The Winter King (34 page)

“How many clans are there?”

Krysti shrugged. “I don’t know. Twenty or thirty. Maybe a few more. I was supposed to start learning clanlore three years ago, but my parents died.”

In all the time they’d been together, Krysti hadn’t opened up about his family. Since she knew what it was like to lose a parent, she hadn’t pressed him for more information. Some wounds stayed fresh for a long time. But the fact that he’d brought them up made her think maybe he was ready to talk.

“What were they like? Your parents?”

“Nice. They loved me.” He cast her a quick glance, as if daring her to dispute it.

“I’m sure they did.” The corner of her mouth kicked up. “You’re very lovable.”

He flushed a little and gave her a friendly shove. She laughed, glad he’d taken the gentle tease in stride. That told her he wasn’t upset with the line of questioning and gave her tacit approval to probe a little further.

“Was your father a soldier?”

“No. He was a tanner and a leatherworker. Mam, too.”

“How did they die?”

“Our village burned down, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Krysti put on a burst of speed, forcing her to jog to keep up with him.

“Krysti!” She chased after him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Yes, you did.”

She bit her lip. Yes, she had. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Let’s hurry. We’re wasting daylight.” He jogged up another set of stone stairs, taking them two at a time.

Chastened, Kham followed him in silence. They continued up stair after stair until they reached the uppermost level of the main palace.

“Here we are.” The frosted glass roof of the Atrium towered thirty feet above them. Only the palace towers and Wynter’s private room built into the mountaintop were higher. Several courtyard gardens had been cut into the mountainside. Krysti led Khamsin to an isolated corner where the outer battlement wall merged with an inner courtyard wall.

“So, let’s say you wanted to get to the top of the wall. We’ll start with this one.” He patted the shorter, inner wall. “Pretend the battlement stairs don’t exist. You can still easily scale a small wall like this. Especially if it has handholds like the ones here and here and here.” He pointed to a few slightly protruding rocks in the wall. “Watch.”

Khamsin stepped to one side as Krysti ran at the corner of the wall. He leapt up, planting his right foot on one wall and left foot on the opposing wall, grabbed the protruding rocks, and scrambled up the corner of the joined walls. When he reached the top, he swung one leg over the inner wall to straddle it and leaned back, turning to grin down at Khamsin.

“There, see? Easy.” The whole demonstration had taken less than ten seconds.

“Oh, yes, very easy.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. That only made Krysti’s grin widen.

He swung his right leg back across the wall and hopped off, landing lightly on the snow-covered grass in front of her. “Probably nothing you should try in a dress, though.”

“That’s easily fixed.” Kham reached down and tucked her skirts into her waistband, leaving her woolen-stocking-clad legs bare. “Show me again, only this time not so fast.”

Wynter jogged down the steps of Gildenheim to the main courtyard, where Valik and a contingent of White Guard were waiting with the horses. To his surprise, they weren’t alone. Reika Villani stood by her cousin’s side, holding the reins to her saddled bay mare.

Wyn frowned and glanced between Valik and Reika. “Lady Villani, you are going somewhere?”

“She’s heading home to her family estate,” Valik answered. “Reika received word that her father is in poor health. She asked if she could ride with us as far as Skaarsgard. I was certain you wouldn’t mind.”

Wyn hesitated a brief second, aware of the watchful eyes of his court and the gossip that would ensue. Escorting Reika Villani anywhere could only cause him grief once Khamsin found out, as he knew she would. But what sort of cowardly troll would he be if he refused a lady of his court protective escort to her father’s estate for fear of a little gossip?

Shaking off the twinge of concern, he said, “Of course. It will be our pleasure to see you safely to your father’s estate.”

Reika smiled and curtsied with a murmured, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Wyn glanced up at Khamsin’s balcony above. One did not pour fuel on an inferno, then run away and expect others to deal with the resulting conflagration.

“We’ll leave in half an hour,” he announced. “There’s something I must attend to.”

Leaving Valik and Reika staring after him in surprise, he jogged back up the steps and into the palace. “Fjall.” He called the Steward of the Keep to his side. “Where is Her Grace?”

“She’s with young Krysti, Sire. They’ve been exploring the palace since returning from their ride.”

Which meant they could be anywhere. And he had neither the time nor the inclination to rouse the entire castle in search of his wife.

“Thank you.” Leaving the steward to his duties, Wynter took the central stairs three at a time and followed the corridors to the private office attached to his rooms. Sitting down at the desk, he drew out a slip of parchment, uncapped the pot of ink, and dipped a quill in.

The inked quill hovered over the parchment for several minutes as he wrestled with what words to write. In the end he decided to stick to the facts.

My Queen,

Business of the kingdom has called me away. I return in a fortnight. Keep well, min ros. I will attend you upon my return. Until then, I remain

Your faithful husband,

W

There. Short, sweet, and to the point. Nothing weak or wistful, but he’d included an endearment and declared his intent to end their estrangement when he got back. And he’d taken the time to write the note in his own hand. That should earn some measure of favor.

He hesitated, debating about whether to address Reika’s presence in his traveling party directly, then decided against it. He’d outright declared himself a faithful husband in his note, thus his wife should have no trouble dismissing any groundless gossip that might reach her ears.

Wyn sanded the note, waited for it to dry, then folded, sealed, and addressed it. He carried the sealed missive into Khamsin’s chambers and propped it against the mirror of her dressing table, where she could not help but notice it.

Satisfied that he’d done what he could to avert pending disaster, Wynter made his way back to the courtyard and mounted Hodri. The stallion pranced, tossing his long white mane and snorting with impatience.

Wyn patted Hodri’s strong neck and took up the reins. “Let us be off.”

With a clatter of hooves on gritted cobblestone, Wynter, Valik, Reika, and the White Guard rode out of Gildenheim.

Sore, exhausted, her pent-up frustration now tamped down to bearable levels, Khamsin groaned as she sank into the luxurious, steaming bath Bella had prepared. Her head lolled against the lip of the tub, eyes closed, as she breathed in the patchouli-scented steam.

Her legs and arms felt like jelly, and there wasn’t a muscle in her body that didn’t ache. She’d practiced under Krysti’s instruction until well after sundown. The boy was a surprisingly demanding taskmaster. He hadn’t let her quit until she’d reached the top of the wall several times, a feat that had proven more difficult than she’d anticipated given the awkwardness of her voluminous skirts tucked up around her waist and her lack of upper-arm strength.

Tomorrow, first thing, she would start the exercises Krysti had recommended to strengthen her arms for climbing. And the seamstress who’d been remaking her wardrobe would simply have to make her a set of clothes more suited to the sort of active pursuits Krysti and the men engaged in.

She’d seen the women of the Craig working hard alongside their men. She wasn’t going to let herself remain some weak, pampered southerner in their eyes. She was going to become a woman of the Craig in every way she could. She was going to learn to climb cliffs, hunt, read the signs of the forest.

Maybe that would earn their approval.

Because being herself certainly hadn’t.

This strange dance of avoidance going on between Wynter and herself had to end, too. Starting tonight. If his seat at dinner was empty again, she was going to track him down and demand that he come to her bed. Considering that her life still lay in the balance if she didn’t produce a child, she wouldn’t be begging for his attentions. She’d just be demanding he keep up with his part of their marriage contract.

“Bella,” she called. She could hear her maid moving around in the bedchamber. Tidying the linens, no doubt, since she’d been bemoaning the Wintercraig maids’ inability to fold a crisp corner. A few moments later, the girl popped into the bathing room.

“Yes, ma’am, you called?”

“Lay out the white gown for dinner. The one with the ermine trim.” Kham ran a soapy cloth across her outstretched arm. Wynter liked that dress, she knew. The last time she’d worn it, he’d hardly taken his eyes off her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bella said. She started to turn away, then paused. “So you will be going down to dinner tonight, then?”

Khamsin frowned. “Of course. Why would I not?”

“Well, I thought that since the king was gone, you might—”

“The king is gone?”

“Yes, ma’am. This afternoon. He rode out with Lord Valik and Lady Villani.”

The bar of soap squirted out of Kham’s suddenly clenched hand and landed in the tub with a splash.

“He rode out . . . with Lady Villani?”

“Yes, ma’am.” A gust of wind rattled the mullioned windowpanes. Bella flinched and glanced out at the darkening evening sky. “I’m sorry. I thought he told you.”

“No. No, he didn’t.” Khamsin gripped the sides of the tub. The already-warm water was growing hotter by the second. “On second thought, just lay out my nightgown and robe. I’ll have dinner in the room tonight and make an early night of it.”

“Of course.” Bella bobbed a curtsy and left.

Rather than lounging in the tub until the water cooled—which at the present rate was going to be never—Khamsin made short work of her bath and stepped out. She needed no towel to dry herself. The water on her skin evaporated into steam before her feet touched the thick rugs covering the cold stone floor.

Wynter had left Gildenheim without a word to her. And he’d taken Reika Villani with him! He’d sworn to be faithful. To take no other woman to bed. And yet he’d avoided hers for the last two months and was now cavorting about the countryside with that conniving harpy.

She snatched up her robe, shoved her arms through the sleeves, and stalked into her bedroom. Was this some sort of test? To see how far he could push her before she broke? Or had he lied to her from the start? Just told her what she wanted to hear to keep her docile and under control while he went after the woman he truly wanted?

She didn’t want to believe she could be so easily duped, but apparently, she could. He’d dazzled her with his great, masculine beauty, seduced her with his oh-so-believable flashes of tenderness and caring. Stupid, naïve idiot that she was . . . she’d fallen for it all.

The bedchamber was warmer than usual, a large fire roaring in the hearth. The flames leapt higher as Bella industriously poked at the logs.

“Those Wintercraig maids opened all the windows this afternoon when they were changing your linens,” Bella groused. “Can you believe it? I nearly froze in my shoes when I first came in—such a horrible, icy wind blowing through the place. It’s only bearable now because I closed the windows and started a fire. Silly, goose-brained girls. What were they thinking? It’s snowing—snowing!”

Kham glanced out the windows. Sure enough, the snow Krysti said had been threatening all day was now falling thick and fast.

“It’s all right, Bella,” she murmured. “I like the fresh air, too. It makes the room smell nice, and the cold doesn’t bother me. But you go on back to your room and sit by the fire. Take the rest of the night off.”

Bella turned in surprise. “But what about your dinner?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m really not hungry.”

“But—”

“
Please!
” Kham grimaced at the sharp edge in her tone and rubbed her temples. “Please, just go. I’ll be fine.”

Grumbling about being sent away, Bella left.

Khamsin drew on her nightdress and robes, then paced the room restlessly, hounded by her thoughts and the feelings of anger and betrayal. The roaring fire, rather than comforting her, only made her hot, irritable, and angrier. She’d trusted him. Dear gods, she
had.
The enemy king who’d wed her. He had promised to be faithful, to deal with her fairly, and she’d
believed
him. What a fool she was!

She flung open the balcony doors and stepped out into the storm, hoping the cold and snow would draw the temper from her and calm her down. Instead, the storm grew worse as her agitated weathergift amplified the forces of nature. The wind began to howl. The whole sky was whirling white now, and she couldn’t see down to Gildenheim’s walls—nor even to the courtyard below. The air around her was hot and steaming—snowflakes evaporating in an instant when they neared her body. Her anger was feeding the storm, all right, but the storm was feeding her anger, just as much.

A frisson of alarm skated up her spine. This was getting bad. Very bad.

“For Wyrn’s sake, Khamsin,” she muttered, “get away from the sky before you kill someone.”

She fled back indoors. In order to break the connection between the storm and her gift, she needed to go someplace deep, surrounded by rock and earth. She waved off the guards standing beside the door to her chambers and made her way downstairs to the kitchens. There, scores of servants bustled about in organized chaos, stirring soups, roasting meats, plating dishes. One look at her swirling silver eyes, however, and they cleared a path without a word.

She ran through their midst and down the stairs to the large, musty wine cellar that had been carved deep, deep into the mountain. Torches burned in sconces along the wall, the only source of light. During her tour with Mistress Vinca, she’d been frightened when her visit to the wine cellar had cut her off from her gift, but if she didn’t separate herself from the storm soon, people would die.