The Winter King
Page 117
“Good day, Liese,” Khamsin murmured.
“I was just singing the praises of your venison stew to my queen,” Wynter said. “We’d like two bowls and a loaf of your fresh bread. And two pints of mead.”
“Aye, Your Graces, right away.” The pubkeeper served them with more deference and alacrity than she’d ever shown Khamsin, and within minutes, they were enjoying a hot, simple meal of truly delicious stew and fresh, fragrant bread slathered with creamy butter.
Wynter chatted with the other patrons as they ate, making a point of including Khamsin in the conversation. Several times, he reached across the table to lift Kham’s left hand and press a kiss against her wrist, a gesture not missed by his audience.
When the meal was over. Wynter dropped a handful of coins on the table, thanked Liese for the excellent food and service, and ushered Khamsin out the door.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she stepped into his cupped hands for a boost into the saddle.
Wynter played dumb. “I don’t mind helping you into the saddle.”
She gave him a look, in response to which he arched a single, silvery brow and smiled a challenge. She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.” She laid the reins across Kori’s neck, turning the mare back towards Gildenheim.
“Wrong way, wife,” Wyn said as he swung into his saddle. “We’re headed west.”
She frowned. “Shouldn’t we start back? We’re already going to be riding most of the way to Gildenheim in the dark.” It was mid-November, and the days were short, the sun setting by four o’clock.
“We’re not going back to Gildenheim.”
“Where are we going?”
He smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.”
They rode west another three hours, stopping for the night at an inn in a small village called Riverfall. Khamsin had never met the villagers here, but with Wynter by her side, they were all smiles and warm welcome. They spent a pleasant night spooned together in a soft, warm bed whose rope springs squeaked so loudly Kham could hardly meet the innkeeper’s eyes without blushing the next morning.
They set off again at first light, leaving the main road to follow a winding, recently cleared switchback road that zigzagged up the mountain.
The forest was so peaceful. White, covered with pristine snow broken only by the occasional tracks of wildlife. Every once in a while, a flurry of snow would topple from the branches of the trees, disturbed by a winter bird taking flight. The serene quiet was broken only by the steady clop-clop of their mounts’ hooves and the chime of the bridle bells.
As they rode up the mountain, they passed a dozen Wintermen coming down, snow shovels strapped to their backs. The men murmured greetings and doffed their hats before continuing down the path Wynter and Khamsin had just traversed.
Thirty minutes later, the cleared pathway ended at a small, frozen mountain lake, which had also been completely cleared of snow, leaving a smooth, silvery surface of thick ice.
Wynter rode Hodri to the edge of the lake and tied his bridle to a tree next to a pile of hay that had been left atop a cleared section of snow.
“Wynter?” What was this place? Obviously, he’d arranged for the road and pond to be cleared so he could bring her here, but she wasn’t sure why.
He held up a hand to help Khamsin from the saddle.
“Don’t you recognize it?”
“No. Krysti and I never rode this far from Gildenheim.”
“My family has a hunting lodge about an hour’s ride further up the mountain. We used to come here often when I was a boy. The ice gets thick, and the waterfall freezes every winter.” He pointed to an incredible spray of what looked like frosted white stalactites tumbling down the side of the mountain.
The frozen waterfall looked strangely familiar though she was sure she’d never been here before. Then she processed Wynter’s comment about his childhood, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“It’s the skating pond from the Atrium!” Now that she’d made the connection, she was shocked at how accurately Wynter had portrayed this spot. “Is there really a cave behind the waterfall?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Wynter turned to the saddlebags strapped to the back of Hodri’s saddle and turned back with two pairs of metal blades fitted with leather straps. He patted a large rock. “Sit here, and I’ll put on your skates.”
She eyed the skating contraptions with trepidation. “I don’t know how to skate.”
“It’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.” He patted the rock again. When she made no move to do as he said, he arched one silvery brow. “You aren’t scared, are you?”
That got her back up. “Of course not.”
“Then come and let me help you with your skates.”
Khamsin grudgingly went to sit on the rock. Wynter knelt before her and fitted the skating blade to the bottom of her boot. The blade itself was fastened to a hard layer of leather and metal. One set of leather straps tied around the toe of her boot, and another two sets crisscrossed around her heel, ankle, and foot to hold the skate securely in place.
When he finished buckling her skates, Wynter sat beside her to don his own. He stood up and reached for her hands to help her to her feet.
The skate blades immediately tilted sideways, and she fell against Wynter.
“Find your balance. Don’t let your ankles fold. Try to stand upright on the blades.”
“I was just singing the praises of your venison stew to my queen,” Wynter said. “We’d like two bowls and a loaf of your fresh bread. And two pints of mead.”
“Aye, Your Graces, right away.” The pubkeeper served them with more deference and alacrity than she’d ever shown Khamsin, and within minutes, they were enjoying a hot, simple meal of truly delicious stew and fresh, fragrant bread slathered with creamy butter.
Wynter chatted with the other patrons as they ate, making a point of including Khamsin in the conversation. Several times, he reached across the table to lift Kham’s left hand and press a kiss against her wrist, a gesture not missed by his audience.
When the meal was over. Wynter dropped a handful of coins on the table, thanked Liese for the excellent food and service, and ushered Khamsin out the door.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she stepped into his cupped hands for a boost into the saddle.
Wynter played dumb. “I don’t mind helping you into the saddle.”
She gave him a look, in response to which he arched a single, silvery brow and smiled a challenge. She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.” She laid the reins across Kori’s neck, turning the mare back towards Gildenheim.
“Wrong way, wife,” Wyn said as he swung into his saddle. “We’re headed west.”
She frowned. “Shouldn’t we start back? We’re already going to be riding most of the way to Gildenheim in the dark.” It was mid-November, and the days were short, the sun setting by four o’clock.
“We’re not going back to Gildenheim.”
“Where are we going?”
He smiled mysteriously. “You’ll see.”
They rode west another three hours, stopping for the night at an inn in a small village called Riverfall. Khamsin had never met the villagers here, but with Wynter by her side, they were all smiles and warm welcome. They spent a pleasant night spooned together in a soft, warm bed whose rope springs squeaked so loudly Kham could hardly meet the innkeeper’s eyes without blushing the next morning.
They set off again at first light, leaving the main road to follow a winding, recently cleared switchback road that zigzagged up the mountain.
The forest was so peaceful. White, covered with pristine snow broken only by the occasional tracks of wildlife. Every once in a while, a flurry of snow would topple from the branches of the trees, disturbed by a winter bird taking flight. The serene quiet was broken only by the steady clop-clop of their mounts’ hooves and the chime of the bridle bells.
As they rode up the mountain, they passed a dozen Wintermen coming down, snow shovels strapped to their backs. The men murmured greetings and doffed their hats before continuing down the path Wynter and Khamsin had just traversed.
Thirty minutes later, the cleared pathway ended at a small, frozen mountain lake, which had also been completely cleared of snow, leaving a smooth, silvery surface of thick ice.
Wynter rode Hodri to the edge of the lake and tied his bridle to a tree next to a pile of hay that had been left atop a cleared section of snow.
“Wynter?” What was this place? Obviously, he’d arranged for the road and pond to be cleared so he could bring her here, but she wasn’t sure why.
He held up a hand to help Khamsin from the saddle.
“Don’t you recognize it?”
“No. Krysti and I never rode this far from Gildenheim.”
“My family has a hunting lodge about an hour’s ride further up the mountain. We used to come here often when I was a boy. The ice gets thick, and the waterfall freezes every winter.” He pointed to an incredible spray of what looked like frosted white stalactites tumbling down the side of the mountain.
The frozen waterfall looked strangely familiar though she was sure she’d never been here before. Then she processed Wynter’s comment about his childhood, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“It’s the skating pond from the Atrium!” Now that she’d made the connection, she was shocked at how accurately Wynter had portrayed this spot. “Is there really a cave behind the waterfall?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Wynter turned to the saddlebags strapped to the back of Hodri’s saddle and turned back with two pairs of metal blades fitted with leather straps. He patted a large rock. “Sit here, and I’ll put on your skates.”
She eyed the skating contraptions with trepidation. “I don’t know how to skate.”
“It’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.” He patted the rock again. When she made no move to do as he said, he arched one silvery brow. “You aren’t scared, are you?”
That got her back up. “Of course not.”
“Then come and let me help you with your skates.”
Khamsin grudgingly went to sit on the rock. Wynter knelt before her and fitted the skating blade to the bottom of her boot. The blade itself was fastened to a hard layer of leather and metal. One set of leather straps tied around the toe of her boot, and another two sets crisscrossed around her heel, ankle, and foot to hold the skate securely in place.
When he finished buckling her skates, Wynter sat beside her to don his own. He stood up and reached for her hands to help her to her feet.
The skate blades immediately tilted sideways, and she fell against Wynter.
“Find your balance. Don’t let your ankles fold. Try to stand upright on the blades.”
