The Winter King
Page 148
Her consciousness separated from her body and spread out once more into the storm, orchestrating the flows of air, encouraging the ionization that unleashed the concentrated power of the sun in the brilliant explosions of light and heat that speared the sky. For the safety of those at the lodge, she tried to keep the lightning in the clouds until the storm had grown so fierce it battered her will, wrestling for freedom.
“You should go inside now.” Her voice sounded thick and deep, rumbling like thunder. She didn’t know how much control she would have once she unleashed the power currently concentrated in the clouds overhead. Even with the garm, she’d only channeled that force—not tried to absorb it into her own body. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Neither Valik, nor Galacia, nor any of the Wintermen budged. Khamsin didn’t take her focus off the storm. She’d warned them. If they chose not to heed her, whatever happened would be on their heads, not hers.
She raised her arms. Warmth became heat. Heat became fire. Fire became a wild, consuming blaze that rushed through every cell of her body. The air around her went violet, glowing with energy. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and loosed the bonds holding the lightning in check.
The sky went brilliant white. A lightning bolt, thick as the trunk of a tree, shot from the sky, racing down the tendrils of plasma she’d sent up into the clouds.
Her body shuddered, arching towards the sky as the bolt speared and seared her. For one instant, her entire being seemed to dissolve and scatter to the winds. Mind, flesh, thought, breath, blood, all flew apart in a split second, only to draw back into a cohesive whole the next. She rode the heat, the pain, the wildness as the lightning’s energy raced through her body, seeking an outlet. She would not give it that. Heat consumed her, hotter than the sun. She screamed in agony but held fast.
Another bolt ripped from sky to ground, shooting into her body. Then another, and another. Rain turned to sleet, then to hail. Great, plum-sized rocks of ice slammed down from the heavens.
Dimly, she heard someone shouting, “Enough! Khamsin! Enough! You’ll kill us all!”
Valik clung to the trunk of a nearby tree. Khamsin watched him through a shimmering, violet-silver haze as he yelled, “Khamsin! Save Wynter!”
She continued to hold up her hands for a few moments longer, summoning more lightning. It shot to the ground, finding her unerringly. Her chest expanded on a breathless, voiceless scream. And then, she pushed out, into the heavens, sending a bolus of energy back up into the clouds, punching a hole in the center of the storm and sending the riotous clouds spinning outward at such speed that the clouds ripped apart and skidded across the sky in harmless bits.
Her skin was incandescent. A near-blinding glow suffused her, illuminating her flesh from the inside out. She could see the faint traceries of her veins, not blue or red, but shining golden white, as if her very blood had turned to liquid sunlight.
She fell to her knees beside Wynter. The ice had formed an inch-thick shell around his body, and his golden skin had taken on a bluish white tint beneath it. She reached out slowly. The power inside her was so hot, she was afraid to touch him for fear she might incinerate him as she had the garm. But as her glowing hands hovered over his body, the thick layer of ice enveloping Wynter began to melt, providing the answer she sought. She didn’t need to touch him or unleash the concentrated lightning inside her. Her proximity alone was enough.
She passed her hands over his prone form. Icemelt dripped off of him in runnels. She noticed as she did so that her own body was cooling as his warmed. The blue-white tint of his skin faded a little more with each pass. When she was certain her touch would not burn him, she laid her entire body atop his, so that the remaining heat inside her could radiate into his thawing flesh. Closing her eyes, she laid her head upon his chest, threaded her fingers through his, and covered the white wolf on his wrist with her Summerlea Rose.
How long she lay there, she didn’t know. Possibly minutes. Possibly hours. Time had no meaning until the moment she heard the first faint throb of sound in her ear. Several long moments later, she heard a second throb follow the first. Now each second of silence seemed to last a century as she waited for the next faint pulse of sound. The next pulse came, a fraction sooner than the last. Then another and another, until a steady rhythm tapped in her ear.
Wynter’s heart was beating once more.
The cold, stiff fingers threaded through hers flexed. Barely more than a twitch of movement, but she felt it all the same.
She lifted her head and held her breath as she watched him. His lashes fluttered, lids lifting slowly. She laid her palm against the side of his face, stroking his skin lightly. He was still cold—so, so cold—but his flesh no longer felt like it was carved from an unyielding block of ice.
“Wynter . . . husband.” A smile trembled on her lips.
He stared at her for a moment with blank incomprehension, dazed, as if he didn’t recognize her. But then, he blinked. His lips moved, forming a soundless word. Wife.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes, husband. It’s me, Khamsin, your wife.” She leaned closer, brushing kisses across his cold skin. “You worried us all.”
His lips moved again in another soundless word. Where?
“We’re at your family’s hunting lodge, near the skating pond. You saved us from the garm, but were badly hurt in the process. Valik and the Hunters found us. We are safe now, Wynter. You made sure of that.” She’d never reassured another person in her life. Never had cause to do so, but the words tumbled out so naturally, the need to put him at ease seemed as necessary as breathing. And she couldn’t stop running her hands over his skin, touching him, feeling terrible, icy cold fade as mortal life returned to him.
“You should go inside now.” Her voice sounded thick and deep, rumbling like thunder. She didn’t know how much control she would have once she unleashed the power currently concentrated in the clouds overhead. Even with the garm, she’d only channeled that force—not tried to absorb it into her own body. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Neither Valik, nor Galacia, nor any of the Wintermen budged. Khamsin didn’t take her focus off the storm. She’d warned them. If they chose not to heed her, whatever happened would be on their heads, not hers.
She raised her arms. Warmth became heat. Heat became fire. Fire became a wild, consuming blaze that rushed through every cell of her body. The air around her went violet, glowing with energy. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and loosed the bonds holding the lightning in check.
The sky went brilliant white. A lightning bolt, thick as the trunk of a tree, shot from the sky, racing down the tendrils of plasma she’d sent up into the clouds.
Her body shuddered, arching towards the sky as the bolt speared and seared her. For one instant, her entire being seemed to dissolve and scatter to the winds. Mind, flesh, thought, breath, blood, all flew apart in a split second, only to draw back into a cohesive whole the next. She rode the heat, the pain, the wildness as the lightning’s energy raced through her body, seeking an outlet. She would not give it that. Heat consumed her, hotter than the sun. She screamed in agony but held fast.
Another bolt ripped from sky to ground, shooting into her body. Then another, and another. Rain turned to sleet, then to hail. Great, plum-sized rocks of ice slammed down from the heavens.
Dimly, she heard someone shouting, “Enough! Khamsin! Enough! You’ll kill us all!”
Valik clung to the trunk of a nearby tree. Khamsin watched him through a shimmering, violet-silver haze as he yelled, “Khamsin! Save Wynter!”
She continued to hold up her hands for a few moments longer, summoning more lightning. It shot to the ground, finding her unerringly. Her chest expanded on a breathless, voiceless scream. And then, she pushed out, into the heavens, sending a bolus of energy back up into the clouds, punching a hole in the center of the storm and sending the riotous clouds spinning outward at such speed that the clouds ripped apart and skidded across the sky in harmless bits.
Her skin was incandescent. A near-blinding glow suffused her, illuminating her flesh from the inside out. She could see the faint traceries of her veins, not blue or red, but shining golden white, as if her very blood had turned to liquid sunlight.
She fell to her knees beside Wynter. The ice had formed an inch-thick shell around his body, and his golden skin had taken on a bluish white tint beneath it. She reached out slowly. The power inside her was so hot, she was afraid to touch him for fear she might incinerate him as she had the garm. But as her glowing hands hovered over his body, the thick layer of ice enveloping Wynter began to melt, providing the answer she sought. She didn’t need to touch him or unleash the concentrated lightning inside her. Her proximity alone was enough.
She passed her hands over his prone form. Icemelt dripped off of him in runnels. She noticed as she did so that her own body was cooling as his warmed. The blue-white tint of his skin faded a little more with each pass. When she was certain her touch would not burn him, she laid her entire body atop his, so that the remaining heat inside her could radiate into his thawing flesh. Closing her eyes, she laid her head upon his chest, threaded her fingers through his, and covered the white wolf on his wrist with her Summerlea Rose.
How long she lay there, she didn’t know. Possibly minutes. Possibly hours. Time had no meaning until the moment she heard the first faint throb of sound in her ear. Several long moments later, she heard a second throb follow the first. Now each second of silence seemed to last a century as she waited for the next faint pulse of sound. The next pulse came, a fraction sooner than the last. Then another and another, until a steady rhythm tapped in her ear.
Wynter’s heart was beating once more.
The cold, stiff fingers threaded through hers flexed. Barely more than a twitch of movement, but she felt it all the same.
She lifted her head and held her breath as she watched him. His lashes fluttered, lids lifting slowly. She laid her palm against the side of his face, stroking his skin lightly. He was still cold—so, so cold—but his flesh no longer felt like it was carved from an unyielding block of ice.
“Wynter . . . husband.” A smile trembled on her lips.
He stared at her for a moment with blank incomprehension, dazed, as if he didn’t recognize her. But then, he blinked. His lips moved, forming a soundless word. Wife.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes, husband. It’s me, Khamsin, your wife.” She leaned closer, brushing kisses across his cold skin. “You worried us all.”
His lips moved again in another soundless word. Where?
“We’re at your family’s hunting lodge, near the skating pond. You saved us from the garm, but were badly hurt in the process. Valik and the Hunters found us. We are safe now, Wynter. You made sure of that.” She’d never reassured another person in her life. Never had cause to do so, but the words tumbled out so naturally, the need to put him at ease seemed as necessary as breathing. And she couldn’t stop running her hands over his skin, touching him, feeling terrible, icy cold fade as mortal life returned to him.
