The Winter King (33 page)

At first, he approved of the change. Her bright Summerlander colors made it easy to spot her in a crowd, and his eye was instantly drawn to her whenever she entered a room. Since he’d spent the last month trying to avoid being drawn to her, he thought her altered wardrobe would be a good thing.

It didn’t quite work out that way. The paler colors set off her dark skin and black hair, amplifying the contrast to an even greater effect, the way diamonds enhanced the beauty of colored gems. Instead of helping her blend in, her new clothes only called attention to how different she was from the rest of his people, how exotically beautiful.

Valik had become so convinced Wynter was befuddled by some sort of Summerlander potion or spell that he’d ordered all of Wynter’s food and drink tasted before it touched the king’s lips, and he insisted Lady Frey perform dissolution rituals meant to unravel any spell placed upon him. Laci called Valik a fool to his face, but she performed the ritual to keep the peace.

“Idiots and frost brains,” she muttered as she stalked out after finishing. “That’s what men are. I’ve no idea why Freika ever bothered creating you. She should have recognized perfection when she created woman and stopped while she was ahead.”

Unlike Laci, Wynter wasn’t altogether certain Valik was wrong. Everything about his Summerlander queen intoxicated him. He thought about her day and night. He knew the instant she entered any room he was in, and though dozens of courtiers and the entire distance of a vast palace room might separate them, he was acutely and unalterably aware of her every step, every breath, every infinitesimal movement. Not even with Elka had he been so utterly consumed, so helplessly drawn to her. He was the moth, and Khamsin his flame.

And for that reason, though it cost him every ounce of his not-inconsiderable will, he kept his distance.

The six-week anniversary of her poisoning came and went. Laci informed Wynter that he could resume marital relations. But he was wound so tight, he didn’t dare. If his wife missed his company, she gave no sign of it. Indeed, she seemed far more intent on traveling the countryside. Scarce an hour went by when he did not hear tell of her latest adventure with that orphan lad of hers. Wynter, consequently, grew surlier and more snappish with each passing day.

“Enough!” Valik exclaimed when Wynter nearly froze him to death during an argument over the kingdom’s planned defenses. “This is ridiculous! You’re acting like an ice bear with a sore paw. What is wrong with you?”

Wynter scowled. “We’re preparing for an invasion we don’t have the numbers to repel, our forces are stretched between two kingdoms, and I’m losing my battle with the Ice Heart. What do you think is wrong with me?”

“He hasn’t returned to his wife’s bed even though I cleared her for relations over two weeks ago,” Laci told Valik in a flat voice. “
That
is what’s wrong with him. What?” She arched a brow at Wynter’s fierce scowl. “Servants talk. I listen.”

“That’s what this is about?” Valik spun around. “Then
bed
her, for Wyrn’s sake. That’s what you wed her for, anyways.”

Wynter’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. “Aren’t you the one who’s been going on for months now about how she’s put me under some sort of spell?”

“I’m sure she has! But that doesn’t change the fact that you need an heir. Besides, if not pumping the little witch is going to make you this unbearable, then throw her feet in the air and keep them there until your child is born!”

“Or find some other willing woman,” Laci murmured, giving Wynter a sideways glance. “I’m sure there’s no lack of prospects in your court.”

He scowled. “I gave her my word I would not.”

“Then do us all a favor and go to your wife,” she said.

“You told me to stay away!”

“That was two months ago. I told you stay out of her bed for six weeks.” Her mouth drew down in a disgusted grimace. “Truth be told, she was probably healthy enough within a week of the poisoning, but stupid me, I thought you might use the time to get to
know
your wife, not avoid her like the plague.”

“You
lied
to me?”

Galacia sniffed. “I gave you the same advice I would have given any man in that situation. It’s not my fault your wife heals exponentially faster than most. But that’s immaterial. The point is, you knew you could resume marital activities weeks ago yet you’ve done nothing about it. And in case it has escaped your notice, the pains you’ve taken to avoid her have been observed and emulated by your entire court. If you meant to make her life here as miserable as possible, you couldn’t have chosen a better method.”

Heat stung Wynter’s cheeks. “That was not my intent.” He wasn’t unaware of his court’s coolness towards Khamsin, but he’d done nothing to curtail it. And all right . . . perhaps some small, petty part of him
had
wanted to punish her for running about the countryside laughing and enjoying herself while he wanted her so badly, he’d spent the last two months in torment.

“Intent or not, that is the result.” Galacia crossed her arms and fixed her cold, glass-sharp gaze upon him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Wynter turned his attention back to the map of Wintercraig spread out on the table before him. The fight he’d had earlier with Valik was over delays with the final preparations at the scouting outposts. Wynter had expected all the outposts to be ready, fully manned, and running drills of the invasion-alert system, but some were weeks behind schedule, and his spies were reporting activity in the Calbernan armada. “Valik, whether they’re ready or not, we need to check these defenses.” He indicated the scouting outposts and forts along the west coast. “How long will it take you to pack?”

“An hour.”

“Good. Then we leave in two.”

“Wyn . . .” Disapproval iced Galacia’s voice.

“I said I’d take care of it, and I will,” Wynter snapped. “But there’s a war headed our way, and the defense of the kingdom comes first.” He took a breath and turned back to Valik. “Send word to Ofanklettur.” He pointed to the southernmost scouting outpost on the western coast. “They are to light the signal fire at noon in two days’ time. We ride to Frostvatn by way of the new scout towers.” He traced a path from the center of Wintercraig’s western coast northward to the isolated fort at the edge of the glacier fields. “I want to see for myself how much they’re lacking and how long it takes for the signal to reach from the south to the north.”

“Consider it done, my king.” Valik marched out of the room.

When he was gone, Wynter closed his eyes and rotated his head to loosen the tension in his neck. He was rewarded with popping sounds, but the tension was still there. And so was Galacia, with her frosty disapproval. Wyn sighed.

“When I return, I’ll see to my wife and put the gossip to rest. You have my word.”

“I expect you to honor it.”

“I always do.”

Galacia laid a hand on his shoulder and kept it there even when he flinched. “Wyn, give her a chance. I didn’t trust her brother, but she seems an honest sort. You might just have married the best one in the kingdom.”

His mouth twisted. “That’s not saying much.”

“I like her more than most in your court, too.”

“That’s not saying much either. You’ve never had much use for nobles of any stripe.”

“Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean. I know Valik thinks she’s a spy, but I’ve seen no sign of treachery in her. Get to know her. Gods willing, she’ll be the mother of your children. You’re capable of great love, great kindness. Let her see that.”

He took her hand off his shoulder and held it, shaking his head sadly. She didn’t understand. She still thought he was the Wynter she’d always known. “I’m not that man anymore, Laci. That man died when the Prince of Summerlea put an arrow in my brother’s throat.”

“I don’t believe that. If it were true, Rorjak would have won long ago.”

“He is winning.” For the first time, he admitted aloud what he had long suspected. “I can feel him now, there in the back of my mind, waiting. Before this year is out, you’ll have to put those spears in the temple to use.”

Her brows drew together over troubled eyes. “All the more reason for you to have gone to your wife the instant you could. A child is your best hope of thawing the Ice Heart.”

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before telling me to stay away from her.” She looked so genuinely contrite, he felt guilty for the jab. “I’m sorry. I know you were doing what you thought was best. Besides, I doubt a few weeks would make a difference. I think it may be too late for me, even if there is a child.”

“Don’t say that.” Her fingers clenched tightly around his. “Don’t give up hope. And don’t you dare give up without a fight. We need you, Wyn.”

He bent his head and kissed her cheek. He didn’t have to bend far; she was almost as tall as he was. “You’re a good friend, Laci.” He pulled back to give her a crooked smile. “Meddlesome, but a good friend all the same. Now, go on. I still have work to do before I leave.”

After Galacia left, Wynter regarded the map of Wintercraig’s defenses in troubled silence. His people were stretched too thin. The war with Summerlea had cost his kingdom dearly both in lost lives and injuries. With so many of the men at war, most industries in the Craig had struggled by with fewer hands to do the work, and even now were far from prewar production. He’d left half his army back in Vera Sola with Leirik to quell any possible uprisings, and that decision—though necessary—left Wintercraig even more vulnerable. When the armada came, Wynter and his folk would be facing the fight of their lives.

He walked back to the window and stepped out onto the balcony. Drifting snow brushed across his face and caught in the unbound strands of his hair. His gaze scanned the courtyard and battlements, looking for the slight figure he’d seen earlier, before his shouting match with Valik. And there she was, his wife, walking the outer wall, her little shadow, the orphan boy, close on her heels.

She’d already been riding today, but her outing had been cut short because of the storm clouds moving south over the Craig. The snows had come early this year, and the feel of those clouds promised at least another foot of snow before nightfall.

Wynter’s chest expanded as he breathed the cold, bracing air deep into his lungs. As if sensing his presence from the other side of the courtyard, Khamsin turned. He knew the instant their eyes met: awareness jolted through him like one of her storm-spawned lightning bolts. His hands clenched the balustrade so tightly he feared he might grind the stone into powder.

That reaction was the real reason he’d stayed away from his wife, despite being cleared to resume marital relations. He remembered the sheets on their wedding bed, stained scarlet with her blood because he’d been too consumed with his drug-amplified lust to notice her wounds or her discomfort. He hadn’t trusted himself to go near her until he was certain of his self-control.

But it seemed clear that self-control around Khamsin was a pipe dream. The more he stayed away, the stronger the attraction grew. What he felt for her now so outstripped the arras-driven lust of their wedding night, he could scarce comprehend it. They could not go on this way.
He
could not go on this way.

“When I return, wife, our separation ends. Gods help us both.”

The moment Wynter broke eye contact and headed back inside, Khamsin’s lungs started working again. She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then folded over in a paroxysm of coughing as the cold air chafed her throat and lungs.

“You all right?” Krysti gave her several solid thwacks on the back.

“I’m coughing, not choking.” She shoved his hand away and scowled. “Stop hitting me.”

“Sorry.”

Now he looked hurt. She sighed. That one look she’d exchanged with Wynter across the full distance of the courtyard had left her feeling tightly wound. If she didn’t find something to keep her mind occupied, she’d spend the whole day obsessing about why he was continuing to avoid her—and obsessing about him. And that would be a very bad thing. Especially with that snowstorm brewing on the horizon.

Kham turned back to Krysti and forced an overbright smile. “Come show me how to climb like you did earlier when we were out.” When riding this morning, they’d stopped by a stream to water the horses, and Krysti had scrambled up a pile of tumbled boulders like a bounding mountain goat. “I want to learn how to do that, too. You think you can teach me?” He’d already taught her how to pick a lock, and she was getting quite proficient at it.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But you’re not Big Horn clan.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Big Horn clanfolk are born sure-footed. It’s one of our clan-gifts. Like the way the king can scent things like a wolf, since he’s Snow Wolf clan.” Krysti glanced around. “If I’m going to teach you, we need a better place to practice. There’s a good climbing wall in one of the upper gardens that wouldn’t be too difficult for beginners. We can use that.”

“Wonderful. Lead the way.” As she followed him, Kham steadfastly refused to glance back at that now-empty balcony outside Wynter’s rooms. “So each clan has its own clan-gifts?” she asked, determined to focus her mind on something unrelated to her husband.

“Yes.”

“And everyone in that clan shares the same gifts? Not just the clan’s ruling family?”

“Weathergifts don’t manifest outside the immediate royal family, but clan-gifts are different. All Winterfolk have them. Some clan members have more gifts or a stronger ability in a particular gift than others, but there’s always at least one core clan-gift that all members of that clan possess.”

Khamsin nodded thoughtfully. All Summerlanders had a way with growing things—that was one of the reasons for the kingdom’s exceptional fertility and prosperity—but they didn’t have “clan-gifts” like Winterfolk. Occasionally, however, a member of the royal family was born with an affinity for a particular animal, as had happened with her brother Falcon. The royal historians attributed those gifts to the handful of Wintercraig brides wed over the centuries to the Heirs of the Rose, starting with the Wintercraig princess who’d married Roland’s brother Donal two thousand years ago.