chance to do exactly that, and she refused.”

Wynter scowled at her. “Explain yourself, Nurse Greenleaf.”

“When they brought me to tend you, I was in communication with Falcon Coruscate. I thought you were planning to kill her at year’s end, so I arranged to bring her to him.” Tildy blurted out all about the birds she’d used to send messages, knocking out everyone with an herb in the evening meal, telling Khamsin to come with her. “But she wouldn’t leave you. And she wouldn’t let me leave without doing everything in my power to save you, either. If she found the sword, the only place she would have brought it was back to you—to defend you. She loves you, for Halla’s sake!”

“Guard!” Wyn called. To the man who answered his summons, he said, “Escort Nurse Greenleaf to the other room and keep her there.”

With a look torn between frustration, irritation, and despair, Tildy turned and marched out of the room. The door closed behind her.

“Wyn, if she’s right . . .”

“Then Coruscate has the sword, and he has my queen,” Wyn summed up grimly.

“He must have solved the Book of Riddles,” Galacia murmured. “If he’s got that sword . . .”

“Then we are lost.” Wynter sank back in his chair. Despair weighted him down. When the only threat was Coruscate and the Calbernans, victory had been questionable. Wynter had resigned himself to giving his life to protect his people. But now with Roland’s sword in play and the army of the Ice King on the march, Wintercraig was hopelessly outnumbered and woefully underequipped.

“Maybe not quite yet,” Valik suggested. “Roland’s sword is supposed to be the deadliest weapon in the history of all Mystral, right?”

“That’s what the legends say,” Galacia acknowledged. “And considering that without it, the Ice Heart has turned back into an indestructible block of ice, I’m inclined to believe them.”

“And you believe it might be effective against the Ice King’s army?” Valik prompted.

She hesitated. “I don’t know. When I sent Khamsin to get the sword, I was only thinking about using it to repel the invaders since Wynter was so close to turning.” She sent an apologetic glance Wynter’s way. “But I suppose, considering the effect that it had on the Ice Heart, it might be effective against Rorjak’s army.”

“Then why not use that to our advantage?” Valik said.

Wynter leaned forward. “What are you thinking?”

“You said Rorjak’s army could sense your presence right? That they were coming for you?”

“Yes.”

“So, we use that. We use you as bait to lead Rorjak’s army straight to Coruscate. Kill two birds with one arrow.”

“That could work,” Galacia said.

“Or Rorjak could just turn Coruscate’s army into ice thralls and double the size of his fighting force in a matter of minutes,” Wynter pointed out.

A little of the wind left Valik’s sails. “There is that,” he agreed. “But do you have a better idea?”

Wynter wished he did. “No.”

The three of them regarded each other in grim silence.

Valik was the first to break the silence. “So what do we do, Wyn? What’s your call?”

Wynter took a deep breath. “Send word to Gildenheim. I want every eye in the forest looking for Coruscate and his men. We’re going to lead Rorjak’s army to the invaders. And along the way, we’re going to come up with a plan to rescue my wife.”

For the next several hours, as she rode in fully hooded darkness, Khamsin replayed the same scene over and over in her mind. Falcon pulling the sword. The diamond in Blazing’s hilt flaring to life. The blast of heat that had knocked her back and melted every ounce of snow and ice near Falcon.

Clearly, he’d called on the power of the sword. Just as clearly, he’d released that power at her.

So why was she still alive?

A little flicker of hope flared in her heart as she recalled the angry way he resheathed Roland’s sword, and said, “It seems we’ve both read too many legends, Storm.” Maybe Falcon wasn’t quite as ruthless as he tried to appear. Maybe that’s what he’d been angry about—that for all his talk, he didn’t have it in him to kill her. Or maybe he’d been mad because remembering their hours of discussion about Roland, all the legends of his heroic tales, had reminded him of the vital aspects of his character he’d sacrificed on the altar of ambition.

Maybe she was getting through to him after all.

Kham hugged that possibility to her heart. He’d loved her once. She was sure of it. Surely some part of the brother she’d idolized still existed inside him. If she could reach that Falcon, make him listen, make him understand what was at stake, maybe there was still a chance to save Wynter.

But the next time they stopped, her brother was no longer with them.

“Where is Prince Falcon?” she asked, but the only answer she received was a flask of water shoved in her face and a curt command to “Drink and be quiet, or the hood goes back on.”

Anger flared at the man’s impertinent rudeness. Prisoner she might be, but she was still Queen of the Craig and a princess of Summerlea. Kham narrowed her eyes and considered setting a fire in the seat of the man’s pants. That would certainly teach him to mind his manners when dealing with an Heir of the Rose. The thought of it made her smile.

“What’s so funny, princess?”

Kham’s smile winked out. She cast a withering glare upon the scarred, mean-eyed Summerlander standing to her right. “Your Grace.”

“What?”

“The proper form of address when speaking to a queen of Wintercraig is ‘Your Grace.’ ” Each clearly enunciated word ended with a sharp clip.

“How’s about I give you the proper form of my fist right across that mouth of yours?”

She smiled, eyes flaring liquid silver. “Oh, by all means, do try.”

“Leave off, Blackwood,” another Summerlander advised. “Get her mad enough, and that one will fry your balls like eggs on a griddle.”

Blackwood shook his fist under her nose. “Saved for now,” he muttered, adding with a sneer, “Your Grace.”

As the men walked off to tend the horses, Kham measured the location of the sun. They’d traveled another thirty miles since breaking camp this morning. The Llaskroner Fjord couldn’t be more than another day or two away. They must be meeting up with the rest of Falcon’s army near there.

A careful glance around the camp told her that wherever Falcon had gone, he’d gone alone. For what purpose, she couldn’t even begin to speculate, but his absence gave her the chance to draw upon her power without alerting him. Time to make a move.

Krysti was chained to a tree fifteen feet away, but Falcon’s men were mostly ignoring him, too. That was a mistake. She saw his fingers working at the hem of his tunic and hid a smile. He kept a set of picks sewn into the hem of each of his tunics because, “A boy never knows when they might come in handy.”

She nodded when Krysti glanced her way, then lowered her eyes and reached out to the source of her power, gathering the sun’s heat and concentrating it inside her. Her body began to warm beneath its lead blanket. She gripped her chains in both hands, preparing to melt them as she had the chains Valik had tried to hold her with.

Once Krysti got safely away, Khamsin would be free to teach her captors the true meaning of her giftname.

The sound of galloping hooves and the feel of hot, angry weathermagic on the wind made her gasp and release her power.

She turned to see her brother leap off his horse almost before it came to a stop. He crossed the short distance to her side in five long strides and yanked her up to her feet.

“Where is it?” His face was contorted in fury, his eyes wild. “What did you do with it?” He shook her so hard she was surprised her head didn’t flop off her neck.

“What did I do with what?” she exclaimed when he stopped shaking her enough that she could speak.

He opened his mouth, then after a hard look at his companions, thought the better of it. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm and frog-marched her into the woods. When they were out of earshot of the camp, he spun her around and yanked Blazing from its sheath.

“No more games, Storm. You tell me what you did with it, or you die right here, and to Hel with any curse on my House.”

“Did with what? What are you talking about?”

“The sword! The real sword of Roland! Not this weak-spelled forgery you put in its place!” He shook the sword furiously and flung it aside. It sank into a drift of snow.

Kham’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe he had just thrown the greatest treasure in the world away like so much rotting garbage. “Are you mad? That is Roland’s sword.”

“Liar!” He slapped her hard, knocking her to her knees. “Where is Blazing? The real Blazing?”

She raised manacled hands to her throbbing cheek. “That is Blazing. You’ve felt its power. You called on it early today, during that first stop. You melted everything around us.” How could he even think the sword was a forgery? Had Blazing not conveyed to Falcon the same history of its creation as it had the moment she first touched it?

Helos bestows his greatest gifts only on the worthy, Heir of Roland.

The low, multilayered voice boomed in her mind, resonating through every cell in her body. She didn’t hear the voice so much as she felt it. Each vast and terrible divine tone. It made her tremble in her boots.

Falcon just kept shouting. “Roland’s sword was capable of calling phenomenal power! All this does is amplify my weathergift. Any half-witted wizard capable of boiling water could lay an amplification spell on a sword!”

He had not heard the voice.

Falcon had not heard the voice. And if he had not heard the voice, that meant . . .

“You are not the Heir,” she breathed.

Falcon stopped in midrant. His body went stiff. His face went hard. “What did you say?”

She stared at Falcon as if she’d never seen him before. And perhaps, until now, she never had. He had tried to call on Blazing’s power that morning. He hadn’t just tried to scare her—he had tried to call upon the sword’s magic to kill her the way she had killed the ice-thralled Elka in the Temple of Wyrn.

And the sword had not answered.

She climbed slowly to her feet, never taking her eyes off her brother.

“You are not the Heir,” she said again. “Blazing doesn’t answer you because you are not the true Heir of Roland.”

Her eyes flashed purest silver in an instant. She didn’t even need to summon a storm this time. The power she’d gathered earlier came roaring back to life. In an instant, she melted the chain binding her hands and punched through the lead-lined fabric of her cloak like a hot coal through silk. Electricity shot from her palms, striking Falcon on the chest and sending him flying into a nearby tree. His skull cracked against the trunk, and he slid down into a crumpled, motionless heap at the tree’s base.

Khamsin ripped off her lead cloak and dove for Roland’s sword, snatching it out of the snowbank. Her fingers closed around the hilt. She stared at her reflection in the gleaming blade—the wild, lightning-kissed hair, the quicksilver eyes—and thought, Fire. The clear diamond flashed blinding bright, and flame engulfed Blazing’s blade.

“Summer Sun,” she whispered. “It’s me. I am Roland’s Heir.”

“Over my dead body.”

She turned to find Verdan Coruscate standing at the edge of the clearing, Krysti held before him, a knife at the boy’s throat.