14. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
I hurt.
Everywhere.
A profound, relentless ache gnawed at me, tearing me apart. I writhed as invisible hands pulled each bone from its joint, placing them aside in a neat, torturous pile.
An agonized wail pierced the air, echoing my silent torment.
But it wasn’t me. I didn’t have the energy to make a sound like that.
My eyes fluttered open, frost clinging to my lashes. My brother convulsed on the ground, encircled by priests. He clutched his wrist close to his chest.
The same hand Nellie, from my dreams, blasted with a cloud of icy magic.
He slammed his head against the frozen stone, arching his back in excruciating pain. When he rolled onto his side, his blackened bare feet flailed outside the line of ice. His skin was a terrible blue, smothered in bright angry blisters.
Priests surged forward, lifting his screaming form to carry him into the castle, out of my sight. I tried to shout for them to stop, to take me too, but only a moan escaped my lips. Tears threatened, but I held them back, fearing the icy trails they would leave on my cheeks.
Gentle hands gripped my shoulders, lifting me upright. “Nellium told me you would make it.”
Agony flooded my senses, and I choked on a breath, straining to crane my head to see the stranger who spoke. My frozen bones refused to twist, and a wheezing, airy scream slipped past my cracked, split lips. They placed me on a cot, but it felt like being thrown down a cliffside, and four Priests of Nellium carried me inside .
My head lulled to the side where I found Anderz following behind, conversing in hushed tones with a priest.
They brought me to my chambers, where Gilead waited. I couldn’t contain my screams as they tended to me. The room’s warmth intensified the dull ache into a searing, stabbing torment.
The ordeal that followed plunged me into a haze of consciousness and piercing screams of agony. Blades sliced through my limbs, the sensation like a thousand shards cutting through my nerves. Powerful hands pinned me down, and I struggled against their grip, each movement a battle against overwhelming force. Chants rose, prayers invoking Nellium’s name. I didn’t have the strength to tell them she went by ‘Nellie.’
When Gilead forced a scalding liquid down my throat, it seared a fiery path to my belly, leaving a burning taste in my mouth before I succumbed to sleep.
I awoke enveloped in a snug embrace, cocooned in warmth that seeped into my bones. Nestled against a sturdy chest, I inhaled the comforting scent of woodsmoke mingled with the faint aroma of pine. The crackling fire cast a gentle glow, its flickering dance painting warm hues on the walls. As I burrowed deeper into the plush furs, the crackle of flames whispered a lullaby, soothing my groggy senses as I slipped into consciousness.
“Easy.”
My body tensed, startled by Sainte’s hushed words. My heart stuttered, racing as blood throbbed in my ears. I clutched the heavy fur to my chest, fingers curling tight, while my other hand slid beneath, meeting the warmth of my skin.
My skin.
“Sainte!” I choked out, cursing myself as my lips split.
“Hmm?”
“Where are my clothes?”
In panic, I reached back, fumbling amid our closeness. A sigh of relief escaped when I found the fabric separating us. He chuckled, the sound followed by a subtle shift as he pulled his hips out of my reach.
“They were taken away.”
Gilead’s response made me wince, prompting me to crane my head back for a better view. She lounged in a nearby chair by the fire. The steam from her mug curled upward as she observed me, an amused arch to her brow.
“The priests believe they have been touched by Nellium. They claimed your dress as their relic.”
“Nellie,” I muttered .
“Pardon, Your Highness?”
I sniffed. “Nothing.”
It was a dream, a fleeting hallucination, like the aftermath of eating tainted mushrooms. Certainly not a goddess in the guise of a giddy child, visiting me amidst a trial.
With a groan, I rolled onto my back, keeping the furs tucked close to my chin. “Why—how are you here?”
Sainte propped his head up on his hand, his other on top of the blankets for all to see.
Probably safer that way.
My cheeks stung with embarrassment.
“It’s common practice to use body heat to warm someone who has the Crown of Frost,” Gilead explained.
Sainte’s blue eyes reflected the fire’s glow as he studied my face, a faint smile tugging at his features. “Anderz declined,” he said.
The healer scoffed with a mirthful shake of her head. “Sainte offered.”
I smiled, though I regretted it when the tender skin split further. Wincing, I licked at it, and Sainte’s gaze flicked to my lips. A frown creased his brow.
Not the reaction I hoped for.
“Help her up,” Gilead said, moving to the kettle near the fire.
I squeaked a protest as he pushed himself upright, lifting the blanket with his movements. I hissed with pain, but quickly tucked the furs around my body.
It struck me as amusing how I didn’t mind when a seamstress and crew of maids saw me without a stitch on, but with Sainte thrown in the mix, I became as prudish as a priest.
I glared at the smile that threatened to lift his lips. He cleared his throat, then climbed behind me to lift me against his chest. I clung to the blanket for all I was worth.
Gilead extended a mug of steaming liquid. The rich aroma of cinnamon and cloves teased my senses, promising comfort.
“Drink,” she ordered.
“I can’t,” I said, eyes pleading.
My stinging fingers clutched the fur close. Nestled between Sainte’s legs and thankfully shielded by his trousers, I refused to let go.
Sainte chuckled, a deep rumbling sound, and I tried not to think about the funny things it did to my stomach. The weight of his presence pressed against my back, the heat of his breath brushing my ear. I sat frozen, my pulse pounding, feeling both foolish and exposed.
He stretched around me, securing the blanket tight to my chest. I attempted to turn enough to give him a skeptical glare, but my stiff body wouldn’t allow it. He leaned over the rest of the way so that I could see his eyes.
He winked.
I felt like someone had just shot my heart with an arrow, sitting there like a fool as he straightened behind me.
“Drink, Princess.”
I cleared my throat and reached for the mug. When I saw the state of my hands, I froze, turning them over, horrified. Swollen and red, my fingers glistened with oil. Gauze wrapped several spots, and small, angry blisters swelled with fluid.
“It’s not too bad,” Gilead said. “We had to lance the largest abscesses. Better to relieve the pressure and keep the wound clean than risk it bursting on its own and getting infected.”
“My feet?” A similar stinging sensation and dull ache pulsated there as well.
“The same, I’m afraid.”
Her frown deepened as she held the mug out. I fumbled for it, gripping it as steadily as I could as I brought it to my lips. Hot and sweet, the spiced tea warmed my mouth and throat, its comforting heat spreading to my belly.
“Adastrus?” I asked.
“Suffered far worse.”
“Not only are you the victor,” Sainte cut in, “Nellium marked you as chosen.”
Nellie. The imaginary girl in my head likes to be called Nellie.
“His left hand…” I hedged.
“It can be saved.” The healer shrugged, a line creasing her brow. “His fingers cannot, not without Togamar’s intervention.”
“Who?”
“Goddess of Healing,” Sainte supplied.
“He’d be hard-pressed to receive aid from her.” Gilead shook her head. “Regardless, you are the victor, and Nellium marked you. This bodes well.”
After I drained my drink, she retrieved the mug, and Sainte lowered his hold, allowing me to support the blanket over my chest. He made no effort to move, providing a comforting anchor for me to lean against.
I had completed one trial, with two more ahead. Each step brought me closer to leading a kingdom of strangers. Passing that first rite felt like chance, not skill. And why was I marked? I knew nothing of leadership. I’d be at the mercy of people like Anderz who would use me as a puppet.
Gilead gave me a knowing look, as if she sensed the direction my thoughts wandered. She headed for the door, then paused at the threshold. “Stay with her, Captain Nytestorm. Send word if she catches a fever.”
As her footsteps faded and a door creaked open and closed, I gazed into the flames. Sainte’s sigh brushed against my back, and his forehead rested heavily on my shoulder .
“Tired?” I asked. All this moving about had to be wearing on him. His injuries were nowhere near fully healed.
“Elspeth, you could push a man to an early grave.”
I grinned to myself, staring at my bandaged, swollen fingers. “It wasn’t that bad.”
A blatant lie.
His head lifted from my shoulder, his warm breath brushing against my bare skin. “I believed in you.”
This wasn’t safe. Nothing about this was safe.
I sniffed and slid down his chest to burrow into the mass of furs and blankets on the floor near the hearth. Gaze fixed on the dancing flames, I forced myself to ignore his presence. My feelings for him faded long ago, and I was no longer the type to be swept off my feet by the first man to pay me attention.
He cleared his throat. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes,” I said with a bit more bite than intended.
I pulled the furs snug to my chin. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t reciprocate his affection. He had my heart at sixteen and crushed it. I wouldn’t give him another chance.
I didn’t care—not anymore.
He settled in behind me. Even without touching, his presence brought more comfort than the amber flames. In the quiet, a thousand words sat unspoken until sleep claimed me once more.
“The Rite of Hearth and Home,” Anderz said again. “You will have to practice, as you have no faith in the gods.”
“Yet, you have enough faith for all of us,” I grumbled, refusing to look his way.
Sainte sparred with another soldier in the courtyard below. Today’s swordplay demanded agility over the brute strength his ax required. From my balcony vantage point, I could see the crimson stains seeping through the back of his shirt.
“Not I, Princess,” Anderz grumbled. “Chosen of the Gods or no, I don’t hold much stock in them heeding mortal matters.”
I slouched against the stone railing, resting my chin on my palm. “Too busy doing their godly duties?”
“Regardless of your disbelief, you must prepare—”
His thin hand settled beside mine, urging me to meet his eye.
“—if you do not pass this second trial, it could kill you. ”
“The first almost killed me,” I stated, examining the closed wounds along my skin.
They had healed remarkably well. Most of the small blisters had faded. Those that burst and were lanced remained free of infection.
Adastrus was not so lucky.
Despite the impossibility, his blackened, dead fingers clung to his hand, immobile at the knuckles yet able to move as a unit. His preferred method of unsettling dinner guests became drumming the table with the lifeless limbs. The dreadful sound stirred unease among the guests, much to his amusement.
“I suggest you go with…”
Anderz’s words faded into the background as my attention sharpened on the figure entering the courtyard.
Urien?
Men trickled in behind him, their faces rugged from the trail yet not as worn as Sainte’s had been. Practice halted, replaced by enthusiastic greetings and rough embraces. Sainte enveloped each in a one-armed hug, and they handled him with care, mindful of his back, as if this were routine.
“Don’t tell me they’re all going to be flogged.”
I didn’t recognize half of them, and the other half I resented for their involvement in my kidnapping. Despite this, I couldn’t bear the thought of them being harmed.
A frizzy halo of sand-colored hair among the men caught my notice. Lyana? I leaned over the railing and my breath caught in my throat.
Anderz followed my gaze. “Everything all right?”
Her ocean eyes found mine, and she lifted her hand to shield out the midday sun.
“Lyana!” I shrieked.
Her smile brightened, consuming the whole of her face as she smacked the chest of the big warrior beside her. “Grimm, my man! Which way to that balcony?!”
He gawked at her, then blinked up at me. When he met my eyes, he dipped into a modest bow. Sainte’s words from Landing’s End echoed in my mind, as though spoken ages ago. ‘When she acts like a princess, feel free to treat her as one.’ I grabbed the sides of my lush green dress and curtsied.
“Scale it!” I called.
Amidst the small crowd, I spotted Ethyan giving me a salute. I squealed, throwing him a cheerful wave. I could hardly believe they were here.
Was ‘here’ even safe for them?
“I’ll put up ten coppers!”
“A silver! ”
Wagers went up among the men as she headed my way with a swagger and a grin. We scaled the bell tower regularly. What was a cold icy wall but another test of our skills?
I leaned forward as she reached the wall, peering over the edge. The stone’s chill bit against my palms. Beside me, Anderz made a thoughtful noise as Lyana threw her cloak aside and searched for handholds along the rough, weathered surface.
“I’m coming for you, girl!” Her voice echoed across the courtyard as she began her ascent.
I grinned, captivated by her progress. This was nothing like climbing in Port Siren. The longer one’s fingers gripped the stone, the colder and stiffer they became, weakening the grip. The height wasn’t daunting, though a fall would shatter a few bones.
“Ha!” She slapped a hand on the railing.
I laughed, grabbing hold of her to help haul her over. She landed with a bounce in her step. Her eyes flicked to Anderz before settling on me, then dropped to my dress. Without waiting for her comment, I enveloped her in a fierce hug. She wheezed in complaint, but wrapped her arms around me just the same.
“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d come!”
I held her at arm’s length, taking her in. She wore ratty trousers and a tattered shirt, with what seemed like an overskirt tied about her waist, the fabric worn and frayed.
“Such little faith,” she chided, picking at my fur-lined cloak. “Look at this! Such finery!”
“There’s a whole room of dresses!”
Her eyes widened, lit with excitement. “No!”
I never kept my true identity a secret from Lyana and Ethyan, and they never gave a flying turd about it. She, ever the supportive soul, never wavered whenever I mentioned Wynterborne, even though my heart never harbored a desire to return. Her acceptance of that truth solidified our bond. Ethyan, bound by sibling loyalty, followed his sister’s lead without question.
I turned my beaming smile to the counselor. “Anderz, I would like to retire to my quarters.”
His sharp eyes darted to Lyana and back to me with a slight dip of his head. “Of course, Princess. Would you like a room made up in your wing for… Lyana, was it?”
“Lyana of Port Cara, at your service.” She gave a playful attempt at a curtsy and peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, a sly smirk dancing on her cheek.
His smile mirrored hers. “A door with a lock, no doubt. ”
“A lock? How horrible!” She clapped a hand over her heart, feigning distress. “I should fear for my life!”
“We should fear for our valuables.”
We followed Anderz, laughter bubbling between us. His grasp of Common Muik shouldn’t have surprised me—he seemed to know everything. Yet, the warmth that filled me when he understood her words was undeniable.
Lyana recounted the dreadful journey, painting vivid pictures of Grimm’s thunderous snoring and Urien’s awful jokes. As we strolled to my quarters, Anderz departed to make preparations, leaving us to converse freely.
We talked until the sun dipped below the horizon. For the first time, I found contentment without Sainte by my side. Lyana, smelling of horse and sweat, brought a sense of familiarity that this frigid castle lacked since my arrival.
With Lyana, Ethyan, and Sainte here, Wynterborne almost felt like home.