The Winter King (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“
They know what it is
you’re after now,” said the
traitor
. That’s how he’d come to
think of himself lately. It was how the Thirteen referred to him as
he sat smugly amongst them, watching and listening. They were
clueless. It was enough to make him laugh, but he kept that
laughter to himself and gave nothing away. To give any indication
that he was who he was would be a death wish of course, and he
wasn’t feeling particularly suicidal.

He was speaking to the Entity, who’d
employed him months ago.

They stood in a clearing in
a forest. It seemed to be the place where the
Entity
enjoyed materializing the
most. His body was an indeterminate thing when it was not safely
and cruelly encased in stolen human flesh. It seemed very long,
overtly thin, and there was no real beginning or end to its limbs.
But it seemed thus, only when the being materialized altogether,
which was rare. Amongst the tall, thin trees of the forest they
stood in right now, he seemed almost a part of the dark vegetation.
He was that sudden hint of humanoid something that was there at a
passing glance, but gone when you looked twice. It was that white
face that was a nightmare on black limbs that at a second glance
were really tree branches.

The Entity was fear itself. He was that
inexplicable form that molded itself out of shadows, out of wild
imaginings, out of misgivings and indecision and terror. And what
better place for such things than the deep, dark woods?

Beside the traitor, in that
small clearing in the forest, stood Kamon Re. Kamon was the
so-called god who was the black sheep half of a set of twins that
as far as the traitor was concerned, were really just spiteful
squabblers with family issues and more magical aptitude than they
knew what to do with. Advanced mages, that was what they
were.
Petty
advanced mages.

But Kamon Re was indeed powerful, and he
wanted his brother’s wife, and the traitor knew all too well the
covetous power of lust. How Kamon could want a body that had been
used up by the Entity, the traitor had no clue. Did the man have no
inkling of what the Entity was planning to do to her? He would use
her. He would take her immense power, use it to make his own body
real, and then dump her used carcass like the empty potato sack it
will have become.

Of course, the Entity didn’t tell him this.
He promised him he would have his love. Kamon Re chose to interpret
that as, “I’m getting the girl.”

Whatever.

Getting the girl was only meant for some.
The traitor had known full well that he wouldn’t have a queen. And
that had all but proven itself to be true in the last year or so.
As the other kings happily traipsed into their blissfully married
fates, he’d continued to sit alone at the table of the Thirteen, no
one by his side but his enemies.

Unfortunately, the kings were intelligent
enough to have figured out that the snitch amongst them was one of
those few unlucky men who hadn’t yet found their mates. And that
number was dwindling. The game would be up very, very soon.

The time to act was now. And the Entity knew
it too.

“
Yes,” the Entity said, in
that whisper-hiss that slithered under the skin and venomously
poured into the blood stream. “The old witch and her meddling
daughter have been busy bodies.”

The Entity was referring to Dannai Caige,
who was not actually Lalura Chantelle’s daughter, but adopted
daughter. However, everyone knew what he was talking about.
Somehow, Mrs. Caige had learned the truth about her real mother,
Amunet. And she’d shared that information with the witch, who had
in turn shared it with the Thirteen.

“
She needs to be stopped,”
said the traitor, stating what was obvious for the sake of getting
it out in the open.

“
Frankly, I’m surprised you
haven’t dealt with her already,” said Kamon. “Or perhaps you’ve
tried?” The smirk on his face would hint that he was joking.
However, the Entity surely wouldn’t take it so lightly. Lalura
Chantelle was ridiculously powerful; reminders weren’t
necessary.

“
I’ll take her out of the
picture,” volunteered the traitor, before the Entity could become
agitated. The traitor had been wanting to snuff the old woman out
for years anyway. Fortunately for him, magic protected his
intentions, his emotions, and his thoughts from Chantelle’s prying
powers. She had no idea he hated her. And that of course would play
to his advantage.

She needed to die before
she figured out what the
rest
of the Entity’s plans were and blabbed to the
Thirteen about those as well. Because if she did, the traitor
wouldn’t get what he was promised either.

“
No,” said the Entity
simply. “I have a much better idea.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“
We shouldn’t go anywhere
tonight. We should leave in the morning,” she suggested.

Kristopher turned to regard his future
queen. That was how he thought of her, regardless of how tentative
she might be. He’d seen what he wanted, and now he was going to get
it. He would make sure of it. He just needed to bide his time.

“
You said your power will
come back to you over time.” She was busy making up the bed in the
ice hotel room. It had already been laid with furs and blankets,
but she fussed with their edges, moving around the bed to un-tuck
the blankets from the mattress, which was stacked upon another
mattress, which was stacked upon some thermal concoction to prevent
the cold from the ice and the heat from the bodies from
mixing.

“
What are you
doing?”

“
I hate the way hotels
always tuck the sheets under the mattress. Drives me nuts how tight
it is. I always feel like I’ve been mummified.”

“
I see.”

There was a couch in the room too, and it
was also made of ice, but furs galore, in combination with
blankets, pillows, and complimentary parkas had been provided for
the comfort of the hotel’s guests. In their case, these remained
thus far unused. Though Poppy hadn’t come right out and admitted
it, neither one of them had need of extra warmth. Winter was in
their blood.

Kris had already agreed to take the couch so
she could have the bed alone. It went against every fiber of his
being to make the offer, but he did it anyway. And he wondered, as
his muscles tensed at the thought of her sleeping a few feet from
him all night, whether he was changing as a man.

“
So, as I was saying, you
mentioned that the longer we wait, the more power you’ll regain,”
she continued as she finished up with her mattress
adjustments.

“
I did.” The truth was
however, he’d already regained the majority of his abilities. He
could feel the magic swirling into a condensed presence within
himself. It was like a tree reacting to an injured root. It simply
began pulling extra sustenance through the roots that were not
damaged. It was a quick fix, and not ideal, but that was what he’d
done, and that was what he would do until Yggdrasil was repaired
and
all
of his
strength was returned.

“
So, the longer we wait,
the better. Plus, if we wait until morning, maybe whoever hurt the
Tree will think you’re worse off than you actually are.”

That actually hadn’t occurred to him. He
looked side-long at her as she began to re-arrange the pillows now,
too. She was amazingly bright. They hadn’t had much of a chance to
interact, in all fairness. He’d seen her, followed her, they’d
“met,” she’d had a sip of coffee, and then the fit had hit the
shan, so to speak. They’d gotten a crash course in each other, but
he’d done most of the talking. She knew where he came from. She
knew how he’d become the Winter King.

But what had he learned of her? Not very
damned much. She’d expertly steered all of their conversations away
from herself, and he’d let her do so to put her at ease. But his
lack of knowledge about his future queen was more than a little
frustrating. Still, he’d seen enough to recognize a quick mind when
he witnessed it. She had one.

It was something to make note of, because he
had a feeling that if he ever got into an argument with her, he
would have to be at the top of his game, or she would make a
complete mockery of him.

“
Morning it is,” he told
her as he took the set of blankets near the couch and brought them
to the bed. He had no need for them. “Here. Take these.”

She stopped fussing with the pillows and
looked up. “Won’t you need them?”

“
As Elsa says, ‘Cold never
bothered me – ”

“
No, don’t say it.” She
shook her head, and held up her hand, stopping him mid-speech.
“Just don’t.” Then she took the blankets. “So I’m guessing the
Winter King doesn’t get cold.”

He chuckled. He didn’t fail to notice that
when he did, her eyes lit up, and her gaze slid to his mouth. He
saw the pulse in her neck quicken. He was observant that way.

She liked it when he
laughed.
Note to self.

“
Temperatures themselves
have little effect on me,” he told her. “Being the Winter King
means having some control over the
weather
. And weather is not just
winter.”

“
No, it isn’t,” she agreed.
“People always complain about ‘the weather’ when it starts to turn
cold, but summer’s worse than winter. It kills more people,
actually. It’s heat that brings tornadoes and hurricanes. And you
can always pile more clothes on, but you can only take so many off,
you know?”

Kristopher swallowed hard as he imagined her
taking off those clothes.

She went on. “Weather,” she
said distractedly, “is all about temperature in general.” Her tone
suggested she was really thinking out loud more than anything else.
She had turned her attention back to the bed, fluffing up the
pillows she’d placed against the ice wall. “Temperature changes
brought on by the tilt of the planet bring on
everything
that we relate to
weather. Wind is the planet’s attempt at balancing out the
difference between hot and cold. That same effect gives us
barometric pressure changes and things like storms.” She took a
deep breath and sighed. “Summer, winter, spring, and fall and
everything in-between. It’s all due to changes in
temperature.”

“
Damn, woman. I love the
way you think.”

It just came out. He hadn’t
meant to voice his thoughts aloud, but there they were. He
really
did
love
the way her mind worked, and it was odd for him to realize as much.
He wasn’t actually sure he’d ever felt that way about a woman
before. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure that he’d ever
noticed
a woman’s mind
before.

By Odin, I’m an
ass
, he thought. His sister was
right.

Poppy went very still where she stood
half-bent over the bed. Her head turned, her gaze searching out
his. He smiled a helpless smile. “Sorry,” he said in a way that was
not really sorry at all. “But I do. I love a lot of things about
you, Poppy.”

She straightened, turning to face him. After
a few seconds, in which Kristopher would have given his right arm
to know what she was thinking, she finally said, “You don’t even
know me. Not really.”

He shrugged. “You’re right. I don’t. So, why
don’t you tell me?” He strode to the bed, and before she could
object, he sat down on the edge of it.

She watched him get
comfortable, and her expression became a little discomfited. But
she sighed, pursed her lips, and said, “Fine. My name you already
know. I’m thirty-four years old, I was born in a tiny town in a
very frozen Canada, and my birthday is in September. I love fall
and hate summer, I adore thunder storms and Honeycrisp apples and
hot cocoa and I loathe the sound of lawnmowers. I don’t think swear
words are bad words; I think they’re just
words
and can be used for good or
bad, like all words. My favorite scent is the smell of rain,
followed closely by the smell of cherry bark and almonds. My
favorite movie is probably
The Princess
Bride
, and my favorite song… never mind, I
can’t pick a favorite. I have two dental implants, which I got for
my sixteenth birthday because for that same birthday, I got to play
center in my neighborhood’s ice hockey game. I’m quite fond of the
color purple, I firmly believe politics are a losing game, and my
first crush ever was on Count von Count from Sesame Street. I was
four years old.”

She paused as his head spun and his heart
swelled. She looked down at the rug-covered ice floor and pondered
something in silence. Then she said, “I have one sister and two
brothers. My father is usually the one I get along with. I love my
mom, but we butt heads.” She moved to the bed, and seemingly
without forethought, she sat down next to him. “We’re both
extremely stubborn.”

“
What kind of man is your
father?” Kris asked, knowing she would probably love to bitch about
her mother, but that talking about things she enjoyed would cheer
her up more.

Poppy’s face brightened. Her features seemed
to soften, and her eyes took on a shine. Still gazing into
something he could neither see nor hear, she said, “He’s funny. And
he’s done so many crazy things.” She laughed. “He’s the most
amazing human I have ever known.”