Chapter 4
Idrummed my fingers against the arm of my chair. Across the Great Hall, Lord Velador began telling a group of ladies the story of how he’d taken down a wild boar on his journey to the castle.
“How many times has he repeated this story now?” Cyra murmured as she appeared next to me on the dais.
“Ten,” I said, abandoning my drumming so I could rest my chin on my hand. “And with each round, the boar grows larger and more dangerous.”
She observed Velador for a moment. “Maybe if he continues telling it, the boar will eventually get big enough to maul him into silence.”
An unladylike snort escaped me, drawing the attention of two other suitors who stood near a dessert table a short distance away. I straightened and offered the polite smile I’d practiced countless times in the mirror. One of the men, a dark-haired warrior called Lord Ulred, held my gaze.
Shit.My smile froze in place as he made a beeline for the dais. He was burlier than most elves, with wide shoulders and thick arms. My father had respected him as a brilliant military strategist—and the commander of a sizable fighting force. Lord Ulred’s love of battle seemed to have become something of a lifestyle. According to gossip, he slept in a large campaign tent behind his estate. Earlier in the day, he’d presented me with a life-size painting of his warhorse.
He reached the bottom of the raised platform and offered a courtly bow. “It’s a joy to hear your laughter, Your Highness.” As he straightened, one of the several daggers he wore glinted in the candlelight. “The sound is like the sweetest peal of a bell.”
I was fairly certain my laughter sounded nothing like bells, but I inclined my head. “Thank you, Lord Ulred. That’s very kind of you.”
He bowed again, his movements stiff and formal. His sigil was a snow sparrow, which seemed at odds with his militant bearing. “It would please me greatly if Your Highness would visit the stables with me tomorrow. You were so taken with the painting of Winterstride, I thought you might like to meet him face to face.”
It took me a second to realize he referred to his horse. I didn’t dare look at Cyra as I arranged my features in what I hoped was a grateful expression. “I’m humbled by your offer, Lord Ulred. With so many guests in the castle, however, I’m afraid my hostess duties leave me with little free time.”
“Understandable,” he said. “If anything changes, my men and I are camped at the edge of the Winter Wood. And, of course, my army remains at your disposal. Just say the word, Princess, and you’ll have two hundred swords at your command.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
As Lord Ulred melted into the crowd, Cyra and I looked at each other.
“I can clear an hour or so from your calendar,” she said, deadpan. “So you can meet Winterstride.”
I let my shoulders slump. “The funny thing is, I feel like the horse might be more interesting than any of the men I met today.”
She stifled a giggle.
Across the Great Hall, Lord Velador stood over an embroidered chair cushion mimicking how he’d thrust a spear into the boar’s side. A knot of noblewomen watched with rapt expressions as he tossed the imaginary spear away, then drew his very real dagger and dropped to a crouch. Several of the ladies gasped.
Cyra tensed. “Is he going to stab that cushion?”
“Gods, I hope so,” I said, leaning my head on my hand again. “I could use some variety.”
Lord Velador slashed at the air inches above the cushion. His muscles strained the seams of his jacket. His long black hair swung in an arc as he spun with the dagger.
“He’s handsome,” Cyra said.
“Mmm,” I murmured in agreement. “It’s a pity the gods neglected to give him a brain.”
She put her hand over her mouth but didn’t quite smother her laugh.
I hid a scowl. Velador possessed looks and power—and he was well aware of his good fortune. No one was more enamored with Velador than Velador. If Ronan thought he could strong-arm me into marrying the pompous lordling, he was out of his mind.
Unfortunately, my guardian had yet to grace the Great Hall with his presence. I hadn’t seen him since we parted on the forest path.
With another dramatic whirl, Velador plunged the dagger down, stopping a hair’s breadth from the plumpest part of the cushion.
The noblewomen burst into applause.
Cyra lowered her hand. “Well, that was anti-climactic.”
“I told you it would be better if he attacked the cushion,” I said. “Although, I doubt even upholstery violence could make this evening enjoyable.” After Lord Velador’s early arrival, a steady stream of suitors followed throughout the morning. Protocol had demanded I greet each entourage personally, which meant offering refreshments and feigning interest in the state of the roads around the castle. The morning had slid into noon with no sign of Ronan. The servants didn’t know where he was. Every time I’d excused myself to go search for him, the herald had announced another suitor’s arrival.
Now, it was evening, dinner was finished, and the Great Hall was crowded with nobles flush with wine. The servants had cleared the trestle tables. Musicians plucked at stringed instruments in the gallery above the Hall. The doors were flung open, and someone had charmed snowflakes to float suspended in the air. They shimmered like diamonds above the sea of guests and courtiers.
My cheeks ached from smiling. A headache brewed between my eyes. At dinner, a lord from the far north had spent an hour giving me a detailed primer on the ins and outs of reindeer breeding. I’d danced and dined. Greeted and bantered.
And Ronan was nowhere to be found.
Across the Hall, Lord Velador righted the cushion and started his story for a new group of ladies. A lord on the fringe of the crowd raised his voice.
“Come now, Velador, you must have hallucinated that kill.” The lord gestured to a tall warrior at his side. “My captain and I were behind you on the road. We saw you take down the boar. Seconds later, we saw it spring up and dash into the trees.”
The captain grunted. “And it was a lot smaller than that cushion.”
Laughter rippled through the knot of nobles around them.
Velador drew himself up. His chest heaved from his efforts with the dagger. “I beg your pardon, Lord Estalar. Perhaps you’re the one who’s hallucinating. I don’t recall seeing you on the road.”
“Right. Because when we passed, you were staring into your pocket mirror, adjusting your hair.”
More laughter rang out. Lord Velador’s face turned red, but I paid him no mind as Ronan stepped through the double doors. Wearing black as usual, he blended with the shadows as he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
Our gazes locked.
Placing my hands on the arms of my chair, I started to rise.
He gave his head a single shake. No.
Instant anger scalded my veins. He’d left me at the mercy of the suitors all day. Now, he showed up at the last minute and refused to speak to me?
I stood and faced Cyra. “I’ll return in a moment.”
“Are you going to speak to Lord Ronan?” She gazed at him over my shoulder. “He looks displeased.”
“Not as displeased as I am,” I muttered, turning and descending the dais. I smiled and nodded as I wove in and out of courtiers. No one attempted to pull me into conversation, and I arrived at Ronan’s side just as Lord Velador challenged Lord Estalar to a duel.
“Glesso,” I said, forgoing a curtsy. “We missed you at dinner.” I paused. “And lunch,” I added deliberately.
Ronan didn’t unfold his arms, and he kept his gaze on the commotion as he replied in a terse voice. “I had duties to attend to, the same as you.”
In the center of the Hall, Lord Estalar’s captain began accepting bets from the crowd, which was growing bigger as more people noticed the two lords facing off.
“Which ones?” I asked through clenched teeth. Rising anger made my heart pump faster. “I could have used your help today.”
Ronan looked at me. “You mean supervising a brawl?”
I sucked in a breath. “Are you really going to blame me for the idiocy of men?”
“Keep your voice down.” He straightened from the wall as heads swung toward us.
“What happened to I’ll be along shortly? Did you get lost on your way to the Great Hall?”
He jerked glacial eyes to mine. “You overstep.”
Murmurs rose behind me. Ronan and I were attracting more attention. Snatches of conversation penetrated the blood rushing in my ears.
“…Morendiel…”
“…her guardian…”
Someone laughed. “Maybe we bet on the wrong fight.”
Ronan moved in a blur, grabbing my arm and pulling me through the double doors. Chilly night air hit my face as he propelled me down the steps.
“This is the second time today you’ve manhandled me,” I said, my breath hitching as I struggled to match his stride.
He said nothing, his jaw hard. Moonlight silvered his hair. His sword belt clanked softly.
“Where are we going?” My skirts tangled between my legs, making me stumble. I grabbed them with my free hand and yanked them higher so I wouldn’t trip.
Ronan maintained his silence, but he slowed his pace, allowing me to keep up without running. And he loosened his grip as he led me down one of the stone paths that spread from the Great Hall like the points of a star. Moonlight cast the courtyard in silver. Snowflakes drifted around us, their lazy descent a sharp contrast to Ronan’s tight jaw and clipped steps.
We reached the castle garden, and memories rose from the snow like ghosts as he maneuvered me to the start of the maze we used to walk when I was younger. The tall, frost-covered hedges were spelled to rearrange themselves without warning. The only time I’d seen Ronan laugh himself breathless was when I wandered into a hedge that quickly closed, trapping me in a prison of shrubbery. He’d hacked an opening with Summerbane—then bellowed when I pelted him with snow from the top of the hedge I’d climbed while he worked to free me.
“You ungrateful brat!”he’d yelled as I sprinted away. The unmistakable sound of someone packing a snowball had accompanied his next words. “This is war!”
“You have to catch me first!”I’d called as I crouched and scooped a handful of snow.
Later, Cyra’s eyes had gone wide as she watched us trudge toward the castle in drenched clothes. “What happened?”
Ronan had given me a smug smile. “Princess Liria lost a snowball fight.”
The next morning, his shout rang through the entire castle when he plunged his foot into the boot I’d filled with snow in the middle of the night.
Branches snapped, yanking me from the past. The hedges that marked the maze’s entrance shivered, then slowly shifted, forming a new configuration.
Ronan ignored the movement as he faced me, his eyes blazing with anger and another emotion I couldn’t decipher. “You can’t speak to me that way in front of others, Liria. It invites gossip.”
“You don’t think it invites gossip when you disappear?” I asked. “Your absence dominated the dinner conversation, I assure you. More than one of your precious suitors viewed it as a slight.”
His mouth tightened. “They’re not my suitors.”
“Well, that makes two of us because I’m not marrying any of those men. Honestly, after tonight, I’m committed to spinsterhood.”
“That’s not an option,” he snarled, more anger leaping into his eyes. “We’ve been through this. You need a husband. Winter needs a king.”
“It will have a queen.” The long day with its parade of arrogant men and inane conversations caught up to me. Magic tingled in my fingers, urging me to lash out. “I’m done entertaining suitors, Ronan. If you’ve invited others to court, cancel their visits.”
He looked at my hand, which I’d balled into a fist at my side. I knew without looking that my tattoos glowed around my wrist.
Ronan met my gaze. “You think to challenge me?”
I lifted my chin. “You taught me to defend myself.”
“Not against me.”
I stepped toward him. “Well, maybe you should have.”
“I’m not your enemy, Liria. Your magic?—”
“Will come with time. Isn’t that what you’ve always said? But now you’re determined to push me into the arms of a stranger.”
“Do you think I enjoy it?” he demanded. Moonlight shimmered in his eyes, which seemed suddenly…stark. “Do you honestly think I revel in other men preening before you? That I take pleasure in them vying for your attention while I stand back and let it happen?” He slashed a hand through the air, making snowflakes swirl wildly. “Don’t presume to know my mind, Princess. You have no idea how it feels to watch you from afar, knowing I can never—” He clamped his jaw shut.
“What?” I whispered, my heart thumping.
The bleak look in his eyes grew as he stared at me, and I could almost see him wrestling with some great dilemma. Something that had bothered him for a very, very long time.
I stepped closer. “What?”
“Stop it,” he said, a dark note in his voice.
My heart pounded in my ears. Something wild and dangerous pumped in my veins. I took another step forward, putting us toe to toe. I ran my gaze down his tight jaw before settling on his mouth.
“Liria,” he said, my name a warning. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I tilted my head as I met his eyes. “Is that what you think? A lot of time has passed since I was eleven.” I wasn’t inexperienced when it came to desire—and how to satisfy it. Most of the ladies at court owned as many toys as they did jewelry. The elves of Summer crafted exceptionally lifelike phalluses from a flexible but sturdy tree bark that only grew in the South.
Ronan stood utterly still, as if he waited for my next move.
With the wild energy singing in my blood, I lay my palm over his chest. “I’m not eleven anymore.”
With a groan, he yanked me against him and slanted his mouth over mine. He thrust his tongue deep, stroking boldly. One hand curled under my chin, guiding my head where he wanted it. The fingers of his other hand speared my hair, dragging a moan from me as he dislodged pins and freed the heavy coils that had tugged at my scalp all day.
Sensations flooded me—none of them new, but all of them intoxicating because I’d never felt them with him. Heat. Pressure. Sparks that fluttered down, down, and settled hot and languid between my thighs.
Gods, how many times had I felt that telltale heat in Ronan’s presence? When he stepped close to me during training. When his breath coasted over my neck. When he adjusted my stance. When he looked at me. At night, I lay in bed and replayed those moments in my mind, wondering if he ever wanted to take a second look or let his touch linger just a little too long.
Now I knew he did.
Buoyed by that knowledge, I flung my arms around his neck and pressed my body more firmly to his. My breasts mashed against his chest. Something hard prodded my stomach. Desire flared hotter as I thrust my fingers into his long hair. My other hand found its way to his hard, round shoulder. The feel of his muscle flexing under his coat pulled a whimper from me.
Without warning, Ronan wrenched away. He stared at me, wide-eyed, his mouth wet and blurry and his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Liria…”
I licked my lips, tasting mint and ice and something else. Something dark and addictive. Him. Need gripped me. Instinctively, I leaned toward him, seeking more.
“No,” he rasped, backing up. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why not?” Determination coursed through me, and I stepped forward. “You wanted it as much as I did.”
He took a swift step backward. Just as swiftly, he turned and put more steps between us, stopping in a patch of moonlight. He angled his head down as he smoothed the hair I’d mussed. When he finished, he rested his hand on his sword hilt and addressed the snowy ground. “You smell of wine. We’ll speak in the morning when we both have clear heads.”
Anger pierced the fog of desire. “I’m not drunk. And you kissed me back.”
“Go to bed, Liria.”
“I’m not letting you blame this on wine. That’s the coward’s way out.”
He jerked his head up, and a warning glinted in his eyes as he faced me across the snow. His voice went as low as I’d ever heard it. “Go to bed.”
A smart person would have complied. But some hitherto unknown instinct kept me rooted to the spot. I’d run from him the last time he’d ordered me from his presence. I did it because I thought I was afraid. Now I knew I’d gotten it all backward. I wasn’t afraid.
Ronan was.
I lifted my chin. “You can tell yourself that kiss was a mistake, Ronan. You can pretend you didn’t enjoy it. But we both know you’re lying. You’re going to think about it for a long time. And you’re going to wonder what it would have felt like if we kept going.”
For a moment, he looked like I’d slapped him. Then his eyes hardened. “Go to bed, Liria. Karasset-na.”
Magic lashed like a whip, flinging the Old Language through the air. Obey me. The order struck me in the center of the chest, stealing my breath and raining sparks over my skin. Shock pounded through me as I stared at Ronan. The sparks sank deeper, multiplying and burrowing under my clothes. The longer I resisted Ronan’s command, the more uncomfortable the pain would become. I’d accepted his authority over me as my guardian. I was compelled to obey. But he hadn’t resorted to magical commands since I was a child.
My hands trembled as I gathered my skirts, and I heard the fury in my voice as I hissed, “I’ve heard you give that same order to your horse.”
He stiffened, and his eyes flickered with another indecipherable emotion. But I was done trying to figure him out. With magic stinging my skin and angry tears burning my throat, I swept from the garden and didn’t look back.
* * *
Twenty minutes later,I paced my bedchamber with anger snapping at my heels. Sounds of revelry drifted up from the Great Hall, which probably meant Lord Velador and Lord Estalar hadn’t killed each other. If I was lucky, they and the other suitors would drink until dawn and sleep until lunch, sparing me another awkward breakfast.
A muffled crash made me jump and stare at the floor, which seemed to shake from the impact of whatever the partygoers had knocked over. A beat later, male laughter boomed under my feet.
I glared at the floorboards. On second thought, maybe Velador and Estalar would resume their bickering and finish each other off. The night was young. There was still hope.
The door opened, and a panicked-looking Cyra rushed in. She stopped at the sight of me and pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank the gods! I’ve been worried sick.” She bustled to me and grasped my shoulders. “What happened with Lord Ronan?” Her gaze fell on my hair, which I’d repinned as soon as I returned to my chamber. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, gently disentangling myself from her grasp. I didn’t bother forcing a smile. She knew me too well for that.
She frowned. “Most of the court saw Lord Ronan pull you from the Hall. He looked like he wanted to put you over his knee.”
An image of how that might look flared bright in my mind. Heat rushed through me, and I turned and went to the fire so Cyra wouldn’t see the flush in my cheeks. “He wouldn’t dare,” I said, holding my palms over the blue flames. The cold fire cooled my skin, but it did nothing to slow my suddenly racing heart. “He hasn’t done that since I was a child.”
“That’s true,” Cyra said. Her footsteps approached slowly. “Did Lord Ronan say why he didn’t attend the feast?”
“He was more interested in asking why I didn’t stop my suitors from trying to kill each other.” I faced Cyra. “Now that I think about it, I should have encouraged the whole lot of them to duel for my hand.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Lord Velador would never agree to that. He might mess up his hair.”
“A fate worse than death,” I said, raising my eyebrows as I moved past her and went to the chest at the end of my bed. When I pulled out a nightgown, she moved behind me and began unlacing my court dress.
“Are you sure nothing happened with Lord Ronan?” she asked softly, her fingers quick and skilled.
My lips tingled, and I braced a hand on one of the bedposts to stop myself from touching them. For a moment, I considered telling Cyra the truth. She was a century older and knew far more about men. But something made me keep it to myself.
“Nothing happened,” I said as Cyra finished with the laces and helped me step out of the gown. I turned from the post in my shift and stockings. “I think he just wanted to punish me for giving him a hard time about the suitors. He thought leaving me to entertain them alone might teach me a lesson.”
Cyra snorted as she folded my gown over her arm. “That was foolish of him. You always find a way to get revenge.”
“I’ll tell the steward to seat Ronan next to Lord Velador for breakfast. That’s the best revenge I can think of.” I grabbed my nightgown from the bed. “I can finish from here.”
Her frown reappeared. “Are you sure?” She glanced toward the screen near the fire. “I can have the servants bring water for a bath.”
“I’m too tired for that. I’ll bathe in the morning.” I grasped the bedpost, and it wasn’t much effort to inject fatigue into my voice. “Truly, I’m exhausted.” I gestured to the court dress in Cyra’s arms. “Leave that for the servants. You must be exhausted, too.”
Relief moved through her eyes. “If you’re certain…”
“Absolutely. We both need a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re right.” She bustled to a large wardrobe against the wall and hung the gown on a peg inside. Then she went to the door and paused with her hand on the latch. “You handled yourself well today. Lord Ronan will hear of it eventually, and he’ll be as proud of you as I am. Winter is fortunate to have you as its princess.”
My throat thickened. “Thank you, Cyra.”
She nodded and slipped from the room. For a moment, I stared at the closed door, the nightgown dangling from my hand. Cyra knew me even better than I thought. Always, I’d craved Ronan’s approval. Whether I was learning elvish history or practicing magic, I’d always sought to please him. To win one of his rare peals of laughter. I’d wanted him to be proud of me. I still did.
But now I wanted something more. I wanted…him.
Do you think I enjoy it?
I moved to the hearth as the moments in the garden ran through my head.
You have no idea how it feels to watch you from afar, knowing I can never?—
Never what? Kiss me? Because he’d done that. And he was never going to convince me he hadn’t wanted it. I hadn’t imagined his tongue stroking over mine or his hands roving through my hair. I hadn’t dreamed up his groan or the way he pulled me more tightly against him.
I hadn’t imagined his magic lashing over my skin, either. He must not have meant “go to bed” literally. Although, he’d been distracted. Possibly, he’d wanted me tucked in bed with the blankets pulled to my chin before my skin stopped stinging. That was the inherent danger of the Old Language. Intention was everything, and even the slightest loss of focus or stray thought could warp the speaker’s meaning.
But Ronan had risked it anyway, hitting me with a command and then refusing to explain his actions. He’d sent me away.
Again.
The fire in the hearth leapt higher, the blue flames dancing as they had the night he returned from Tur Dorna. Which he’d lied about, of course. He’d been across the Covenant in Nordlinga?—
I jerked my head up, and my heart pounded as an unwelcome suspicion formed in my mind. Over the years, Ronan had been linked to a few women at court. The relationships never lasted long.
What if he crossed the Covenant for a woman? He’d been so determined to send me to bed tonight. He’d looked so stunned when I kissed him.
A sickening feeling settled in my stomach as I pictured him racing across the Covenant and sweeping a human woman into his arms. Maybe he didn’t cross the boundary to hunt his father’s killers. Maybe he did it to be with a woman—a human. Someone he could never bring to Ishulum.
Fresh anger pounded through my veins. Impulse seized me, and I whirled from the hearth and went to the wardrobe, where I tossed the nightgown inside and plucked a simple dress from one of the hooks. I yanked it over my head, then went to the bed and stuffed pillows under the blankets in case any servants checked on me in the night.
I swung my cloak around my shoulders as I returned to the hearth. Ronan had always wondered how I managed to sneak snow into his boots without him noticing. He knew the castle well, but he hadn’t grown up in it. Not like I had.
I ran my fingers down the wall next to the mantel.
There.
The tiniest latch disguised as a flaw in the grout between the stones. I pressed it, and the wall slid open just enough to let me squeeze into the darkened corridor beyond. Inside, I rested my hand against the stone and let the cold seep into my skin. A second later, blue flames licked over my fingers and lit up the passageway. Not enough magic to frost the forest, but plenty to keep me from stumbling in the dark.
With my makeshift torch dancing along my fingertips, I followed the corridor that was part of the labyrinth of winding tunnels and hidden staircases that connected every floor in the castle. Here and there, peepholes gave glimpses into various chambers on the other side of the stone. Faint snores and muffled laughter drifted through the walls. As I rounded a bend, a woman’s moans and the rhythmic squeak of bed ropes echoed through the passageway. When I was a child, the peepholes had offered a comprehensive education in the various ways adults took pleasure from each other.
For a moment, I was tempted to stop and discover which of my suitors had availed himself of my ladies’ attentions. But I quickly dismissed the idea and kept moving. Time was precious, and I didn’t covet the affection of any of the men I’d met today. They might as well enjoy themselves.
Ten minutes, a few cobwebs, and several rickety staircases later, I reached a thick wooden door no taller than my waist. I shook the flames from my fingers, knelt, and pressed my ear to the wood. When no sounds came from the other side, I held my breath and eased the door open.
The scent of manure stung my nose. Gathering my skirts in one hand, I shimmied through the doorway and into a neglected corner of the stables. A horse-loving ancestor had insisted on windows in every stall, so moonlight splashed over the hay as I crept through the enormous stone structure. With the castle full of suitors, each stall was occupied, and soft nickers and the occasional snort accompanied my progress. When I reached the last stall—an oversized cubicle tucked away from the others so its occupant was never disturbed by lesser horses—I clenched my jaw.
Empty.
Ronan’s precious destrier was gone.
“Your Highness?”
I whirled on the knight standing a few feet behind me.
“Sorry, Princess,” he said, stepping into a patch of moonlight that illuminated his armor. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” And I was stupid. With so many guests in the castle, I should have expected an extra security presence around the stables. Fortunately, the knight was Sir Garrik, one of the border guards I’d paid to report Ronan’s movements. He was young, with unbound hair that brushed his shoulders. Only members of the Winter Guard with kills under their belts wore a battle braid. A more experienced knight would have marched me straight back to my bedchamber.
“When did Lord Ronan leave?” I asked.
Sir Garrik hesitated.
“I’ll double your pay.”
He gave me a knowing look. “You’re going after him.”
“I never said that.”
Silence stretched. Then Sir Garrik’s chest lifted as he sighed. “If my captain finds out I let you ride to Tur Dorna without an escort, Princess, he’ll have my head.”
“I’m not riding to Tur Dorna,” I said truthfully.
Sir Garrik studied me, clearly trying to decide if I was full of shit.
I held his stare and drew upon years of experience sweet-talking Ronan. “I’m returning to my chamber and going to bed.” I glanced out the nearest window. “You’ve probably been on duty for hours. Now is an excellent time for a break.”
He followed my gaze to the window, reluctance plain on his face. “I don’t know…”
I lowered my voice. “No harm will come to you, whether from your captain or anyone else. Na-sessni.” I vow it.
Sir Garrik jumped as the binding words crackled in the air between us. A few strands of his hair lifted away from his head, and he smoothed them down with a shaking hand. “Gods, Princess, you put yourself in danger using the Old Language.”
I drew an even breath. “I’ll keep my vow, sir. And you won’t have anything to report to your captain if you take that break.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he gave a single nod. “I suppose I could use a break.” He looked toward the rear of the stable. “Do you need any help returning to your chamber?”
“No, thank you,” I said, and we both knew he’d just offered to saddle my horse. “I can manage it.”
A smile glimmered in his eyes as he bowed. “I’m sure you can, Your Highness.” He turned and walked toward the doors. He’d gone a dozen steps when he stopped and spoke softly over his shoulder. “Lord Ronan left a half hour ago.” Sir Garrik gave me a pointed look. “And please be careful on the stairs. You can’t be too cautious at night.”
“Thank you, Sir Garrik. I’ll watch my step.”
Another nod, and he was off again, his sword clanking lightly against his armor-clad thigh. As soon as he disappeared through the doors, I rushed to my horse’s stall and quickly saddled her.
“Good girl, Davina,” I murmured, patting the sleepy mare’s flank as I led her into the deserted courtyard. I said another silent thank-you to Sir Garrik, then swung into the saddle and headed for the road that led to Tur Dorna. Once there, I pulled Davina to a halt and looked around, my senses tuned for any signs of pursuit. The full moon sparkled on the snow and turned the trees silver. When I was certain I was alone, I wheeled Davina around and urged her toward the Covenant and Nordlinga.
It took thirty minutes to reach the boundary on horseback. I made it in twenty, and I pressed my forehead to the mare’s and crooned praises in her twitching ears before leaving her at the edge of the forest that marked the end of Winter and the start of the no man’s land between Ishulum and Andulum.
My heart pounded as I walked forward, moving through the last few trees. I emerged from the forest and stopped, my gaze on the Covenant. Tall as the towers of my father’s castle, the blue, shimmering boundary pulsed with magic so pure and concentrated it pressed the ground between the elven and human realms flat. From Winter’s northernmost glaciers to Summer’s sun-baked deserts, the Covenant stood as a permanent barrier—and a promise. Never again would elves and humans dwell among each other. Always, Ishulum and Andulum would remain separate and apart. Magic thrived in Ishulum. It withered and died in Andulum.
Behind me, the forest was quiet except for the sound of Davina’s harness jingling as she pulled up grass. The night was still.
And there was no sign of Ronan. No sign of his horse, either, which he couldn’t have taken into Nordlinga. Magic couldn’t cross. Elves could tolerate shedding their magic for short periods, but the animals of Ishulum died when they traveled through the barrier. Most wouldn’t even go near the Covenant.
Nerves prickling, I took a few more steps and stopped, squinting at the barrier fifty feet away. Its light was impenetrable from where I stood. According to the stories, humans couldn’t see through the veil of magic—something their leaders had insisted upon when the ancients created the boundary. I’d never ventured close enough to find out if Nordlinga was visible from Winter’s side. When I’d watched Ronan cross, the light had seemed to swallow him whole.
A high-pitched whinny split the air behind me. I spun just in time to see Davina rear, her eyes rolling wildly, as a white boar burst from the trees.
“No!” I yelled, lurching forward.
Davina’s hooves slammed to the ground. The boar charged toward her. With an ear-splitting scream, the mare streaked into the forest.
“No, no, no,” I chanted, grabbing at my skirts as I stumbled through the snow. Cold flowed all around me. In the ground under my feet. I let it flow up my body and into my hand. The tattoos around my wrist flared to life as I drew my arm back and flung it forward. An icicle streaked from my hand, its deadly tip pointed at the boar. Between one breath and the next, the icicle burst into a ghostly white fawn. Its hooves struck the ground, sending ice spraying into the air.
My heart soared, and I held my breath as the fawn galloped toward the boar. Just before it hit its target, however, the fawn careened sideways and smashed into a tree. Ice flew in a hundred different directions, the pieces scattering on the ground.
Unharmed, the boar stopped and swung in my direction.
Its glowing red stare pinned me in place. Madness glazed its eyes. Long tusks with wicked-looking points curved from either side of its snout. Dark red blood stained its flank. Fresh blood dripped from a wound in its side. The injury looked serious, but it was small and round, almost as if the animal had been stabbed by a…dagger.
My heart beat faster, pumping terror through my veins. At the same time, a bubble of hysterical laughter rose in my throat. Lord Estalar and his captain had told the truth about Lord Velador. But it was looking like I wouldn’t get a chance to vindicate them.
The boar charged.
I didn’t think. Just turned and ran. Blood roared in my ears as I grabbed my skirts and burst from the trees with the boar on my heels. A cry caught in my throat. My feet kicked up snow. The Covenant beckoned, its light a blue beacon in the night. But I couldn’t cross. The humans on the other side were just as dangerous as the boar.
The beast’s grunting breaths were just behind me. I ran faster, racing over the frozen ground. Blue filled my vision. The Covenant loomed. The outline of trees wavered like a mirage on the other side.
Nordlinga.
“Come!” a man’s voice boomed from the other side of the haze. A second later, I saw him. Limned in the Covenant’s blue light, a bearded giant in a fur-lined cloak and leather cuirass waved me forward. His gaze shifted from me to the boar, and he waved more frantically.
Shock pierced my panic. The man shouldn’t have been able to see me. But he absolutely did. There was no question of it as he met my gaze.
And held it.
“I won’t hurt you!” he bellowed.
Somehow, I believed him.
The boar’s hot breath coasted over my legs. On the other side of the Covenant, the man opened his arms.
I raced through the boundary and fell into them.