Winter Queen

by Amber Argyle

  “So passes a warrior,” one woman intoned.

  “So passes a Tyran,” another answered.

  Clanmen gripped Ilyenna, pulling her away from the bloody ground and back to the cluster of men and women. From the silence, the thrumming started again. Rone pulled his undershirt and tunic off. He looked so different from her father, his gleaming skin stretched over taut muscles. His body seemed to emanate youth and strength. It could all be gone in a moment.

  She didn’t think she could go through this again. Her soul would shatter like glass—shatter and never be whole again. Ilyenna searched for something to hold onto. Something to keep her from falling apart. Then Varris was there, squeezing her hand reassuringly. She searched Ilyenna’s face and spoke over the sound of stomping feet. “You don’t have to watch.”

  “Not watching would be worse,” Ilyenna said tightly.

  To her ears, the stomping sounded like a death march. For one more man, it would be. She stared at the bloodstained ground under Darrien’s feet. Her gaze traveled up his hard body to his face. Rage twisted his features—rage aimed at Rone.

  A new fury rose within Ilyenna. “Curse them all!”

  As if in answer, Burdin stepped forward, his arms raised. The stomping ceased. “To first blood?” he said again.

  “Please. Please, Rone. I beg you. Please,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “To the death!”

  She felt a splinter in her soul, like the ice cracking under her feet all over again.

  Burdin eyed Rone and Darrien. “You’re both young yet. No one else has to die today.”

  Rone’s gaze shifted from Darrien to Burdin. “Step aside, High Chief.”

  Burdin dropped his head and slowly backed away.

  As soon as he was clear, Rone and Darrien lunged at each other. They exchanged a series of quick, hard strikes. Rone attacked first. Darrien recovered and pressed him back. With a sick feeling in her stomach, Ilyenna realized they were well matched. Winning could depend on luck or endurance.

  She squeezed Varris’s hand harder. “Please,” she heard herself whisper, “if there’s any justice for the living, let the dead take Darrien.”

  As she watched, Rone slipped through Darrien’s guard, his axe swinging diagonally from his left shoulder. Darrien jumped back, his shield barely managing to deflect Rone’s blow, but Rone’s axe grazed his cheek.

  Rone had taken first blood. Darrien didn’t seem to have noticed. Their axes tangled, and he threw his shoulder into Rone, making him stumble back. With their axes locked, Rone forced Darrien to either move with him or release his hold. Darrien fell forward, knocking Rone down with him. They rolled together, Rone on top first and then Darrien. Both men pushed against their axe handles, trying to gain the advantage.

  Darrien spat in Rone’s eyes. For a half second, Rone wavered. Darrien twisted Rone’s axe out of his hands. It landed with a heavy thud, just out of reach. Rone grabbed Darrien’s axe handle, pushing it steadily away.

  Darrien jerked it up and to the side, slamming the base into Rone’s temple. Rone’s arms went slack. He groaned.

  “No,” Ilyenna gasped. She lurched forward. One of the men grabbed her collar. It dug into her throat.

  Darrien reversed the momentum, and the axe bit into Rone’s ribs. Darrien pulled it free. With a wicked grin, he slowly stood. His back to Ilyenna, he drew his axe over his head.

  With a tearing sound, she managed to jerk free. “Please, no!” She threw herself over Rone, shielding him.

  Darrien stood over her, Rone’s blood dripping down his axe onto his face. Darrien hesitated, then slowly lowered his axe. “What will you give me?” he whispered, triumph in his eyes.

  Ilyenna felt the second crack in her soul. “Whatever you want.” The words came easier than she’d expected. It was so easy to betray her clan and herself to save the man she loved.

  Darrien looked behind her. She followed his gaze to see Burdin cautiously approaching. Darrien smiled softly. “Swear it.”

  “I swear it.” Her voice broke.

  He nodded. “It’s done then.” He freed his hands from his shield and reached toward her.

  She hesitated, staring at his hand, smeared with Rone’s blood. Slowly, her gaze shifted to Rone. Though unconscious, he was breathing. He was alive. If she refused, Darrien would see those precious breaths ended.

  Without taking her eyes from Rone, she slipped her hand into Darrien’s. He pulled her to her feet. Burdin came up beside them and made sure Rone was indeed alive, then shot a questioning look at Darrien.

  Darrien’s act was firmly back in place. Loudly enough for the entire crowd to hear, he said, “Taking Rone’s life will do nothing to erase the enmity between the Tyrans and Argons. My hope in sparing him is that he’ll forgive the wrongs committed by my father and myself, allowing the business of healing to begin.”

  Burdin nodded cautiously. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Darrien lifted Ilyenna’s hand, stroking the thin veins with his thumb. “I cannot take back what I have done to Ilyenna, but I can do my best to make it right. I will marry her.” He looked at her with something close to compassion in his eyes. Knowing how false it was, she shuddered. “That way, she’ll have the chance for marriage—something my actions took away from her.”

  Burdin searched her gaze. “Ilyenna?”

  “It’s the only way.”

  Apparently surprised by her change of heart, the high chief continued to scrutinize her. “Children between the two of you would go a long way to healing the enmity between the Tyrans and Shyle,” he finally said.

  And guarantee Darrien regains his title as a clan chief, Ilyenna thought bitterly, because what good was saying it? Burdin would willingly throw a lamb to the wolves if it meant saving the flock.

  Burdin’s next words seemed more for himself than for her. “You’re sure, Ilyenna?

  Yes, the villain walks away the hero. And none of you know the difference. Still, she remained silent.

  Darrien brushed the blood from his wounded cheek with his free hand. “Come, Ilyenna. Let us return to the Tyran camp.”

  She let herself be led away, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking back. Varris was lifting Rone’s head. His eyes blinked open. He glanced around in confusion before his gaze locked with Ilyenna’s. Then the crowd blocked her view.

  She still heard Rone’s hoarse shout. “Ilyenna! Curse you!”

  Her soul shattered into a thousand pieces.

  22. A Promise

  Ilyenna passed through the Tyran encampment with her head down. She felt the Tyrans’ eyes on her. Soon, Darrien lifted the flap to the center tent and gestured for her to enter. He stepped in behind her and secured the flap. She felt his gaze on her back, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t. She was the walking dead.

  Finally, Darrien moved. She heard the scrape of wood on wood and the slosh of liquid in a mug. The unmistakable smell of Riesen whiskey burned Ilyenna’s nostrils. She heard him throw it back, swallow, and let out a satisfied “ahh.” The mug hit the table and he sat heavily. “Well, I have to admit this all worked out better than I dared hope.”

  “You had doubts?”

  He chuckled. “A game as complicated as this rarely turns out so well.” He was silent for a time. “Really, Ilyenna, you’ve done me many favors—favors I both love and hate you for. You killed my brother. Your father killed mine, allowing me to become the Tyran clan chief long before even I’d planned.”

  “You’re not the clan chief. Not anymore.”

  Ambition glittered in Darrien’s eyes. “I will be. Believe that.”

  She did. She turned and scrutinized him. “He was your father. Have you no sorrow?”

  Darrien looked away. “It is unfortunate. But he would’ve died sooner or later.” He sniffed loudly and shrugged. “For me, sooner was better.”

  She was going to marry a monster. A monster who would share her bed and raise her child—Rone’s child. She pressed her lips toget
her. If Darrien even suspected a piece of Rone grew within her, he’d kill it. That meant she had to share his bed. And soon. She shuddered. “What about me? Is sooner better for me, too?”

  He studied her dispassionately. “We need children, Ilyenna. You know that.” He poured himself another drink and threw it back, then stood and walked toward her.

  Unable to stop herself, she backed away. “Why?”

  Darrien smiled, the same cruel, wicked smile she’d seen him wear before he did something brutal. She backed up until she could go no farther. He took the last few steps slowly, drawing out her fear. His hot whiskey breath blew against her skin. She looked away. He tugged off the cord holding her braid in place, pulled it loose, and ran his hands through her hair.

  Had Rone really done the same only a few hours before?

  He brushed her neck with the backs of his fingers, then rested his hand around her neck. Just a little squeeze and he’d be choking her. “I’ve always been fascinated by you. You’re so . . . different from the other clanwomen.”

  Ilyenna grimaced. She’d always been different. Dark eyed. Thin. She’d always hated being unusual, standing out when she’d wanted nothing more than to fit in. She hated it even more now.

  He caressed the skin above the collar of her undershirt. “Not many things pull my attention away from my pursuit of power. And none of them fight the way you did.” He bent down, nuzzling the skin he’d just caressed. “Won’t you fight, Ilyenna? Just a little?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “You cannot hurt one who is already dead.”

  He started undoing the laces of her underdress. “Oh, come now. I know the fire still burns in you. Let it flare up again. This won’t be nearly as much fun without it.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she felt salty blood pooling in her mouth.

  “Darrien Tyran!” came the shout from outside.

  Ressa. Ilyenna nearly cried out in relief.

  Darrien groaned and closed his eyes. “That woman will suffer a most abominable death.” There was a promise in his words that took Ilyenna’s breath away. He backed a step away from her and then another. She sucked in a deep breath and eagerly scooted away from him.

  “Yes, Clan Mistress?” he shouted.

  “It’s against tradition for an engaged clan mistress to stay with her betrothed’s clan. Since Ilyenna’s clan isn’t present, I offer the Riesens’ hospitality.”

  “Traditions,” Darrien growled under his breath.

  Without invitation, Ressa entered the tent, letting in a fresh gust of air. Behind her came four of the Riesens’ strongest men. Ilyenna practically ran to the woman’s side.

  Ressa took one look at Ilyenna’s loosed hair and the laces undone below her throat and grabbed her like she’d never let go. “I could go speak to Burdin about this.”

  Ilyenna recognized Ressa’s words for the threat they were. Apparently, so did Darrien. “Come, there’s no need for that. Ilyenna and I’ve already shared a bed. What’s the difference now?”

  Ressa smiled, but it looked more like she was baring her teeth. “Whether or not that is true,” she spat, “Ilyenna deserves to be treated with respect. After what you’ve admitted doing to her, I cannot imagine you would disagree.”

  Darrien narrowed his eyes into a glare. “Careful, Clan Mistress.”

  Ressa returned his glare as she backed away, still firmly gripping Ilyenna. “Oh, I’m always careful.”

  The moment Ilyenna left the stuffy tent, she sucked in air like she’d never get enough. Outside, twilight was coming on. Oblivious to her plight, the people had already begun their revelry.

  Ressa didn’t say a word until they were safely back in her tent. Her men followed. She guided Ilyenna inside, then walked back out. Through the tent flap, Ilyenna watched her round on the guards. “Darrien Tyran is the most despicable, lying tyrant to ever walk the clan lands,” Ressa explained. “If I hear that any of you have repeated his lies, I’ll have you all strapped so hard you’ll wish Darrien was your clan mistress. Am I clear?”

  All four men nodded like little boys eager to escape their wooden-spoon-toting mother.

  Ressa grunted. “Good. Now all of you are posted outside this tent. No one gets in or out unless they sleep here or I’ve approved it.” She shooed them away. “One on each side. Go.”

  Ilyenna could see the flickering shadows as the men took their positions around the tent. She took no comfort in their presence. They were all just delaying the inevitable.

  Ressa rounded on Ilyenna, her fists planted firmly on her hips, but her words were as soft as a lamb’s ear, “You must really love Rone.”

  Ilyenna closed her eyes. “How is he?”

  The older clan mistress was silent for a long time. “His left lung collapsed.” Ilyenna took a sharp breath and nearly choked on it. “We had to force some whiskey down his throat before he calmed down enough for us to heal him. We used a sea urchin spine to suck most of the air out of his lung cavity so his lung could fill with air again. Then we sewed it shut. When I left him, he was muttering threats to anyone who came near.”

  Ilyenna silently pleaded his wound wouldn’t become infected. “Can I see him?”

  “Ilyenna—” Ressa hesitated. “He thinks you’ve betrayed him.”

  Ilyenna bit the inside of her cheek, but it was so sore she quickly released it. “He would see it that way.” She couldn’t deal with it now. She didn’t have enough strength in her. “Father?”

  “Madder than a caged bear. But he’s not moving very good, so he’s complying.”

  Ilyenna slumped in relief. The men she loved were still alive, despite their own foolishness.

  “Dying is a lot easier than living through hell,” Ressa finally said.

  “I know,” Ilyenna replied, and even to herself, her voice sounded dead.

  “I suppose you do.” Halfway out the tent, Ressa turned. “I’ll try, but I don’t think there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  Ilyenna lay down on her blankets. “I know.”

  ***

  “Wake up, Ilyenna. Come on, wake up!” Varris shook her shoulder.

  Ilyenna wasn’t sure how she’d managed to fall asleep. Perhaps giving up was easier than fighting after all. Still groggy, she sat up. The sounds outside revealed that the night’s festivities were in full swing.

  “I managed to get rid of your guards.” Taking her hand, Varris led her out of the tent. “The Tyrans have announced they’re leaving tomorrow.”

  Ilyenna had expected that. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Varris paused, glancing cautiously between tents before hurrying forward. “Rone’s worse.”

  Ilyenna stumbled. “How much worse?”

  Grim faced, Varris tugged her forward. “His wound is fevered. But it’s not just that. It’s like he’s given up—like he wants to die.”

  Numb, Ilyenna allowed herself to be dragged through crowds of revelers, the different colors of the clans weaving around her like a living tapestry. Music, laughter, and mouthwatering smells danced on the salty air. Bright shells winked from the eves, and firelight flickered into sight between houses or tents before disappearing again.

  Past the clan house’s open doors, Varris led Ilyenna up the ladders to a bedroom. She nodded toward the closed door. “We’ve only got a few moments.”

  Ilyenna hesitated before pulling the latch and slipping inside. Rone lay on the bed, his face as white and shiny as a tallow candle. Breaths wheezed past his lips. He stared at her through bloodshot eyes fogged over with fever.

  Ilyenna moved to stand before the bed. Neither she nor Rone spoke for an unbearably long time. Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence anymore and said, “The Tyrans are leaving in the morning. They’ll be taking me with them.”

  “It seems you sacrificed yourself for nothing,” Rone rasped.

  Ilyenna’s legs lost their strength and she collapsed onto the bed. “Don’t say that.”

  Rone’s answering
grunt transformed into a violent cough. He held his ribs as pain creased his face.

  Ilyenna watched him helplessly, wishing she could take away his pain.

  Spent, Rone lay back against the pillows, his eyes closed. There was blood on his teeth, his chin. “I would’ve given my life for you.”

  Ilyenna reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “I did give my life for you,” she said softly.

  He stared at her until understanding dawned on his face. He lay back against the pillows. “I’m dying, Ilyenna.”

  She leaned forward, suddenly terrified. “No! You can’t. You have to try. You have to fight.”

  He studied her, anguish lining his face. Then he looked away. “I don’t have anything to live for. Darrien took it all.”

  Ilyenna stared at the door, hating that she only had moments to say goodbye. Debate raged within her. Finally, she leaned down and said in her softest whisper, “You have a child to live for.”

  Rone’s brows drew together. “A . . . child?”

  She took his hand and pressed it to her belly. “Yes. Yours.”

  His gaze flicked from her eyes to her belly and back again. He pulled away, pressed his palms into his eyes, and groaned. “Oh, Ilyenna, what’ve I done to you?”

  She rested her hands lightly on his, then pulled them away. “You gave me memories I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.” She smiled, wanting so badly to give him some sense of peace. “I’ll raise this baby the way it should be raised. Someday, it’ll change the Tyran clan.”

  Rone flashed the dangerous gaze she’d seen so many times. “Darrien cannot raise my child, cannot bed the woman I love. I’ll come for you, Ilyenna. I’ll start a war if I have to.”

  “The Raiders are still out there,” she said furiously. “None of us are safe. Your clan and mine—” She stuttered to a stop when she realized the Shyle was no longer her clan. The Tyran was. She shook her head. “You are a clan chief. Your first responsibility is to your clan.” Ilyenna opened her eyes and glared at Rone. “Don’t forget that.”

  Varris tapped on the door. “Ilyenna? Please hurry.”

  Ilyenna couldn’t bear to look Rone in the eye. “Try–try to forget me,” she said as she stood up.