The Winter King
Page 169
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“We were children. Both of us. We’re not anymore.”
“Did you send them?”
He stared at the piece of jerky in his hand, then threw it in the fire. “Yes, I sent them, but I never ordered them to rape or kill anyone. They were merely supposed to create a distraction that would get Wynter and his men out of Gildenheim.”
“Who did you send?”
“Noble Redfern and his friends.”
“Oh, for Halla’s sake, Falcon.”
“What?” He shot to his feet. At least he could still looked shamed. And defensive. “I didn’t know what they were going to do.”
“You sent a man you knew to be a vile, drunken bastard who found his pleasure raping servant girls in dark hallways. What did you think he and his equally vile cronies were going to do? You knew what sort of atrocities amused them.”
“I needed time to get away. Elka and I needed time to get away.”
“So, in other words, you loosed the dogs without caring who got hurt or how badly. Just like you did with the garm.”
His fists clenched. He looked like he wanted to hit something. For a moment, she thought it might be her, but Falcon hadn’t become that much like their father yet.
“I didn’t mean for Hillje to happen, all right? I didn’t order it. But I can’t change it. I’m sorry, Storm. I’m sorry it happened. Is that what you want to hear?”
“But that didn’t stop you from killing Wynter’s only brother, did it? Just a boy, barely more than a child, and you shot him in the throat and left him to die in the snow.”
“He shot at me first!”
“You were one of the greatest archers in Summerlea!” she fired back. “You could have wounded him. Slowed him down. You had other choices that didn’t include killing him. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” He wasn’t the only one who’d learned from all the time they’d spent together. Yes, she’d idolized him. Yes, she been blind to the ruthlessness inside him. But she remembered his skills quite vividly.
“And he had talents that went beyond his skill with sword and bow,” Falcon retorted. “He was Snow Wolf clan, just like his brother. If I’d left him wounded, he would just have called the wolves to hunt us down. I had the Book of Riddles, Khamsin. The key to finding Roland’s sword. I wasn’t going to give that up. And I damn sure wasn’t going to surrender to the king I’d cuckolded and beg for mercy.”
“So you plunged two kingdoms into war and ran away. Only to come back three years later to start another war. Oh, how proud Roland would be to witness the noble glory of his line.” Every word dripped with acid, and it pleased her to see how it stung.
Falcon spat in the dirt. “All those tales of Roland were myths, Storm. Legends! A tiny kernel of truth romanticized and prettied up for the ages. But this is real life. Real politics. It’s not noble. It’s not glorious. It’s bitter, brutal, and bloody. That’s what thrones are made of. That’s what kings are made of.”
“No.” She’d seen the truth, the story played out in her mind when she’d first gripped the sword. She’d heard the voice of a god, deep and pure, burning through her body like cleansing fire and taking every doubt with it. “Not all thrones. Not all kings. Roland was better than that. My mistake was thinking you were, too.”
Falcon’s lip curled in a sneer. “And is that husband of yours any better? How many innocents died by his hand? He froze an entire kingdom into submission!”
“Because you drove him to war! Yes, innocents died. But their blood is as much on your hands as his. And if you don’t let me take that sword to stop Rorjak from returning, the blood of every last living soul on Mystral will be on your hands as well!”
“Enough!” Falcon leapt to his feet and yanked Blazing from its sheath. The radiant diamond at the hilt’s center blazed with light. He jabbed the sword in her direction.
A hot wind sent her hair flying. Khamsin gasped and ducked, covering her head instinctively to protect against the gout of flame she expected to come pouring out of the blade. When the expected inferno did not engulf her, she risked lowering her arms.
Falcon was standing ten feet away, staring at her with an indecipherable expression on his face. The snow around the camp had completely melted, leaving bare, moist ground and the smell of damp wood and bracken.
“I . . .” Her tongue flicked out to moisten dry, trembling lips. “I thought you were going to—” She broke off. No need to give him ideas.
“What? Shoot fireballs at you?”
Then again, he’d read the same legends of Roland that she had. “Something like that.”
“It seems we’ve both read too many legends, Storm.” Anger and bitterness sharpened each word. He shoved Blazing back in its scabbard and slammed the hilt home.
“Pack up,” he snapped to his men. “Time to get moving.”
“I’m fine! I told you, I’m fine.” Wynter glowered at Tildavera Greenleaf, who had been after him the last half hour to leave the military planning to his second long enough to lie down and let her tend his wounds.
The Summerlea nurse sniffed. “You won’t be fine if you don’t hush and let me do my job. I’ve let you ignore me long enough. Now lie back, be quiet, and let me look at that wound. It won’t take a minute.”
“Gah. You are a tyrant, Tildavera Greenleaf. Has anyone ever told you that?” Just to get her out of his hair, Wyn eased into a chaise and leaned back.
“Did you send them?”
He stared at the piece of jerky in his hand, then threw it in the fire. “Yes, I sent them, but I never ordered them to rape or kill anyone. They were merely supposed to create a distraction that would get Wynter and his men out of Gildenheim.”
“Who did you send?”
“Noble Redfern and his friends.”
“Oh, for Halla’s sake, Falcon.”
“What?” He shot to his feet. At least he could still looked shamed. And defensive. “I didn’t know what they were going to do.”
“You sent a man you knew to be a vile, drunken bastard who found his pleasure raping servant girls in dark hallways. What did you think he and his equally vile cronies were going to do? You knew what sort of atrocities amused them.”
“I needed time to get away. Elka and I needed time to get away.”
“So, in other words, you loosed the dogs without caring who got hurt or how badly. Just like you did with the garm.”
His fists clenched. He looked like he wanted to hit something. For a moment, she thought it might be her, but Falcon hadn’t become that much like their father yet.
“I didn’t mean for Hillje to happen, all right? I didn’t order it. But I can’t change it. I’m sorry, Storm. I’m sorry it happened. Is that what you want to hear?”
“But that didn’t stop you from killing Wynter’s only brother, did it? Just a boy, barely more than a child, and you shot him in the throat and left him to die in the snow.”
“He shot at me first!”
“You were one of the greatest archers in Summerlea!” she fired back. “You could have wounded him. Slowed him down. You had other choices that didn’t include killing him. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” He wasn’t the only one who’d learned from all the time they’d spent together. Yes, she’d idolized him. Yes, she been blind to the ruthlessness inside him. But she remembered his skills quite vividly.
“And he had talents that went beyond his skill with sword and bow,” Falcon retorted. “He was Snow Wolf clan, just like his brother. If I’d left him wounded, he would just have called the wolves to hunt us down. I had the Book of Riddles, Khamsin. The key to finding Roland’s sword. I wasn’t going to give that up. And I damn sure wasn’t going to surrender to the king I’d cuckolded and beg for mercy.”
“So you plunged two kingdoms into war and ran away. Only to come back three years later to start another war. Oh, how proud Roland would be to witness the noble glory of his line.” Every word dripped with acid, and it pleased her to see how it stung.
Falcon spat in the dirt. “All those tales of Roland were myths, Storm. Legends! A tiny kernel of truth romanticized and prettied up for the ages. But this is real life. Real politics. It’s not noble. It’s not glorious. It’s bitter, brutal, and bloody. That’s what thrones are made of. That’s what kings are made of.”
“No.” She’d seen the truth, the story played out in her mind when she’d first gripped the sword. She’d heard the voice of a god, deep and pure, burning through her body like cleansing fire and taking every doubt with it. “Not all thrones. Not all kings. Roland was better than that. My mistake was thinking you were, too.”
Falcon’s lip curled in a sneer. “And is that husband of yours any better? How many innocents died by his hand? He froze an entire kingdom into submission!”
“Because you drove him to war! Yes, innocents died. But their blood is as much on your hands as his. And if you don’t let me take that sword to stop Rorjak from returning, the blood of every last living soul on Mystral will be on your hands as well!”
“Enough!” Falcon leapt to his feet and yanked Blazing from its sheath. The radiant diamond at the hilt’s center blazed with light. He jabbed the sword in her direction.
A hot wind sent her hair flying. Khamsin gasped and ducked, covering her head instinctively to protect against the gout of flame she expected to come pouring out of the blade. When the expected inferno did not engulf her, she risked lowering her arms.
Falcon was standing ten feet away, staring at her with an indecipherable expression on his face. The snow around the camp had completely melted, leaving bare, moist ground and the smell of damp wood and bracken.
“I . . .” Her tongue flicked out to moisten dry, trembling lips. “I thought you were going to—” She broke off. No need to give him ideas.
“What? Shoot fireballs at you?”
Then again, he’d read the same legends of Roland that she had. “Something like that.”
“It seems we’ve both read too many legends, Storm.” Anger and bitterness sharpened each word. He shoved Blazing back in its scabbard and slammed the hilt home.
“Pack up,” he snapped to his men. “Time to get moving.”
“I’m fine! I told you, I’m fine.” Wynter glowered at Tildavera Greenleaf, who had been after him the last half hour to leave the military planning to his second long enough to lie down and let her tend his wounds.
The Summerlea nurse sniffed. “You won’t be fine if you don’t hush and let me do my job. I’ve let you ignore me long enough. Now lie back, be quiet, and let me look at that wound. It won’t take a minute.”
“Gah. You are a tyrant, Tildavera Greenleaf. Has anyone ever told you that?” Just to get her out of his hair, Wyn eased into a chaise and leaned back.
