The Winter King
Page 171
“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.”
“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.”
