The Winter King (48 page)

“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 with 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.”

Neither Valik, nor Galacia, nor any of the Wintermen budged. Khamsin didn’t take her focus off the storm. She’d warned them. If they chose not to heed her, whatever happened would be on their heads, not hers.

She raised her arms. Warmth became heat. Heat became fire. Fire became a wild, consuming blaze that rushed through every cell of her body. The air around her went violet, glowing with energy. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and loosed the bonds holding the lightning in check.

The sky went brilliant white. A lightning bolt, thick as the trunk of a tree, shot from the sky, racing down the tendrils of plasma she’d sent up into the clouds.

Her body shuddered, arching towards the sky as the bolt speared and seared her. For one instant, her entire being seemed to dissolve and scatter to the winds. Mind, flesh, thought, breath, blood, all flew apart in a split second, only to draw back into a cohesive whole the next. She rode the heat, the pain, the wildness as the lightning’s energy raced through her body, seeking an outlet. She would not give it that. Heat consumed her, hotter than the sun. She screamed in agony but held fast.

Another bolt ripped from sky to ground, shooting into her body. Then another, and another. Rain turned to sleet, then to hail. Great, plum-sized rocks of ice slammed down from the heavens.

Dimly, she heard someone shouting, “Enough! Khamsin! Enough! You’ll kill us all!”

Valik clung to the trunk of a nearby tree. Khamsin watched him through a shimmering, violet-silver haze as he yelled, “Khamsin! Save Wynter!”

She continued to hold up her hands for a few moments longer, summoning more lightning. It shot to the ground, finding her unerringly. Her chest expanded on a breathless, voiceless scream. And then, she pushed out, into the heavens, sending a bolus of energy back up into the clouds, punching a hole in the center of the storm and sending the riotous clouds spinning outward at such speed that the clouds ripped apart and skidded across the sky in harmless bits.

Her skin was incandescent. A near-blinding glow suffused her, illuminating her flesh from the inside out. She could see the faint traceries of her veins, not blue or red, but shining golden white, as if her very blood had turned to liquid sunlight.

She fell to her knees beside Wynter. The ice had formed an inch-thick shell around his body, and his golden skin had taken on a bluish white tint beneath it. She reached out slowly. The power inside her was so hot, she was afraid to touch him for fear she might incinerate him as she had the
garm.
But as her glowing hands hovered over his body, the thick layer of ice enveloping Wynter began to melt, providing the answer she sought. She didn’t need to touch him or unleash the concentrated lightning inside her. Her proximity alone was enough.

She passed her hands over his prone form. Icemelt dripped off of him in runnels. She noticed as she did so that her own body was cooling as his warmed. The blue-white tint of his skin faded a little more with each pass. When she was certain her touch would not burn him, she laid her entire body atop his, so that the remaining heat inside her could radiate into his thawing flesh. Closing her eyes, she laid her head upon his chest, threaded her fingers through his, and covered the white wolf on his wrist with her Summerlea Rose.

How long she lay there, she didn’t know. Possibly minutes. Possibly hours. Time had no meaning until the moment she heard the first faint throb of sound in her ear. Several long moments later, she heard a second throb follow the first. Now each second of silence seemed to last a century as she waited for the next faint pulse of sound. The next pulse came, a fraction sooner than the last. Then another and another, until a steady rhythm tapped in her ear.

Wynter’s heart was beating once more.

The cold, stiff fingers threaded through hers flexed. Barely more than a twitch of movement, but she felt it all the same.

She lifted her head and held her breath as she watched him. His lashes fluttered, lids lifting slowly. She laid her palm against the side of his face, stroking his skin lightly. He was still cold—so, so cold—but his flesh no longer felt like it was carved from an unyielding block of ice.

“Wynter . . . husband.” A smile trembled on her lips.

He stared at her for a moment with blank incomprehension, dazed, as if he didn’t recognize her. But then, he blinked. His lips moved, forming a soundless word.
Wife.

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Yes, husband. It’s me, Khamsin, your wife.” She leaned closer, brushing kisses across his cold skin. “You worried us all.”

His lips moved again in another soundless word.
Where?

“We’re at your family’s hunting lodge, near the skating pond. You saved us from the
garm,
but were badly hurt in the process. Valik and the Hunters found us. We are safe now, Wynter. You made sure of that.” She’d never reassured another person in her life. Never had cause to do so, but the words tumbled out so naturally, the need to put him at ease seemed as necessary as breathing. And she couldn’t stop running her hands over his skin, touching him, feeling terrible, icy cold fade as mortal life returned to him.

His body shifted, as if he were trying to rise, but a groan slipped from his lips, and his face creased in pain. Then, to her horror, his eyes rolled back in his head, he gave a ragged sigh, and his body went completely limp.

“Wynter?” She shook him. “Husband?” He didn’t respond. Fear rose, swift and hard. She shook him again and shouted for help. “Galacia! Valik!”

The pair were at Wynter’s side in an instant.

“He has lost more blood than most could survive, and this wound across his belly is worrisome. The intestine was cut. The risk of deadly infection is very high.” Galacia flicked a grim gaze at Khamsin, then turned to Valik. “We need to get him back inside immediately.”

“You said if I called the lightning, that would save him.”

“From the Ice Heart. And you did—at least temporarily. But these are deadly wounds. Now that his flesh is mortal once more, his wounds have the power to kill him. If I can’t heal him, he may still die.”

“What?” Outrage boiled up inside Kham. “Why didn’t you tend his wounds earlier?”

Galacia gave her a sharp look. “You felt him. His body had turned to ice. How could I tend him in that condition? How could I stitch through skin hard as stone?”

“And now?”

“Now we put my healing abilities to the test.”

Kham found herself shunted aside as the men hoisted Wynter up and carried him back into the lodge. Kham stared after them, trying desperately to quell the knot of fear rising in her throat. Wynter could still die.

“Valik.” She caught the Steward’s arm. “We need Tildy—Tildavera Greenleaf—my old nurse. There’s no better healer in all of Summerlea, possibly all of Mystral. I’ve seen her bring soldiers back from the brink of death, when every other healer said they could not be saved.”

“She’s the one who came to our camp, isn’t she? The one who sold Wyn on the idea of marrying one of your father’s daughters.” He gave a derisive snort. “No.”

She reached for him again. “Listen to me. I know you don’t trust her—or me, for that matter—and I don’t care. If Galacia can save Wynter on her own, you won’t need to let Tildy anywhere near him. But if she can’t . . .” She let her voice trail off.

Valik shook his head. “Even if I said yes, it would take weeks to get word to Vera Sola then get her here. Wynter doesn’t have that kind of time.”

“No, it won’t.” Galacia looked up from Wynter’s side. “She’s already on her way to Gildenheim. Wynter sent for her ten days ago.”

“What?” Valik and Khamsin said in unison. They looked at each other, then both turned back to Galacia.

“Wynter sent for Tildy?”

“He never told me that,” Valik burst out at the same time.

Laci leveled a stern glance on Valik. “If your king has ceased to confide in you, Valik, perhaps you should look to your own heart for the reason why.” Then with a haughty sniff, she added, “He sent for Tildavera Greenleaf because he thought Khamsin would want a familiar face to attend her during her pregnancy.”

“My . . .
what
?” Kham’s jaw dropped. “Who said I’m pregnant?”

Galacia’s brows shot up. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?” Her lips tightened, and she glared at Wynter’s unconscious face. “I love you dearly, Wynter Atrialan, but you are a great lunkheaded lummox of a man.” To Khamsin, she said, “You have been suffering spells of dizziness, yes? Feeling a little queasy at mealtimes?”

“Yes, but—”

“Your scent has changed, too. Wynter pointed it out to me. He said he’d noticed a similar change when you first arrived at Gildenheim, but he didn’t realize what it meant until after we discovered what that Rosh woman had done. Your body is changing, thus altering your scent, making you dizzy, and making you queasy, because you are with child.”

Khamsin felt dizzy now. She grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself and laid a hand on her still flat belly. “But how can that be?”

Galacia arched an expressive brow. “Considering that you and Wynter have been mating like a pair of mink the last six weeks, I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question?”

Kham grimaced and rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Are you sure? There is no mistake?”

“You’ve had no bleeding since Belladonna Rosh was sent to the mercy of the mountains, have you?”

Kham’s face went hot. Mortified to have Valik and all the other men in the room listening to the intimate details of her bodily functions, she shook her head.