The Winter King
Page 123
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Wynter’s queen.
She focused on the source of her power: the sun’s golden white heat. When she summoned a storm, she let anger fuel her power. She knew she could concentrate the sun’s heat at least on a personal level, as she did when she melted a metal hairbrush or boiled the tea in her teacup. She knew what that felt like . . . like a storm inside her soul, battering against her skin to gain its freedom.
Summoning that feeling on demand was difficult, so she recalled past wrongs, emotional hurts, wounds that had struck hard and deep and never been forgotten. Her father’s face, purple with anger, his eyes flashing a flickering orange like the flames in a hearth. The feel of his signet ring smashing into her cheek, branding her with his fury. Maude Newt and her endless, sneering interference and tattling. Reika Villani trilling with laughter and stroking one slim hand possessively over Wynter’s golden skin, turning to regard Khamsin in mocking challenge, daring the pitiful Summerlander to stop Reika from claiming Wynter as her own.
“It’s working.” Wynter’s voice interrupted her increasingly agitated thoughts.
Kham opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a cloud of steam. Waves of heat radiated from her palms. She was sinking quickly through a large round hole in the snow. Moments later, her feet came to rest on the steep, shingled roof of a house.
“That’s good! Stand back, Your Grace. We’re coming down.” Ropes spilled over the sides of the crater she’d created, and four Wintermen rappelled rapidly down to join her. Three of them immediately pulled hatchets from their belt loops and began hacking a rescue hole in the roof. The fourth held out a hand.
“Please, my queen, if you will allow me? Karl, Joris, Svert, and I will see to the family. There are many others who could use your help.”
Kham blinked. “Of course, I—oh!” She started in surprise as the man wrapped his arms around her. But before she could think to fend him off, he’d looped a harness around her waist and thighs and hooked her to a loop in a second rope. He caught her hands, then dropped them with an exclamation of surprise as the remnant heat scorched him through his gloves.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kham plunged her hands into the packed snow to cool them.
“Hold the rope tight, Your Grace, and don’t let go. Understand?”
“I—yes, yes, of course.” She wrapped her now-cooler hands around the rope.
“Good.” He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “You did good, my queen.” As her jaw went slack in surprise from the unexpected compliment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back to shout, “Up!”
Kham’s rope went taut, and she fought for balance as she was suddenly hoisted up, off the buried rooftop. When she reached the top of the crater, two burly men helped her to her feet while a pair of well-bundled women freed her from the harness straps and rope.
“Come, Your Grace, quickly. Over here.”
She caught a brief glimpse of Wynter, who nodded approvingly, before she was hustled off to the closest dig site and asked to summon her magic again.
The sun set, and the rescuers broke out torches to light the area. Kham called upon her gifts again and again, melting her way down to the buried homes so the Winterfolk could locate and rescue survivors. Not every hunt ended in joy. Each time the rescuers unearthed a body rather than a living soul, guilt struck Khamsin hard. That pain fed into her power, keeping her going long past the point of exhaustion, but when the Winterfolk urged her to take a break and rest, she waved them off and stumbled to the next flag in the snow. So long as there were people buried beneath the snow, she was determined to do everything she could to help them.
The last house she uncovered belonged to Derik and Starra Freijel. She stood, swaying, by the lip of the pit she’d melted through the snow and waited for the rescuers to dig through the rubble of the house to find the cellar. At last, the couple and their two children were pulled from their icy prison, and the jubilant shout went up, “Alive! They’re alive!”
Thank all the gods. Khamsin took two steps and collapsed facedown in the snow, utterly spent. The frozen flakes sizzled beneath her palms and melted against her overheated face. Her whole body was running such a high temperature, she felt on fire.
Big hands turned her over and gathered her close against a familiar hard chest. She tried to open her eyes, tried to give Wynter some sort of sardonic quip, but the effort was too much. Her head fell limply back against his arm.
Cool lips touched hers, and a refreshingly icy breeze swept over her, cooling her more. “Do that again,” she mumbled. “Feels nice.” She was rewarded by more cooling kisses against her closed eyelids and hot brow. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know, min ros. I know.” Wynter’s husky voice whispered in her ear. “Tomorrow, you’ll be ready to fight Frost Giants barehanded, but for now, just rest.”
Of the two hundred folk who called Skala-Holt their home, only twenty-one had been lost to the mountain of ice and snow that had come crashing down upon them. It was the most successful avalanche rescue in Wintercraig history, thanks in no small part to Khamsin. That truth did not go unnoticed, and Winterfolk lined up five thick to doff their hats and offer up prayers and thanks as Wynter carried his unconscious queen past. He released her only long enough to mount Hodri, then the gathered villagers handed her back up to him and he carried her before him all the way home, not stopping until they reached Gildenheim.
She focused on the source of her power: the sun’s golden white heat. When she summoned a storm, she let anger fuel her power. She knew she could concentrate the sun’s heat at least on a personal level, as she did when she melted a metal hairbrush or boiled the tea in her teacup. She knew what that felt like . . . like a storm inside her soul, battering against her skin to gain its freedom.
Summoning that feeling on demand was difficult, so she recalled past wrongs, emotional hurts, wounds that had struck hard and deep and never been forgotten. Her father’s face, purple with anger, his eyes flashing a flickering orange like the flames in a hearth. The feel of his signet ring smashing into her cheek, branding her with his fury. Maude Newt and her endless, sneering interference and tattling. Reika Villani trilling with laughter and stroking one slim hand possessively over Wynter’s golden skin, turning to regard Khamsin in mocking challenge, daring the pitiful Summerlander to stop Reika from claiming Wynter as her own.
“It’s working.” Wynter’s voice interrupted her increasingly agitated thoughts.
Kham opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by a cloud of steam. Waves of heat radiated from her palms. She was sinking quickly through a large round hole in the snow. Moments later, her feet came to rest on the steep, shingled roof of a house.
“That’s good! Stand back, Your Grace. We’re coming down.” Ropes spilled over the sides of the crater she’d created, and four Wintermen rappelled rapidly down to join her. Three of them immediately pulled hatchets from their belt loops and began hacking a rescue hole in the roof. The fourth held out a hand.
“Please, my queen, if you will allow me? Karl, Joris, Svert, and I will see to the family. There are many others who could use your help.”
Kham blinked. “Of course, I—oh!” She started in surprise as the man wrapped his arms around her. But before she could think to fend him off, he’d looped a harness around her waist and thighs and hooked her to a loop in a second rope. He caught her hands, then dropped them with an exclamation of surprise as the remnant heat scorched him through his gloves.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kham plunged her hands into the packed snow to cool them.
“Hold the rope tight, Your Grace, and don’t let go. Understand?”
“I—yes, yes, of course.” She wrapped her now-cooler hands around the rope.
“Good.” He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. “You did good, my queen.” As her jaw went slack in surprise from the unexpected compliment, he cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned back to shout, “Up!”
Kham’s rope went taut, and she fought for balance as she was suddenly hoisted up, off the buried rooftop. When she reached the top of the crater, two burly men helped her to her feet while a pair of well-bundled women freed her from the harness straps and rope.
“Come, Your Grace, quickly. Over here.”
She caught a brief glimpse of Wynter, who nodded approvingly, before she was hustled off to the closest dig site and asked to summon her magic again.
The sun set, and the rescuers broke out torches to light the area. Kham called upon her gifts again and again, melting her way down to the buried homes so the Winterfolk could locate and rescue survivors. Not every hunt ended in joy. Each time the rescuers unearthed a body rather than a living soul, guilt struck Khamsin hard. That pain fed into her power, keeping her going long past the point of exhaustion, but when the Winterfolk urged her to take a break and rest, she waved them off and stumbled to the next flag in the snow. So long as there were people buried beneath the snow, she was determined to do everything she could to help them.
The last house she uncovered belonged to Derik and Starra Freijel. She stood, swaying, by the lip of the pit she’d melted through the snow and waited for the rescuers to dig through the rubble of the house to find the cellar. At last, the couple and their two children were pulled from their icy prison, and the jubilant shout went up, “Alive! They’re alive!”
Thank all the gods. Khamsin took two steps and collapsed facedown in the snow, utterly spent. The frozen flakes sizzled beneath her palms and melted against her overheated face. Her whole body was running such a high temperature, she felt on fire.
Big hands turned her over and gathered her close against a familiar hard chest. She tried to open her eyes, tried to give Wynter some sort of sardonic quip, but the effort was too much. Her head fell limply back against his arm.
Cool lips touched hers, and a refreshingly icy breeze swept over her, cooling her more. “Do that again,” she mumbled. “Feels nice.” She was rewarded by more cooling kisses against her closed eyelids and hot brow. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know, min ros. I know.” Wynter’s husky voice whispered in her ear. “Tomorrow, you’ll be ready to fight Frost Giants barehanded, but for now, just rest.”
Of the two hundred folk who called Skala-Holt their home, only twenty-one had been lost to the mountain of ice and snow that had come crashing down upon them. It was the most successful avalanche rescue in Wintercraig history, thanks in no small part to Khamsin. That truth did not go unnoticed, and Winterfolk lined up five thick to doff their hats and offer up prayers and thanks as Wynter carried his unconscious queen past. He released her only long enough to mount Hodri, then the gathered villagers handed her back up to him and he carried her before him all the way home, not stopping until they reached Gildenheim.
