The Winter King
Page 147
The flames surrounded him. The heat was searing. Yet his body seemed impervious to its fiery environment.
“What sorcery is this?” She turned to Lady Frey.
“It is the Ice Heart,” the priestess replied. “It has him so firmly in its grip, fire cannot harm him now. At most, its warmth retards the final stages of the Ice Heart’s conquest. It was the only option I could think of to try to keep Rorjak’s essence from consuming the last remnants of Wynter’s humanity. The very power that threatens to consume him also keeps him alive.” Galacia’s mouth turned down. “Gods do not die.”
“Is there nothing you can do to revive him?”
“I? No. Not while he remains in this state. To do so would be to destroy us all.”
“But you just said the Ice Heart has not fully claimed him yet.”
“I said some small part of Wynter remains. And that is true, else his body would have healed itself, and the last battle would already have begun. But he is too far gone, and the power of the Ice Heart is too strong.”
“If all hope was lost, you would already have slain him.” Khamsin nodded to the crystalline spear clutched in Galacia’s hands. “That is one of Thorgyll’s freezing spears, is it not?”
Lady Frey lowered the spear and straightened up from her crouch. “You’re right, Summerlander. There was one small hope that stayed my hand.”
“What hope is that?”
Galacia looked up, pinning Khamsin with a gaze as sharp as the point of her spear.
“You.”
“Are you sure about this?” Khamsin stood outside the hunting lodge, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky. Galacia and Valik stood beside the cabin door. “You’re assuming a great deal if you think my touch alone can push back the Ice Heart.”
“Valik assures me he’s seen proof of it more than once,” Galacia said.
Kham cast a glance over at Valik. Despite his renewed distrust of her, Wynter’s second was convinced that Khamsin’s gift-magic was the only fire hot enough to pull Wynter back from the brink of the Ice Heart’s grip. Apparently, when Valik and his men had arrived after the garm attack, Khamsin was still lying across Wynter’s body, where she had collapsed. According to Valik, the moment he separated the two of them, Wynter’s body had grown colder, turning icy within a matter of minutes.
He’d kept Kham and Wynter together until Galacia had come up with the idea of putting Wynter’s body in the fire.
Now, they all expected Khamsin to summon her storm. Only this time, they expected her to master that storm specifically to superheat her body the way she had when she’d attacked the garm. She’d already tried using the crackling electricity she’d managed to generate on her own, but even heat strong enough to soften metal couldn’t do much more than thaw the layer of ice that formed around Wynter’s body the instant they removed him from the flames.
She needed lightning, and lots of it. She needed the same fury she’d summoned to defeat the garm.
The door to the lodge opened, and six Wintermen walked out, carrying the metal grate that held their king. The men laid Wynter’s body on the ground before her. In the short time it had taken to carry him from the hearth in the lodge to the fire, ice had already coated his skin.
Khamsin stepped closer. She couldn’t get used to the sight of Wynter lying so still, his larger-than-life vitality trapped in a form as rigid and lifeless as those ice sculptures of his dead family that he had enshrined in Gildenheim’s Atrium. Even those rare times when she’d awakened to find him sleeping beside her, all it took was the slightest movement, the faintest sound, to bring him snapping back to consciousness, ready for battle.
Ready to protect her from the tiniest threat.
Her. Storm. The forgotten princess hidden away like a shameful secret, the daughter reviled as much for her tempestuous nature as for the dangerous, volatile gifts that came with it.
The first crack of lightning lit the sky, and thunder boomed. Khamsin continued to feed power to the storm, stoking its volatile engine with more heat, more cold, more moisture. Her waterlogged riding skirts whipped around her legs, beginning to steam as her body temperature rapidly increased.
Wynter was the first man who’d ever championed her. The first man who’d ever stood up to her father in her defense. The only man who’d never feared what she was or what she was capable of.
But that wasn’t why she loved him. That had merely cleared the path for her heart to follow. She’d started to love him the day she’d entered the Atrium and found herself looking directly into his heart. Or had it been the day in the forests of Summerlea, when he’d shed his armor, exposing himself to an assassin’s arrow rather than allow his plate mail to catch on her hair and cause her discomfort? Or the day he arranged for her riding lessons, giving her her first taste of freedom?
Oh, what did it matter? Somewhere along the way, she’d begun to want more of him than mere passion. Somewhere along the way, she’d begun wanting to be not just his wife, but his love. And she’d begun to dream of giving him the child he so desired, not to save herself, but to see warmth and joy replace the icy remoteness in his eyes. Because she wanted to bring back some measure of happiness into his life, to give him the love he’d once known with his family.
To save him, the way he had saved her.
Now, here was her chance.
Kham fixed her gaze on Wynter’s still face. With her focus on saving him, her mind didn’t have time to worry about the deadly consequences of the storm. And that lack of fear freed her. It was almost like staring at a point in the distance until all the world went out of focus.
“What sorcery is this?” She turned to Lady Frey.
“It is the Ice Heart,” the priestess replied. “It has him so firmly in its grip, fire cannot harm him now. At most, its warmth retards the final stages of the Ice Heart’s conquest. It was the only option I could think of to try to keep Rorjak’s essence from consuming the last remnants of Wynter’s humanity. The very power that threatens to consume him also keeps him alive.” Galacia’s mouth turned down. “Gods do not die.”
“Is there nothing you can do to revive him?”
“I? No. Not while he remains in this state. To do so would be to destroy us all.”
“But you just said the Ice Heart has not fully claimed him yet.”
“I said some small part of Wynter remains. And that is true, else his body would have healed itself, and the last battle would already have begun. But he is too far gone, and the power of the Ice Heart is too strong.”
“If all hope was lost, you would already have slain him.” Khamsin nodded to the crystalline spear clutched in Galacia’s hands. “That is one of Thorgyll’s freezing spears, is it not?”
Lady Frey lowered the spear and straightened up from her crouch. “You’re right, Summerlander. There was one small hope that stayed my hand.”
“What hope is that?”
Galacia looked up, pinning Khamsin with a gaze as sharp as the point of her spear.
“You.”
“Are you sure about this?” Khamsin stood outside the hunting lodge, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky. Galacia and Valik stood beside the cabin door. “You’re assuming a great deal if you think my touch alone can push back the Ice Heart.”
“Valik assures me he’s seen proof of it more than once,” Galacia said.
Kham cast a glance over at Valik. Despite his renewed distrust of her, Wynter’s second was convinced that Khamsin’s gift-magic was the only fire hot enough to pull Wynter back from the brink of the Ice Heart’s grip. Apparently, when Valik and his men had arrived after the garm attack, Khamsin was still lying across Wynter’s body, where she had collapsed. According to Valik, the moment he separated the two of them, Wynter’s body had grown colder, turning icy within a matter of minutes.
He’d kept Kham and Wynter together until Galacia had come up with the idea of putting Wynter’s body in the fire.
Now, they all expected Khamsin to summon her storm. Only this time, they expected her to master that storm specifically to superheat her body the way she had when she’d attacked the garm. She’d already tried using the crackling electricity she’d managed to generate on her own, but even heat strong enough to soften metal couldn’t do much more than thaw the layer of ice that formed around Wynter’s body the instant they removed him from the flames.
She needed lightning, and lots of it. She needed the same fury she’d summoned to defeat the garm.
The door to the lodge opened, and six Wintermen walked out, carrying the metal grate that held their king. The men laid Wynter’s body on the ground before her. In the short time it had taken to carry him from the hearth in the lodge to the fire, ice had already coated his skin.
Khamsin stepped closer. She couldn’t get used to the sight of Wynter lying so still, his larger-than-life vitality trapped in a form as rigid and lifeless as those ice sculptures of his dead family that he had enshrined in Gildenheim’s Atrium. Even those rare times when she’d awakened to find him sleeping beside her, all it took was the slightest movement, the faintest sound, to bring him snapping back to consciousness, ready for battle.
Ready to protect her from the tiniest threat.
Her. Storm. The forgotten princess hidden away like a shameful secret, the daughter reviled as much for her tempestuous nature as for the dangerous, volatile gifts that came with it.
The first crack of lightning lit the sky, and thunder boomed. Khamsin continued to feed power to the storm, stoking its volatile engine with more heat, more cold, more moisture. Her waterlogged riding skirts whipped around her legs, beginning to steam as her body temperature rapidly increased.
Wynter was the first man who’d ever championed her. The first man who’d ever stood up to her father in her defense. The only man who’d never feared what she was or what she was capable of.
But that wasn’t why she loved him. That had merely cleared the path for her heart to follow. She’d started to love him the day she’d entered the Atrium and found herself looking directly into his heart. Or had it been the day in the forests of Summerlea, when he’d shed his armor, exposing himself to an assassin’s arrow rather than allow his plate mail to catch on her hair and cause her discomfort? Or the day he arranged for her riding lessons, giving her her first taste of freedom?
Oh, what did it matter? Somewhere along the way, she’d begun to want more of him than mere passion. Somewhere along the way, she’d begun wanting to be not just his wife, but his love. And she’d begun to dream of giving him the child he so desired, not to save herself, but to see warmth and joy replace the icy remoteness in his eyes. Because she wanted to bring back some measure of happiness into his life, to give him the love he’d once known with his family.
To save him, the way he had saved her.
Now, here was her chance.
Kham fixed her gaze on Wynter’s still face. With her focus on saving him, her mind didn’t have time to worry about the deadly consequences of the storm. And that lack of fear freed her. It was almost like staring at a point in the distance until all the world went out of focus.
