Chapter Eighteen
William
The herald drew nearer, Castlehill’s banner flapping in the wind. Iver, up earlier than William, had woken him. Messengers came often, but a herald? Something was up.
William dressed in a hurry, and when the herald dashed into the courtyard, he was ready, Iver by his side.
It was a cold morning judging by the many layers the servants had wrapped themselves in.
In the human world, winter was drawing to an end, the snowmelt having set in in the south, but the Winter Court was as icy as ever.
William had grown to love it—every tumbling snowflake was evidence of his husband’s power.
The herald’s breath fogged the air as he jumped out of the saddle and went to his knees. His horse was covered in a sheen of sweat, and Iver gave a signal to the attendants to take care of the animal.
“Your Majesties,” the herald said, bowing his head.
“His Lordship, James of Castlehill, sends his message. The orcs have overrun the south. His Lordship and other southern nobles are fleeing north, the horde chasing them. Our knights are fighting to hold the orcs off and give the lords and ladies time to escape, but Farigoth the Ravager himself is with the horde.”
Farigoth the Ravager. The name had reverberated through Vale since the day the orcs had crossed the Great River.
It was said that he had united dozens of orc tribes roaming the Turian bank of the river under his command.
That in itself was alarming—the only way an orc could gain control over a tribe was by challenging the chief to a fight to the death.
Orcs were gigantic, savage beasts, three hundred pounds of muscle, seven feet tall, with fearsome tusks protruding from their mouths.
No man was a match for an orc. They were stronger than even the fae.
If one of them had united the tribes, he would’ve had to have killed the rest of the chiefs in single combat.
Dozens of them, each one the strongest of their clan.
What kind of monstrosity was Farigoth to be able to annihilate all rivals?
William supposed they called him the Ravager for a reason.
“Our troops will not withstand the assault,” the herald said.
“When I was sent to race north, the orcs were already past Stonebridge. They’d raided the town for men.
” The herald shuddered. “His Lordship of Castlehill is asking for your twofold assistance. One, if Your Majesties send the remainder of your troops to the front, they, alongside the colder weather of the north, can hold up the horde. Secondly, His Lordship of Castlehill believes negotiations with the orcs are possible and preferable to battle, during which many lives would be lost. His Lordship acknowledges that he lacks the authority to negotiate on behalf of the Kingdom of Vale. Therefore, he has requested for Your Majesty to bestow such authority upon him for the purpose of parley.”
Oh, James would love that. It satisfied a practical need while feeding his sense of self-importance, and, more importantly, it would establish him as a leading political figure in Vale.
William said as much to Iver when they’d withdrawn to the study to discuss while the herald ate in the mess before he returned to James with William’s answer.
“We need to intervene,” William said, “lead the negotiations.”
“There’s another option: If you want to let things play out as they will, I can raise the wards. Then, no one can enter the Winter Court against my will. You and I and our family will be safe.”
William exhaled, thinking of their unborn children.
They were going to be fae. Vale wouldn’t be their home, the Winter Court would.
And yet… “I can’t leave Vale to its own devices.
And I want to negotiate Eric’s release.” There’d been no progress since William had heard of his capture.
“James would try to turn the tide of war on his own if only I let him. But it isn’t right.
The people of Vale are counting on me. I’m their king.
They, through their lords and ladies, have sworn fealty to the Crown in exchange for protection.
My House pledged to safeguard the kingdom.
The people of Vale have been faithful. Now, I have to uphold the promise my ancestors made.
” Their names, immortalized in the hall of ancestors, echoed in his mind.
“You’re making them proud,” Iver said, clasping William’s hand.
“I’m not going to give James the authority to negotiate on my behalf.
He and the orcs chasing him were north of Stonebridge when he sent the herald and coming closer every day.
We take any troops the north can spare with us.
If we need to fight, we fight. An orc might overwhelm a common fae, but not you or me.
” William pressed Iver’s hand, their power sparking between them.
He’d chosen well to marry this man of frost and ice.
Iver’s cold was a formidable defense against any orc.
“And if we can negotiate, I will do it, not James, who is running from the enemy like a coward.”
William went silent, thumb stroking Iver’s hand. He hit the lion-head signet ring on Iver’s finger. William stilled. Several moments passed.
“What are you thinking?” Iver asked.
“I might not be able to go,” William said slowly.
“I can only leave the faerie realm for a day and a night. Even if we take good horses and change them at every way station, the front is too far away to make it in a day. But if I sent you, you can parley with the full authority of the Crown. You have what James wants.”
But that would leave Iver separated from him and near the front line, a notion William found unacceptable.
Something slid across Iver’s expression.
“You know something,” William said.
Iver’s face pinched, and he shook his head. “You suggested a good solution. I prefer you far away from the front.” But that wasn’t everything; William could sense it in the bond.
“There’s more.”
Iver looked like he’d rather keep his thoughts to himself, but as he regarded William, something loosened. “I can apparate us to the front.”
“You can?”
Iver nodded. “I don’t like doing it as it costs vast amounts of magic and energy, especially if I’m taking another person with me, and I don’t want you anywhere near the orcs, but it is possible.”
That decided it for William. He was going to visit the front.
“Tell James I’m coming and that I will lead the negotiations,” he said to the herald as he handed him a letter containing the day and time he’d come to parley with the orcs.
William sent messengers to every lord and lady north of the front, telling them to rally their troops. This army, largely consisting of infantry, would progress south over the coming days and weeks. They were reinforcements for the knights fighting to hold back the orcs, should negotiations fail.
William didn’t have confidence in negotiations with someone called “the Ravager,” but perhaps James, closer to the front, saw an opening William didn’t.
Iver watched William with pride in his eyes as he directed staff, briefed the knights and gave instructions for his absence to the steward.
Charlotte and Ailenor expressed their concern—had they not been pregnant, they would’ve traveled with him, perhaps even in his stead.
War was a woman’s domain. If Charlotte or Ailenor bore them a daughter, tasks like this would, one day, fall to her.
William pictured her as a young woman in full armor, destined to reign as warrior queen.
It was during the evening a couple of days later when William stepped into Iver’s arms in the castle gardens for him to whisk them away. The herald had raced ahead of them, informing James of their impending arrival.
Iver pulled William to his chest. “I couldn’t have done this while the bond was closed.”
“Too strenuous?”
“Yes.”
“I think I’ve seen you do it before though. That first night, you appeared on the ballroom gallery.”
Iver chuckled. “That was moving a few yards. It’s a few hundred miles to James and his troops.”
A wind arose, driving into William’s hair.
The ground shifted, and he clung to Iver, his hands fists in Iver’s cloak.
Vale flashed before his eyes: Silverlight Castle shrouded in falling snow.
Frozen lakes. Villages. Patches of grass peeking through melting snow.
Crocuses and snowdrops sprouting under trees. Then, a large camp. No more snow.
It took William a moment to realize that the rapid flashes of scenery had stopped and they’d arrived.
A city of tents, erected on a field, surrounded them.
William hadn’t expected to see that many.
Rows upon rows lined the muddy ground, campfires burning between them, sparks rising into the darkening sky.
Throngs of people dressed in farmers’ clothing populated the camp, carrying supplies, driving tent posts into the ground, herding children.
James and the other southern nobility had to have taken entire villages with them.
Iver’s weight dropped on him, and William had to support him while he regained his balance. He had turned pale and was short of breath, but recovered quickly, at least on the surface.
William found a knight and asked her to take him and Iver to James.
The woman, who made an obeisance when she recognized them, led them to the edge of camp where an enormous marquee had been erected, Castlehill’s banner flying from its peak.
The guards stationed outside moved the heavy tent flap aside, revealing a lamp-lit interior of low, fur-covered love seats on dark rugs.