The Winter King

by C. L. Wilson

  She was sitting on a narrow bed in a strange room she didn’t recognize. Half a dozen White Guard in full plate mail surrounded her, swords drawn, their pale eyes cold, their golden faces frozen in expressions that ranged from impassivity to outright menace.

  Her chest went tight, and dread washed over her in an icy wave.

  She sought Valik’s face in the crowd around her and fixed her gaze on him. “What’s happened? Where is Wynter? Does he live?”

  All she could think was that Wynter was dead. And a sick, terrible feeling consumed her. He couldn’t be dead. Not him. Not the fierce northern king who fought Frost Giants and won, who battled four garm with just his sword and his own fierce will.

  Not Wynter.

  Not her husband.

  Not the man she—she—

  “Valik!” she cried. “Tell me what’s happened to Wynter!” She lunged forward, rising up on her knees, only to gasp in pain and spin abruptly to one side when one arm was nearly wrenched from its socket. “What in the name of—” Her voice broke off.

  A metal cuff circled one wrist. And that cuff was attached to a short length of metal chain that tied her to the wooden frame of the bed.

  “Valik!” She yanked at the chain, then turned to him in disbelief. “What is the meaning of this? Why am I chained? Where is Wynter?”

  Valik ignored her questions. “What were you doing outside of the palace during the Great Hunt?” His tone was cold enough to freeze water.

  “What?”

  “The king ordered you to remain within the walls of Gildenheim until he returned from the Hunt, yet you defied him. You snuck out of the palace and rode into the forests without guard or escort and without informing anyone of your destination or intent. You will explain yourself!”

  She drew herself up, summoning every ounce of royal Coruscate arrogance she could muster. “The Queen of Wintercraig doesn’t answer to you, Steward! And as I have already explained my actions to my husband, I am quite certain you are not interrogating me on his command. Now, where is Wynter? I order you to take me to him!”

  In a flash, Valik’s sword was under her chin, the point pressed against her throat. The other guards raised their swords, too.

  “Three days ago, a Calbernan army landed an invasion force in Summerlea, led by your brother, the thief and murderer, Falcon Coruscate. Your father and his generals have escaped their confinement and are presumably on their way to join the Calbernans. And the very day those forces made landfall, you rode out of Gildenheim alone and for reasons unknown.”

  “What?” Falcon had raised an army? He was waging more war?

  “Given what we now know,” Valik was saying, “you can understand why the king has ordered your actions thoroughly investigated.”

  Khamsin stared at Valik in horror. Wynter thought she had betrayed him? Even after he’d risked his life to save her from the garm? Even after she’d risked her life to save him, too?

  She put a hand over her heart and pressed down in counterforce against the sharp, squeezing pain. Oh, Khamsin, you fool. He’s a Winterman! He protected you for the same reason he always did—because so long as you’re his wife, that’s his duty. And what have you done? Idiot! Fool! Ridiculous girl! You’ve gone and fallen in love with him.

  Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes closed in weary despair. “Take your sword from my throat, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Valik must have been convinced because after a silent moment, the sword beneath her chin pulled back. A quick glance showed the others had followed suit.

  Kham wrapped her free arm around her waist, holding herself tight, keeping her head bent and eyes down. Her heart was breaking.

  Steady, Kham. You’ve survived worse. Only it didn’t feel that way. Even that horrible day in Vera Sola, when her father had taken her into the dark inside the mountain and beaten her to the brink of death, she hadn’t felt such despair.

  “As I told Wyn—” Her voice came out rough and scratchy. Her throat was tight and dry she could barely speak. She swallowed painfully and forced herself to start again. “As I told my husband, I received a note saying his life was in danger. That people meant to kill him during the Great Hunt. I went to warn him. I thought the note was from Krysti, but instead it came from Reika Villani, and the trap wasn’t for Wynter, it was for me.”

  Several of the men shifted. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they didn’t believe her. Valik, however, remained steady and still, his gaze never leaving Khamsin’s face.

  “What sort of trap?”

  “She led me into the forest towards the garm, then she attacked me. She had some sort of pronged weapon that cut like sharp claws. Said my blood would draw the garm. She intended them to kill me. And if Wynter hadn’t come along, her plan would have succeeded.”

  “Yet here you stand without a scratch on you,” Valik pointed out.

  “Thanks to the storm. And if you don’t believe me, go back to where you found me. You’ll find the trail of blood leading back to the place your cousin attacked me.”

  “And why would she want you dead?”

  Khamsin’s brows shot up. “Because she wants to be Wynter’s queen, of course! That’s what she’s always wanted.”

  “You lie!” one of the guards shouted.

  “Wulf!” Valik snapped.

  “You can’t possibly believe her, Valik!” The man named Wulf shot back. “She’s a Summerlander. As deceitful and murderous as the rest of her kin. Lady Reika knew better than to enter the forest during a Great Hunt! But this one”—he gestured to Khamsin with his sword—“wouldn’t understand the extent of the danger. She probably thought that with the castle emptied, it was the perfect time to send word to her family, or meet with a Calbernan spy. It’s more likely the Lady Reika saw her sneaking out and risked her own life to follow her and see what she was up to. And the Summerlander killed her for it.”

  “Sven! Ungar!” Valik snapped. “Get him out of here.”

  As the guards marched Wulf towards the door, Kham shook her head and turned to Valik, expecting to see realization and maybe even some hint of apology in his expression. Instead, she found him regarding her with narrow-eyed suspicion. It was the first time in a month he’d regarded her thusly.

  “Valik? You can’t honestly think that man’s accusations are true. Reika told me Wynter’s life was in danger in order to lure me out of the palace and into a trap. She’s the one who led me into the forest. She attacked me.”

  When he still said nothing, she threw her hands into the air. “Oh, for Halla’s sake! If I was out there meeting with enemy agents or sending secret invasion plans to my brother or whatever ridiculous thing you’re accusing me of doing, why would I have stopped those two garm from killing Wynter?”

  Valik’s brows lifted. “You defeated those two garm? With Wynter’s sword? Forgive me, but I doubt you could lift Gunterfys, much less use it to slay two garm.”

  “I’m not talking about the two garm Wynter killed,” she retorted. “I’m talking about the other two—the ones that would have ripped him to pieces if I hadn’t incinerated them.”

  “There were no others, you evil bitch!” Wulf shouted from the doorway.

  “Sven! Ungar!” Valik roared.

  “Sorry, my lord,” one of the men escorting Wulf apologized. To his prisoner, he hissed, “Harm to her is harm to him, you idiot. Keep talking, and you’ll find yourself chained on the glaciers for treason.”

  Khamsin turned her attention slowly back to Valik. She could feel the storm building inside her. They didn’t know about the garm she’d burned to ash with her lightning. They thought there’d only been two of the monsters—both slain by Wynter. But Wynter knew how many he’d faced. If Wynter were the one who had ordered this interrogation, they would know that, too.

  She looked up slowly, and she knew by the
way Valik went so still that her eyes must have gone pure, shifting silver. Proof of the dangerous, lethal power gaining strength inside her.

  “Where is my husband?” she demanded in a low voice. “And cease with your lies. Does he still live?”

  A muscle flexed in Valik’s jaw. “He lives.”

  “But he never sent you here. He never told you to interrogate me. He never thought I was my brother’s spy.”

  After a long, bitter hesitation, Valik spat out the truth. “He has not awakened since we found you both.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wynter had not doubted her. He had not watched her risk her life to save him, then turned around and accused her of betrayal. Her fingers closed around the chain that tied her to the bed. Searing heat bloomed in her palm.

  “Then you will take me to him. Now.” Her eyes flashed. Metal clanked against the bedpost as the heat-softened links of the chain attached to her wrist pulled apart.

  The Wintermen raised their swords in swift response, pointing the business ends her way in naked threat, but just as quickly, her hands shot out, fingers splayed. White-hot electricity crackled at her fingertips.

  “Do not,” she bit out. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if you try to keep me from my husband even a moment longer, I’ll fry you where you stand.”

  The guards looked to Valik for guidance, and Khamsin held his gaze, steady and fierce, until he gave a curt nod.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “I’ll take you to him.” His eyes turned wintry. “But I warn you, lady, storm gifts or no, harm him in any way, and you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  With half a dozen swords pointed at her back, Khamsin followed Valik down an unlit hallway and into the spacious gathering room of what appeared to be some sort of hunting lodge. Animal pelts covered the floor and rustic furniture. Antlers and other hunting trophies adorned walls fashioned from tree trunks polished and darkened with age. A fire roared in a huge stone hearth that dominated the majority of one wall.

  Galacia Frey stood before the fire. She was still dressed in her white leathers from the Great Hunt. She held Thorgyll’s freezing spear in one hand.

  The priestess arched a brow. “I take it she convinced you?” she said to Valik.

  He grimaced. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Galacia glanced at the melted chain dangling from Khamsin’s handcuff, and the corner of her mouth curled. “So I see.”

  “Where is Wynter?” Khamsin interrupted. “Valik said he would take me to him.” More sparks crackled at her fingertips. If this was another trap . . .

  “And so he has,” Galacia assured her. She gestured towards the hearth. “The king lies there. In the fire.”

  “In the—? Are you mad?” Khamsin gasped in horror and spun towards the hearth. The opening was as tall as she was, twice as wide, and easily six feet deep, and inside, stretched out on a raised metal grate and surrounded by orange flames, lay Wynter.

  “Blessed Sun! What have you done?” Pushing Valik aside, she ran towards the hearth. She shoved her arms into the flames, intending to grab Wynter and pull him to safety, but before she could secure a grip, Galacia wrapped an arm around her waist and flung her away.

  Kham came up fast, magic rising, a familiar violet glow surrounding her.

  “Do not.” Galacia was crouched for battle. The business end of Thorgyll’s glittering crystalline spear was pointed at Khamsin. “The fire does not harm him. He is untouched. Look. See for yourself.”

  Still holding her magic ready, Kham inched closer to the hearth and risked a swift glance at Wynter. What she saw made her rub her eyes and move closer still. That was indeed Wynter lying on the metal grate in the center of the flames. He was naked, his flesh still torn from his battle with the garm, but she could see no hint of injury from the fire licking at his skin.

  The flames surrounded him. The heat was searing. Yet his body seemed impervious to its fiery environment.

  “What sorcery is this?” She turned to Lady Frey.

  “It is the Ice Heart,” the priestess replied. “It has him so firmly in its grip, fire cannot harm him now. At most, its warmth retards the final stages of the Ice Heart’s conquest. It was the only option I could think of to try to keep Rorjak’s essence from consuming the last remnants of Wynter’s humanity. The very power that threatens to consume him also keeps him alive.” Galacia’s mouth turned down. “Gods do not die.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to revive him?”

  “I? No. Not while he remains in this state. To do so would be to destroy us all.”

  “But you just said the Ice Heart has not fully claimed him yet.”

  “I said some small part of Wynter remains. And that is true, else his body would have healed itself, and the last battle would already have begun. But he is too far gone, and the power of the Ice Heart is too strong.”

  “If all hope was lost, you would already have slain him.” Khamsin nodded to the crystalline spear clutched in Galacia’s hands. “That is one of Thorgyll’s freezing spears, is it not?”

  Lady Frey lowered the spear and straightened up from her crouch. “You’re right, Summerlander. There was one small hope that stayed my hand.”

  “What hope is that?”

  Galacia looked up, pinning Khamsin with a gaze as sharp as the point of her spear.

  “You.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Khamsin stood outside the hunting lodge, staring up at the rapidly darkening sky. Galacia and Valik stood beside the cabin door. “You’re assuming a great deal if you think my touch alone can push back the Ice Heart.”

  “Valik assures me he’s seen proof of it more than once,” Galacia said.

  Kham cast a glance over at Valik. Despite his renewed distrust of her, Wynter’s second was convinced that Khamsin’s gift-magic was the only fire hot enough to pull Wynter back from the brink of the Ice Heart’s grip. Apparently, when Valik and his men had arrived after the garm attack, Khamsin was still lying across Wynter’s body, where she had collapsed. According to Valik, the moment he separated the two of them, Wynter’s body had grown colder, turning icy within a matter of minutes.

  He’d kept Kham and Wynter together until Galacia had come up with the idea of putting Wynter’s body in the fire.

  Now, they all expected Khamsin to summon her storm. Only this time, they expected her to master that storm specifically to superheat her body the way she had when she’d attacked the garm. She’d already tried using the crackling electricity she’d managed to generate on her own, but even heat strong enough to soften metal couldn’t do much more than thaw the layer of ice that formed around Wynter’s body the instant they removed him from the flames.

  She needed lightning, and lots of it. She needed the same fury she’d summoned to defeat the garm.

  The door to the lodge opened, and six Wintermen walked out, carrying the metal grate that held their king. The men laid Wynter’s body on the ground before her. In the short time it had taken to carry him from the hearth in the lodge to the fire, ice had already coated his skin.

  Khamsin stepped closer. She couldn’t get used to the sight of Wynter lying so still, his larger-than-life vitality trapped in a form as rigid and lifeless as those ice sculptures of his dead family that he had enshrined in Gildenheim’s Atrium. Even those rare times when she’d awakened to find him sleeping beside her, all it took was the slightest movement, the faintest sound, to bring him snapping back to consciousness, ready for battle.

  Ready to protect her from the tiniest threat.

  Her. Storm. The forgotten princess hidden away like a shameful secret, the daughter reviled as much for her tempestuous nature as for the dangerous, volatile gifts that came with it.

  The first crack of lightning lit the sky, and thunder boomed. Khamsin continued to feed power to the storm, stoking its volatile engine wit
h more heat, more cold, more moisture. Her waterlogged riding skirts whipped around her legs, beginning to steam as her body temperature rapidly increased.

  Wynter was the first man who’d ever championed her. The first man who’d ever stood up to her father in her defense. The only man who’d never feared what she was or what she was capable of.

  But that wasn’t why she loved him. That had merely cleared the path for her heart to follow. She’d started to love him the day she’d entered the Atrium and found herself looking directly into his heart. Or had it been the day in the forests of Summerlea, when he’d shed his armor, exposing himself to an assassin’s arrow rather than allow his plate mail to catch on her hair and cause her discomfort? Or the day he arranged for her riding lessons, giving her her first taste of freedom?

  Oh, what did it matter? Somewhere along the way, she’d begun to want more of him than mere passion. Somewhere along the way, she’d begun wanting to be not just his wife, but his love. And she’d begun to dream of giving him the child he so desired, not to save herself, but to see warmth and joy replace the icy remoteness in his eyes. Because she wanted to bring back some measure of happiness into his life, to give him the love he’d once known with his family.

  To save him, the way he had saved her.

  Now, here was her chance.

  Kham fixed her gaze on Wynter’s still face. With her focus on saving him, her mind didn’t have time to worry about the deadly consequences of the storm. And that lack of fear freed her. It was almost like staring at a point in the distance until all the world went out of focus.

  Her consciousness separated from her body and spread out once more into the storm, orchestrating the flows of air, encouraging the ionization that unleashed the concentrated power of the sun in the brilliant explosions of light and heat that speared the sky. For the safety of those at the lodge, she tried to keep the lightning in the clouds until the storm had grown so fierce it battered her will, wrestling for freedom.

  “You should go inside now.” Her voice sounded thick and deep, rumbling like thunder. She didn’t know how much control she would have once she unleashed the power currently concentrated in the clouds overhead. Even with the garm, she’d only channeled that force—not tried to absorb it into her own body. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”