The Winter King
Page 182
She has lied from the day she first met you, the voice whispered again.
No. She’d never claimed to be anyone other than who she was. She might have passed herself off as a maid—and yes, she’d hidden her identity at their wedding—but she’d never lied. At the most, she’d encouraged him to make wrong assumptions. But she’d never actually lied. She was too direct, too honorable, for that. Her idol was Roland Soldeus, for Halla’s sake—the most unswervingly honorable king Summerlea had ever known.
Roland is a legend. Falcon is flesh and blood—her brother—and she has idolized him every bit as much as she idolizes Roland—probably more so because he protected her from her father. He gave her love when she had none. Do you honestly think there’s anything she wouldn’t do to help her brother find Roland’s sword and reclaim his kingdom?
“Talk to the wolves,” Reika insisted. “Open your eyes to the truth before it’s too late.”
Wyn didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want the wolves to confirm Reika’s accusations. If they did, Khamsin’s betrayal would break him as he’d never been broken before.
He had tried to keep an emotional distance from his wife all these months to protect himself from such a possibility. When he’d been just a man, the heartbreak would be difficult enough. But he was a man who’d drunk the essence of a god—a dark, soulless god who thrived on rage and pain the way an infant thrived on mother’s milk.
He knew he shouldn’t look. A little more rage, a little more pain and hate, and Rorjak would have all the fuel he needed to overpower Wynter’s will, take control of his body, and unleash his evil upon the world.
But when he tried to turn away, he found he couldn’t. Perhaps Rorjak had already subsumed Wyn’s will to his own. Or perhaps Wyn couldn’t deny his own need to know the truth.
He reached out to the wolves.
The invaders broke camp hours before dawn. Falcon rode by Khamsin’s side.
“I would never have killed you, Storm,” he said as they rode. “I never would have done that. If I’d wanted you dead, I would have killed you at the temple.”
“You let our father throw me to the garm, then you left me there to die.”
“I didn’t leave you there to die. I went to get my bow. By the time I came back, you were already gone.”
“Even if that’s true, you still tried to burn me with Blazing’s fire.”
He grimaced and bowed his head. “I was out of my mind. I think I’ve been out of my mind for a long time. If I’d actually hurt you—really hurt you—I could never have lived with myself.” He looked at her with solemn sincerity, his eyes so earnest, pleading for understanding. “All I wanted was the sword, Storm. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know.” Finding it impossible to steel herself against Falcon’s eyes, she turned her attention back to the road ahead. “All I ever wanted was to be loved.”
“I do love you, Storm. I always have.”
“No,” she said. “You never loved me. Not really. You loved my adoration. You loved the way I idolized you and hung on your every word.”
She looked at the man who had been her childhood idol. The handsome, adventurous older brother—she’d thought him so perfect in every way. It hurt so much to realize how wrong she’d been about him. How blind she’d been to the truth.
“But I did love you. I loved you so much I cried myself to sleep every time you went away. You were everything to me. My father, my brother, my friend, my hero. I loved Roland because you did. I wanted to be like Roland, because I thought you were. I tried to be everything you admired because I wanted you to love me and to keep loving me. I even used to tell myself if I was as good and noble and courageous as you, maybe one day our father would love me the way he loved you. I loved you so much I refused to see a single weakness or shortcoming in your character.”
“Storm—”
“I didn’t even believe Wynter when he told me what you’d done to start the war. I tried to make excuses for you, the way I always made excuses every time you did something selfish or cruel. But no longer. When this is over, you’re going to leave Wintercraig and Summerlea. You’re going to sail back to Calberna or whatever other land will have you and never come back. If you do that, you can live out the rest of your life in peace, without fear of Wintercraig retaliation for your crimes.” She leaned towards him and let her eyes and the diamond in Blazing’s hilt spark with deadly power. “But I swear to you, brother, if you ever again threaten my people, my kingdom, or the ones I love, there is no corner of this earth where you will be safe from my wrath. And you know that is no idle threat.”
The army of the invaders rode through the predawn forest. Brown-skinned Summerlanders. Iridescent-blue-tattooed islanders in their loincloths, armbands, and protective armor plates, as oblivious to the cold as a pack of Frost Giants. At their head, riding between a massive Calbernan and Falcon Coruscate, unbound and clearly not a prisoner, was Khamsin.
She had gone to her brother.
Something squeezed Wynter’s lungs tight. He was choking, unable to catch his breath. Terrible pressure gripped his heart as well, tight, burning cold, painful in the extreme. He fell to one knee, clutching his chest. The pain spread out across his chest, down his arms and torso.
He reached out to grab a nearby tree trunk to stop himself from falling over.
No. She’d never claimed to be anyone other than who she was. She might have passed herself off as a maid—and yes, she’d hidden her identity at their wedding—but she’d never lied. At the most, she’d encouraged him to make wrong assumptions. But she’d never actually lied. She was too direct, too honorable, for that. Her idol was Roland Soldeus, for Halla’s sake—the most unswervingly honorable king Summerlea had ever known.
Roland is a legend. Falcon is flesh and blood—her brother—and she has idolized him every bit as much as she idolizes Roland—probably more so because he protected her from her father. He gave her love when she had none. Do you honestly think there’s anything she wouldn’t do to help her brother find Roland’s sword and reclaim his kingdom?
“Talk to the wolves,” Reika insisted. “Open your eyes to the truth before it’s too late.”
Wyn didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want the wolves to confirm Reika’s accusations. If they did, Khamsin’s betrayal would break him as he’d never been broken before.
He had tried to keep an emotional distance from his wife all these months to protect himself from such a possibility. When he’d been just a man, the heartbreak would be difficult enough. But he was a man who’d drunk the essence of a god—a dark, soulless god who thrived on rage and pain the way an infant thrived on mother’s milk.
He knew he shouldn’t look. A little more rage, a little more pain and hate, and Rorjak would have all the fuel he needed to overpower Wynter’s will, take control of his body, and unleash his evil upon the world.
But when he tried to turn away, he found he couldn’t. Perhaps Rorjak had already subsumed Wyn’s will to his own. Or perhaps Wyn couldn’t deny his own need to know the truth.
He reached out to the wolves.
The invaders broke camp hours before dawn. Falcon rode by Khamsin’s side.
“I would never have killed you, Storm,” he said as they rode. “I never would have done that. If I’d wanted you dead, I would have killed you at the temple.”
“You let our father throw me to the garm, then you left me there to die.”
“I didn’t leave you there to die. I went to get my bow. By the time I came back, you were already gone.”
“Even if that’s true, you still tried to burn me with Blazing’s fire.”
He grimaced and bowed his head. “I was out of my mind. I think I’ve been out of my mind for a long time. If I’d actually hurt you—really hurt you—I could never have lived with myself.” He looked at her with solemn sincerity, his eyes so earnest, pleading for understanding. “All I wanted was the sword, Storm. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know.” Finding it impossible to steel herself against Falcon’s eyes, she turned her attention back to the road ahead. “All I ever wanted was to be loved.”
“I do love you, Storm. I always have.”
“No,” she said. “You never loved me. Not really. You loved my adoration. You loved the way I idolized you and hung on your every word.”
She looked at the man who had been her childhood idol. The handsome, adventurous older brother—she’d thought him so perfect in every way. It hurt so much to realize how wrong she’d been about him. How blind she’d been to the truth.
“But I did love you. I loved you so much I cried myself to sleep every time you went away. You were everything to me. My father, my brother, my friend, my hero. I loved Roland because you did. I wanted to be like Roland, because I thought you were. I tried to be everything you admired because I wanted you to love me and to keep loving me. I even used to tell myself if I was as good and noble and courageous as you, maybe one day our father would love me the way he loved you. I loved you so much I refused to see a single weakness or shortcoming in your character.”
“Storm—”
“I didn’t even believe Wynter when he told me what you’d done to start the war. I tried to make excuses for you, the way I always made excuses every time you did something selfish or cruel. But no longer. When this is over, you’re going to leave Wintercraig and Summerlea. You’re going to sail back to Calberna or whatever other land will have you and never come back. If you do that, you can live out the rest of your life in peace, without fear of Wintercraig retaliation for your crimes.” She leaned towards him and let her eyes and the diamond in Blazing’s hilt spark with deadly power. “But I swear to you, brother, if you ever again threaten my people, my kingdom, or the ones I love, there is no corner of this earth where you will be safe from my wrath. And you know that is no idle threat.”
The army of the invaders rode through the predawn forest. Brown-skinned Summerlanders. Iridescent-blue-tattooed islanders in their loincloths, armbands, and protective armor plates, as oblivious to the cold as a pack of Frost Giants. At their head, riding between a massive Calbernan and Falcon Coruscate, unbound and clearly not a prisoner, was Khamsin.
She had gone to her brother.
Something squeezed Wynter’s lungs tight. He was choking, unable to catch his breath. Terrible pressure gripped his heart as well, tight, burning cold, painful in the extreme. He fell to one knee, clutching his chest. The pain spread out across his chest, down his arms and torso.
He reached out to grab a nearby tree trunk to stop himself from falling over.
