The Winter King
Page 42
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“For Halla’s sake!” Kham finally exclaimed. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Until then, go sit there on that side of the coach and find some way to occupy yourself that doesn’t include hovering over me.”
Bella bit her lip and sank back into the cushioned seat on the opposite side of the coach. She managed to remain still and silent for all of three seconds. Then, clearly unable to help herself, she rummaged around in the small bag by her side, produced yarn and needles, and began industriously knitting away. And resumed talking.
“They say it will take almost a fortnight for us to reach Gildenheim.”
Gods help me. “So I understand.” Two weeks, stuck in this tiny space, with Bella. Kham would go mad.
Belladonna had only joined Spring’s staff a few days earlier. She’d landed the less-than-desirable post as Khamsin’s lady’s maid and companion by virtue—or, rather, misfortune—of having the least seniority. She was tidy enough in appearance, with big, doe brown eyes, soft skin a few shades darker than Kham’s own, and blue-black hair scraped tightly back and confined in a knot at the nape of her neck, but it was obvious Bella had never been a lady’s maid in her life. She chattered like a magpie and was altogether too free with her opinions—about everything.
She was none too fond of Wintermen, in particular, and not shy of saying so. “If it took a year to get there, that would be too soon for me. They are savages. Brutes. My cousin’s husband’s second cousin lives near the border. You should hear the tales she has to tell.” The pair of knitting needles in Bella’s fingers clacked a staccato beat. “Half-naked men dancing around campfires, smearing themselves with the blood of whatever poor creature they killed on a hunt. Howling at the moon like a pack of wolves. More beast than man, they are, full of dark, unnatural ways. You mark my words. This is going to end badly for the both of us.”
“They look like a well-ordered, modern army to me,” Kham replied, rubbing a hand at her temple. She’d already had several earfuls about the terrible fate awaiting them both in the savage land of the north. “And I’ve seen no sign of ‘dark, unnatural ways.’ ”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushioned seat. Each jolt and lurch of the carriage sent pain shooting up her back and throbbing against her skull.
“Wait until we cross the border, and they’re back in their own lands. We’ll have to keep a sharp eye out then. Do you know what they do to anyone who breaks their laws? They strip them down to their bare skin, stake them out naked on a glacier, and leave them to die. ‘Mercy of the mountains’ they call it. Ha! Mercy indeed!” The girl’s furiously clacking knitting needles suddenly fell silent.
After a few moments, Kham peeled open one eye to find Bella biting her lip and regarding her with a look she could only describe as consternation.
“What is it?”
“I . . . nothing. Nothing.” The girl bent her dark head back down to her yarn and needles. But rather than resuming her knitting, she just sat there, worrying the thread in silence.
“Bella . . .”
“It’s not my place to say.”
For hours, the girl wouldn’t shut up, and now Kham couldn’t get her to talk. Another hard jolt of the carriage sent pain shooting across Kham’s back. Her stomach lurched. Unwell, and irritated by Bella’s uncharacteristic reticence, she snapped, “Oh, for the love of Helos, spit it out already!”
Bella’s head shot up in surprise. She looked like a kicked puppy.
Kham groaned. Wonderful. Bella was her sole companion. Inexperienced, talkative, and far too opinionated she might be, but she was also the only face from home Khamsin was likely to see in Wintercraig. Alienating her was pointless.
“I’m sorry,” Khamsin apologized. The words came hard. After a lifetime of her sire finding fault with everything about her, she hated to admit when she was in the wrong. Much better to stick out her jaw and take whatever punishment came her way than make herself vulnerable by admitting fault. “I shouldn’t snap at you. But if something is troubling you—as, clearly, it is—you need to tell me.”
The maid bit her lower lip. “It’s just that . . . well, I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to . . . something concerning the Winter King’s plans for . . . for . . .”
Kham fought the urge to scream. Honestly, did she have to drag the truth out of the girl word by word? In a voice that struggled to remain calm and even, she pressed, “The Winter King’s plans for what, Bella?”
“For you, ma’am.”
Kham sat up a little straighter, wincing as the motion pulled at her wounded back. “What do you mean? What sort of plans?”
Bella’s smooth brow crinkled in distress, and she started picking at the yarn hanging from her needles again. “I—”
“Bella. What sort of plans?”
The girl swallowed. “He intends to kill you, ma’am. At the end of the year, if you don’t bear him an heir, he intends to kill you and take one of the Seasons to wife.”
Kham moistened her suddenly dry lips. “You heard him say this?”
“Not him.” She bit her lip. “Mistress Newt sent me to the king’s office to be approved as your new maid, and I overheard the king talking to Master Ogam, my lady. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she hurried to explain. “The door was open. I couldn’t help but hear.”
Bella bit her lip and sank back into the cushioned seat on the opposite side of the coach. She managed to remain still and silent for all of three seconds. Then, clearly unable to help herself, she rummaged around in the small bag by her side, produced yarn and needles, and began industriously knitting away. And resumed talking.
“They say it will take almost a fortnight for us to reach Gildenheim.”
Gods help me. “So I understand.” Two weeks, stuck in this tiny space, with Bella. Kham would go mad.
Belladonna had only joined Spring’s staff a few days earlier. She’d landed the less-than-desirable post as Khamsin’s lady’s maid and companion by virtue—or, rather, misfortune—of having the least seniority. She was tidy enough in appearance, with big, doe brown eyes, soft skin a few shades darker than Kham’s own, and blue-black hair scraped tightly back and confined in a knot at the nape of her neck, but it was obvious Bella had never been a lady’s maid in her life. She chattered like a magpie and was altogether too free with her opinions—about everything.
She was none too fond of Wintermen, in particular, and not shy of saying so. “If it took a year to get there, that would be too soon for me. They are savages. Brutes. My cousin’s husband’s second cousin lives near the border. You should hear the tales she has to tell.” The pair of knitting needles in Bella’s fingers clacked a staccato beat. “Half-naked men dancing around campfires, smearing themselves with the blood of whatever poor creature they killed on a hunt. Howling at the moon like a pack of wolves. More beast than man, they are, full of dark, unnatural ways. You mark my words. This is going to end badly for the both of us.”
“They look like a well-ordered, modern army to me,” Kham replied, rubbing a hand at her temple. She’d already had several earfuls about the terrible fate awaiting them both in the savage land of the north. “And I’ve seen no sign of ‘dark, unnatural ways.’ ”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushioned seat. Each jolt and lurch of the carriage sent pain shooting up her back and throbbing against her skull.
“Wait until we cross the border, and they’re back in their own lands. We’ll have to keep a sharp eye out then. Do you know what they do to anyone who breaks their laws? They strip them down to their bare skin, stake them out naked on a glacier, and leave them to die. ‘Mercy of the mountains’ they call it. Ha! Mercy indeed!” The girl’s furiously clacking knitting needles suddenly fell silent.
After a few moments, Kham peeled open one eye to find Bella biting her lip and regarding her with a look she could only describe as consternation.
“What is it?”
“I . . . nothing. Nothing.” The girl bent her dark head back down to her yarn and needles. But rather than resuming her knitting, she just sat there, worrying the thread in silence.
“Bella . . .”
“It’s not my place to say.”
For hours, the girl wouldn’t shut up, and now Kham couldn’t get her to talk. Another hard jolt of the carriage sent pain shooting across Kham’s back. Her stomach lurched. Unwell, and irritated by Bella’s uncharacteristic reticence, she snapped, “Oh, for the love of Helos, spit it out already!”
Bella’s head shot up in surprise. She looked like a kicked puppy.
Kham groaned. Wonderful. Bella was her sole companion. Inexperienced, talkative, and far too opinionated she might be, but she was also the only face from home Khamsin was likely to see in Wintercraig. Alienating her was pointless.
“I’m sorry,” Khamsin apologized. The words came hard. After a lifetime of her sire finding fault with everything about her, she hated to admit when she was in the wrong. Much better to stick out her jaw and take whatever punishment came her way than make herself vulnerable by admitting fault. “I shouldn’t snap at you. But if something is troubling you—as, clearly, it is—you need to tell me.”
The maid bit her lower lip. “It’s just that . . . well, I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to . . . something concerning the Winter King’s plans for . . . for . . .”
Kham fought the urge to scream. Honestly, did she have to drag the truth out of the girl word by word? In a voice that struggled to remain calm and even, she pressed, “The Winter King’s plans for what, Bella?”
“For you, ma’am.”
Kham sat up a little straighter, wincing as the motion pulled at her wounded back. “What do you mean? What sort of plans?”
Bella’s smooth brow crinkled in distress, and she started picking at the yarn hanging from her needles again. “I—”
“Bella. What sort of plans?”
The girl swallowed. “He intends to kill you, ma’am. At the end of the year, if you don’t bear him an heir, he intends to kill you and take one of the Seasons to wife.”
Kham moistened her suddenly dry lips. “You heard him say this?”
“Not him.” She bit her lip. “Mistress Newt sent me to the king’s office to be approved as your new maid, and I overheard the king talking to Master Ogam, my lady. I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she hurried to explain. “The door was open. I couldn’t help but hear.”
