The Winter King
Page 170
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“Many a time,” Tildy answered without rancor. “Always by patients with more stubbornness than sense.” She glanced up to give him a stern look. “And that includes your wife, for as much good as it ever did her.” She pulled up his tunic and made swift work of peeling back the bloodied bandage wrapped around his waist.
Wynter scowled at the back of Tildy’s gray head as she bent over his belly wound to poke and prod at him and smear some sort of pungent ointment on the wound. She sniffed again and rebandaged the wound.
“Well, you’re doing better than you should be, considering all the moving about you’ve been doing. But”—she wagged a finger under his nose when Wyn started to smirk—“you’re still a long way from being healed. One wrong move, and those stitches will pop, and you’ll be in one very unpleasant mess.”
“Just get me to a point where I can put on my armor and mount a horse. I can’t be carried into battle on a sickbed.”
“That’s out of the question for a week at least. If you go to battle before that, you won’t be coming back.”
“If I don’t go to battle before that, none of us will be coming back,” he countered. In a firm tone that brooked no further defiance, he said, “I don’t need your approval to do my duty, Nurse Greenleaf. All I require is that you get me in the best possible shape in the time available.”
Tildy put her hands on her hips. “Have I not been doing exactly that all this time? Did you think I would stop just because I know you’re going to ignore my warnings and do what you want anyways? Which of us raised our Khamsin from the time she was a wee babe? Or do you think she was a model patient all those years?”
The laugh slipped past Wyn’s lips before he could stop it. “Point taken. She is much more hardheaded than I.”
Tildy harrumphed. “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that. The pair of you seem astonishingly well matched in the stubborn department. There was a time, when she was six . . .”
Telling stories of Khamsin’s youthful exploits was a tactic Tildy employed to keep Wynter calm and resting. He’d discerned her ploy from the start, of course, but he played along because he liked hearing the stories of his wife’s childhood. Khamsin had run her poor nurse ragged—always getting into some sort of mischief or other, never sitting still for long, thwarting every attempt to mold and confine her. Like the storms that answered her call, she was a force of nature, wild and reckless and free. And Wynter wouldn’t have her any other way.
There was a knock on the door, and Valik walked in. Galacia Frey followed close on his heels. Wynter was surprised to see her. She’d taken off without a word last night after receiving a message flown in by a snow eagle.
One look at their grim faces, and Wynter knew their troubles had just increased.
“So, let me get this straight. All this time, you and every High Priestess before you for the last nine hundred years has known the Sword of Roland was at the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter sat at the hunting lodge’s large dining table and tried to keep the freezing power of his Gaze in check. Frost prickled across the wooden tabletop. The pair of them were lucky that the planks of old pine were the only thing frozen at the moment.
“Wyn—”
“And you sent my pregnant wife to dive down to the bottom of the Ice Heart—the most deadly dangerous magic in all of Wintercraig—to fetch it? Have I got that right?”
“Wyn, you don’t understand—”
“Is that what you did?” His fist slammed on the desk, and he half rose from the chair.
Laci blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I did. That’s exactly what I did, and I would do it again, given the same circumstances.” She flung her arms up. “You were unconscious. There was no certainty you would survive, much less be any use to us in battle, and the Calbernans and Summerlanders were invading. We needed a weapon—and that was the most powerful one I knew of.”
“And now my wife is gone, Ungar and his men are dead, the sword of Roland is gone, the second of Thorgyll’s spears is missing, and the Summerlanders and Calbernans are still invading. Oh, and Rorjak’s army is on the march, too. What were you thinking?”
“We were thinking we could save Wintercraig without losing you!” she spat.
“By sending my wife to retrieve Roland’s Sword from the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter ran both hands through his hair just to keep from wrapping them around Laci’s throat and squeezing tight. He turned a glare on Valik. “And what happened to your suspicious nature? Weren’t you the one telling me all along that Khamsin was in her brother’s service—that she’d betray me the first chance she got?”
“Maybe I should have listened to myself,” Valik muttered. “Maybe that’s exactly what happened.”
“No!”
All three of them turned in surprise as Tildavera Greenleaf burst through the door leading to the lodge’s bedchambers. Clearly, after being dismissed so Valik, Laci, and Wynter could talk in private, Khamsin’s nurse had decided a bit of eavesdropping was in order.
“Whatever you believe, you cannot think Khamsin would betray you. She wouldn’t. Not to her brother, not to anyone else. I know, because I gave her the chance to do exactly that, and she refused.”
Wynter scowled at her. “Explain yourself, Nurse Greenleaf.”
Wynter scowled at the back of Tildy’s gray head as she bent over his belly wound to poke and prod at him and smear some sort of pungent ointment on the wound. She sniffed again and rebandaged the wound.
“Well, you’re doing better than you should be, considering all the moving about you’ve been doing. But”—she wagged a finger under his nose when Wyn started to smirk—“you’re still a long way from being healed. One wrong move, and those stitches will pop, and you’ll be in one very unpleasant mess.”
“Just get me to a point where I can put on my armor and mount a horse. I can’t be carried into battle on a sickbed.”
“That’s out of the question for a week at least. If you go to battle before that, you won’t be coming back.”
“If I don’t go to battle before that, none of us will be coming back,” he countered. In a firm tone that brooked no further defiance, he said, “I don’t need your approval to do my duty, Nurse Greenleaf. All I require is that you get me in the best possible shape in the time available.”
Tildy put her hands on her hips. “Have I not been doing exactly that all this time? Did you think I would stop just because I know you’re going to ignore my warnings and do what you want anyways? Which of us raised our Khamsin from the time she was a wee babe? Or do you think she was a model patient all those years?”
The laugh slipped past Wyn’s lips before he could stop it. “Point taken. She is much more hardheaded than I.”
Tildy harrumphed. “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that. The pair of you seem astonishingly well matched in the stubborn department. There was a time, when she was six . . .”
Telling stories of Khamsin’s youthful exploits was a tactic Tildy employed to keep Wynter calm and resting. He’d discerned her ploy from the start, of course, but he played along because he liked hearing the stories of his wife’s childhood. Khamsin had run her poor nurse ragged—always getting into some sort of mischief or other, never sitting still for long, thwarting every attempt to mold and confine her. Like the storms that answered her call, she was a force of nature, wild and reckless and free. And Wynter wouldn’t have her any other way.
There was a knock on the door, and Valik walked in. Galacia Frey followed close on his heels. Wynter was surprised to see her. She’d taken off without a word last night after receiving a message flown in by a snow eagle.
One look at their grim faces, and Wynter knew their troubles had just increased.
“So, let me get this straight. All this time, you and every High Priestess before you for the last nine hundred years has known the Sword of Roland was at the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter sat at the hunting lodge’s large dining table and tried to keep the freezing power of his Gaze in check. Frost prickled across the wooden tabletop. The pair of them were lucky that the planks of old pine were the only thing frozen at the moment.
“Wyn—”
“And you sent my pregnant wife to dive down to the bottom of the Ice Heart—the most deadly dangerous magic in all of Wintercraig—to fetch it? Have I got that right?”
“Wyn, you don’t understand—”
“Is that what you did?” His fist slammed on the desk, and he half rose from the chair.
Laci blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes! Yes, that’s what I did. That’s exactly what I did, and I would do it again, given the same circumstances.” She flung her arms up. “You were unconscious. There was no certainty you would survive, much less be any use to us in battle, and the Calbernans and Summerlanders were invading. We needed a weapon—and that was the most powerful one I knew of.”
“And now my wife is gone, Ungar and his men are dead, the sword of Roland is gone, the second of Thorgyll’s spears is missing, and the Summerlanders and Calbernans are still invading. Oh, and Rorjak’s army is on the march, too. What were you thinking?”
“We were thinking we could save Wintercraig without losing you!” she spat.
“By sending my wife to retrieve Roland’s Sword from the bottom of the Ice Heart?” Wynter ran both hands through his hair just to keep from wrapping them around Laci’s throat and squeezing tight. He turned a glare on Valik. “And what happened to your suspicious nature? Weren’t you the one telling me all along that Khamsin was in her brother’s service—that she’d betray me the first chance she got?”
“Maybe I should have listened to myself,” Valik muttered. “Maybe that’s exactly what happened.”
“No!”
All three of them turned in surprise as Tildavera Greenleaf burst through the door leading to the lodge’s bedchambers. Clearly, after being dismissed so Valik, Laci, and Wynter could talk in private, Khamsin’s nurse had decided a bit of eavesdropping was in order.
“Whatever you believe, you cannot think Khamsin would betray you. She wouldn’t. Not to her brother, not to anyone else. I know, because I gave her the chance to do exactly that, and she refused.”
Wynter scowled at her. “Explain yourself, Nurse Greenleaf.”
