The Winter King
Page 150
It was a gamble, forcing him to acknowledge her rank or strip her of it before the White Guard. If he denied her, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. But she was done being the foreigner in their midst. It was past time all of them accepted that she was here to stay.
After several long, tense moments, Valik bowed before her. “Yes, my queen.”
Khamsin brushed a cool, damp cloth gently across Wynter’s forehead. In the three days since she’d driven back the effects of the Ice Heart, the infection Galacia feared most had set in. A putrescence of the belly, caused by a mix of the slash to Wynter’s intestine and the poison carried in the claws and fangs of the garm.
Fever raged in the body that had only days before been frozen solid.
Wynter lapsed in and out of consciousness as the infection spread through his veins. Around the wound, his golden skin had turned an angry purplish red, with streaks of inflamed color radiating outward, and his breathing had become shallow and labored. He was clinging to life by a thread, growing weaker by the hour.
If they didn’t find a way to draw out the infection soon, he would die.
“Khamsin . . .” Wynter muttered her name as his head tossed on the pillow stuffed with fragrant herbs.
“I’m here, husband.” She leaned down to press her lips to his burning forehead. Her fingers squeezed his hand. “I’m right here beside you.”
“. . . Khamsin . . .” His brows drew together. “. . . the garm . . . must save . . .”
“You did save me. I’m right here beside you. You slew the garm, husband. We are both safe. They cannot hurt us anymore.” She stroked the silvery white hair back from his temples. “Come back to me, Wynter. Please. I . . . need you.”
The door to the hunting lodge opened. A burst of cold air swirled through the opening. Valik entered, his boots caked with snow.
“She’s here.”
Kham turned. “Tildy?”
“Aye. And I pray she’s as good as you say she is.”
She leapt to her feet and ran outside just as two dozen armed and armored riders came galloping up. Tildy, bundled in so many layers she looked like a stuffed swan, was clinging to the back of one of the riders. Two of Valik’s men reached up to help her out of the saddle.
“Tildy!” Khamsin started towards her old nursemaid, then hesitated. For days, she’d been wondering how this reunion would go. She’d been so hard and unforgiving over Tildy’s role in her marriage.
But when those old eyes fell upon her, Tildy’s arms opened wide. “Dearly!” The face Kham had never thought to see again beamed out from its nest of dark woolens and furs. Then Tildy’s arms were around her, and the familiar scent of lemon verbena filled her nose.
“Oh, Tildy, I’ve missed you.” Her own arms came up to pull Tildy close and hold her tight. Kham squeezed her eyes shut against threatening tears as a tumult of emotions welled up. “I’m so glad you’re here. Wynter is very ill. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. The infection grows stronger by the day.”
“Of course. Just let me get my things.”
“The men will bring your belongings.”
Tildy and Khamsin both turned to find Valik close beside them. He was regarding Tildy with the same cold suspicion he’d heretofore reserved for Khamsin.
“Valik, this is Tildavera Greenleaf, my former nurse. Tildy, this is Valik Arngildr, Wynter’s Steward of Troops.”
“We’ve met,” he said. “Several times, as a matter of fact.”
To Tildy’s credit, she held his gaze without faltering. “Indeed, sir. I remember the occasions well.”
“The question is, who do you spy for now, Nurse Greenleaf?”
“No one, my lord. My days of intrigue are over. I have come only to serve my princess.”
“Your queen.”
“Pardon?”
“To serve your queen. Khamsin is no longer your princess. She is Queen of the Craig and of Summerlea.”
Tildy blinked. “Of course. I but spoke from the habit of years.”
Valik inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. “The king lies this way.”
Kham gave Valik a questioning look, surprised by his unexpected defense of her position. His response was a curt nod and a stiff bow. One arm extended towards the door in an invitation for her to precede him.
Well, that was interesting. Among themselves, Valik still suspected Khamsin of being her brother’s spy, but with outsiders, he circled the spears. Shaking her head in bemusement, Kham led the way into the lodge.
As the men carried in Tildy’s bags and boxes of supplies, Khamsin introduced Tildy to Galacia, and Laci brought Tildy up to speed on Wynter’s condition and all the remedies they had already attempted.
Tildy listened intently, interrupting only to ask an occasional question. When Galacia finished, Tildy approached Wynter and began her own examination. She inspected the stitched slashes and bite marks that scored his chest, legs, and arms, rolled him to his side to examine the wounds on his back, and gently probed the gaping, infected wound in his belly. Pus and violet-tinged blood seeped out in response to the slightest pressure.
“You say the creature that made these wounds carried poison in its fangs and claws?”
“The garm,” Galacia confirmed. “Yes. The poison is so lethal, most men would have died within a day of receiving even the least of the king’s injuries.”
“Is that poison to blame for the strange hue of his blood?”
After several long, tense moments, Valik bowed before her. “Yes, my queen.”
Khamsin brushed a cool, damp cloth gently across Wynter’s forehead. In the three days since she’d driven back the effects of the Ice Heart, the infection Galacia feared most had set in. A putrescence of the belly, caused by a mix of the slash to Wynter’s intestine and the poison carried in the claws and fangs of the garm.
Fever raged in the body that had only days before been frozen solid.
Wynter lapsed in and out of consciousness as the infection spread through his veins. Around the wound, his golden skin had turned an angry purplish red, with streaks of inflamed color radiating outward, and his breathing had become shallow and labored. He was clinging to life by a thread, growing weaker by the hour.
If they didn’t find a way to draw out the infection soon, he would die.
“Khamsin . . .” Wynter muttered her name as his head tossed on the pillow stuffed with fragrant herbs.
“I’m here, husband.” She leaned down to press her lips to his burning forehead. Her fingers squeezed his hand. “I’m right here beside you.”
“. . . Khamsin . . .” His brows drew together. “. . . the garm . . . must save . . .”
“You did save me. I’m right here beside you. You slew the garm, husband. We are both safe. They cannot hurt us anymore.” She stroked the silvery white hair back from his temples. “Come back to me, Wynter. Please. I . . . need you.”
The door to the hunting lodge opened. A burst of cold air swirled through the opening. Valik entered, his boots caked with snow.
“She’s here.”
Kham turned. “Tildy?”
“Aye. And I pray she’s as good as you say she is.”
She leapt to her feet and ran outside just as two dozen armed and armored riders came galloping up. Tildy, bundled in so many layers she looked like a stuffed swan, was clinging to the back of one of the riders. Two of Valik’s men reached up to help her out of the saddle.
“Tildy!” Khamsin started towards her old nursemaid, then hesitated. For days, she’d been wondering how this reunion would go. She’d been so hard and unforgiving over Tildy’s role in her marriage.
But when those old eyes fell upon her, Tildy’s arms opened wide. “Dearly!” The face Kham had never thought to see again beamed out from its nest of dark woolens and furs. Then Tildy’s arms were around her, and the familiar scent of lemon verbena filled her nose.
“Oh, Tildy, I’ve missed you.” Her own arms came up to pull Tildy close and hold her tight. Kham squeezed her eyes shut against threatening tears as a tumult of emotions welled up. “I’m so glad you’re here. Wynter is very ill. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. The infection grows stronger by the day.”
“Of course. Just let me get my things.”
“The men will bring your belongings.”
Tildy and Khamsin both turned to find Valik close beside them. He was regarding Tildy with the same cold suspicion he’d heretofore reserved for Khamsin.
“Valik, this is Tildavera Greenleaf, my former nurse. Tildy, this is Valik Arngildr, Wynter’s Steward of Troops.”
“We’ve met,” he said. “Several times, as a matter of fact.”
To Tildy’s credit, she held his gaze without faltering. “Indeed, sir. I remember the occasions well.”
“The question is, who do you spy for now, Nurse Greenleaf?”
“No one, my lord. My days of intrigue are over. I have come only to serve my princess.”
“Your queen.”
“Pardon?”
“To serve your queen. Khamsin is no longer your princess. She is Queen of the Craig and of Summerlea.”
Tildy blinked. “Of course. I but spoke from the habit of years.”
Valik inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. “The king lies this way.”
Kham gave Valik a questioning look, surprised by his unexpected defense of her position. His response was a curt nod and a stiff bow. One arm extended towards the door in an invitation for her to precede him.
Well, that was interesting. Among themselves, Valik still suspected Khamsin of being her brother’s spy, but with outsiders, he circled the spears. Shaking her head in bemusement, Kham led the way into the lodge.
As the men carried in Tildy’s bags and boxes of supplies, Khamsin introduced Tildy to Galacia, and Laci brought Tildy up to speed on Wynter’s condition and all the remedies they had already attempted.
Tildy listened intently, interrupting only to ask an occasional question. When Galacia finished, Tildy approached Wynter and began her own examination. She inspected the stitched slashes and bite marks that scored his chest, legs, and arms, rolled him to his side to examine the wounds on his back, and gently probed the gaping, infected wound in his belly. Pus and violet-tinged blood seeped out in response to the slightest pressure.
“You say the creature that made these wounds carried poison in its fangs and claws?”
“The garm,” Galacia confirmed. “Yes. The poison is so lethal, most men would have died within a day of receiving even the least of the king’s injuries.”
“Is that poison to blame for the strange hue of his blood?”
