17. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
T hat night, I lay awake in my bed, motionless, silent, lest I disturb the man sleeping nearby.
Planks of wood covered the window until a glass smith could repair it, and staff brought a cot for Sainte’s use. His proximity unsettled me. Yes, we slept together on the road, but this was different, more intimate. This closeness wasn’t forced by a rushed journey. He was a part of me now.
My Valahant.
Our moment in the pool repeated in my mind in an endless loop. The memory replayed in vivid detail—his hands enveloping mine, how good his hard body felt pressed against mine.
Frustration quickened my pulse, and I shoved myself upright. Silently, I threw my legs over the bedside and took three soft steps. Sainte rested on the cot with one arm shielding his head, his gaze meeting mine in the lantern’s dim glow from the adjacent room.
Without a word or question, he drew in a slow breath, then rose. His blankets dropped to his waist.
The exposed skin clashed with my emotions, warming my cheeks.
I ignored him, then headed for the receiving area. After I grabbed the lantern, I wandered into my dressing room. I donned thin slippers and a light cloak before spinning on my heel to leave–
Only to collide with Sainte.
Dressed in a thin tunic and dark trousers, he adorned his belt with two daggers. His gaze fixed on me while securing his leather chest piece. Swelling and bruises marked his face, unexpectedly stirring a maternal instinct—as though I were responsible for his well-being .
As I squeezed through the doorway, my chest brushed against his arm. I crossed the room with his silent steps trailing mine. When I opened the door, I was grateful for the oiled hinges, a small mercy during late-night wanderings.
Down the hall, I dimmed the lantern to a flickering flame, then entered Lyana’s room without bothering to knock. After I placed it on a small wooden dresser, I glanced over the royal decor. Golden threads in the curtains and tapestries shimmered in the lantern’s light, adding a touch of elegance to the cozy space.
I kicked off my slippers, then draped my cloak over a chair as Sainte eased the door shut. At the bedside, I lifted the blankets and slid underneath. Lyana let out a sigh, swatting at me, accidentally striking my face. I grunted as I settled onto the bed and tucked the furs to my chin.
“El?” she whispered, groggy with slumber.
I rubbed my cheek. “Shh, sleep.”
“El?”
“Ethyan?!” I jerked upright, hissing as my stitches pulled.
His silhouette straightened in the chair near the window.
“I was scared,” Lyana murmured, pulling me close.
Ethyan yawned, relaxing into the cushioned seat. “Gotta have her big brother to protect her.”
I rolled onto my side, facing the door, and Lyana wrapped her arms around me, snuggling into my back. Sainte shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe, hand resting on his dagger.
If only I could trust my brother like that.
“Your Highness, Prince Regent Adastrus requests your presence.”
My laughter at Lyana’s joke faltered as a servant interrupted our midday meal.
“Now?” I asked, dipping my bread into the bowl of warm stew.
“Yes, Your Highness. He requests Lady Lyana as well.”
Dread hit me like a punch to the gut. The savory stew lost all flavor in my mouth as I chewed, nodding to her. “Wait in the hall, please.”
She obeyed, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Anderz–” I started, my heart in my throat.
“Lyana is of Tilamuik. She is here as your guest and his reach to her is limited,” he said, brushing out his dark robes.
“Then why does he want her there?” I asked.
Lyana shrugged and stood. Her wide blue-green eyes showed just how nervous she was, though .
“I would assume we will find out, Princess.”
The counselor walked toward the door, and we trailed behind, Sainte bringing up the rear.
“Should I run?” Lyana whispered.
“There’s no place to go. A Howl is brewing,” Anderz remarked without glancing back.
She swallowed audibly as we followed him through the corridors. I recognized the route. He was leading us to the Hall of Receiving. Adastrus either wanted to assert dominance or bind me by the noble crowd, as I had done when I named Sainte my Valahant.
I rubbed my thumbs against my palms as we walked. My grasp of High Wynterian was lacking, and with Lyana present, I found myself using Common Muik more often than not. In front of nobles, I was vastly ill-prepared. I rehearsed the curses I would spew at my brother given the chance, but there was a political game to be played, and Adastrus had outmatched me too many times.
A knot twisted in my gut as I anticipated what manner of torture I’d have to endure. My gaze drifted to Lyana, I couldn’t stand by if he hurt her. If he found some way to abuse her, I would attack him with all the ferocity of a dock cat.
The doors to the receiving hall opened at our approach, and Anderz slowed his pace ahead of us.
“What did he do?!” Lyana whispered, horrified.
Grimm stood with his thick legs spread apart, hand braced on the sword at his hip. My gaze traveled upward along his large frame, snagging on the velebond chain wrapped around his neck. My lips parted in silent terror—the link joining the chain was seared into his flesh, the wound red and angry. As we advanced, his bloodshot eyes locked onto ours.
A single tear tracked down his bloodied and dirt-covered cheek.
Lyana lunged. “No! You can’t–”
I snatched her hand, pulling her against me as Anderz turned, issuing a silent warning. I wrapped my arms around her, ignoring the murmurs rippling through the crowd.
“He can’t!” She shook with rage, eyes locked on Grimm.
“Lady Lyana, might I introduce you to my Valahant?” Adastrus said, standing in a smooth motion, grinning as he descended the stairs. “Oh, it appears as though you already know him.”
“What did you do?!”
She tried to pull away, but I held her firmly, seeking guidance from Anderz. He remained motionless, his golden eyes taking everything in.
“I bound him to me, dear lady. Watch, it’s a lovely trick!” He spun on the heel of his boot and snapped his fingers at the big man. “Come doggie, come!”
Bile rose in my throat .
Grimm’s jaw was clenched so tight I expected to hear it crack. He took quick steps to Adastrus’ side, where he glared down at his regent.
“Sit!”
Lyana seethed. “I’ll kill–”
“Surely, brother,” I interrupted, halting her treasonous words, “you did not summon me just to flaunt your own Valahant.”
Grimm lowered himself to the ground, wincing in pain while Adastrus’s features lit up with glee.
“You’re right, little sister,” he said, his mad eyes locking onto mine. With a predatory smile, he clasped his hands in front of his belt. “I wanted to inform you that a Howl is imminent, and I propose we embark on the second rite.”
His posture remained relaxed and calm as Grimm sat at his feet, staring blankly into the distance, a stark contrast to his usually cheerful demeanor.
“When?” I spat.
“Tonight.”
I glanced at Anderz. We hadn’t even practiced or gone over the fine details of the Rite of Hearth and Home. All I knew was it involved a lot of walking in the snow.
“Well enough,” I replied, gently pulling Lyana with me as I took a step back. She trembled with rage and I had to get her out of there.
“Oh, and Princess? ”
I paused, every intention to kill the bastard clear in my eyes.
He tilted his head with a smile, his black hair falling across his forehead. “Did you know you can duel with your Valahant?”
“Pardon?” I asked, squinting as I struggled to grasp his meaning.
“As your Valahant is an extension of you, you may use them as a stand-in for a duel.” He sidestepped, his sickly gaze locking onto Sainte with a dangerous grin. “Would you wager mine against yours?”
My blood turned to ice, and I fought the urge to look back at Sainte. Grimm stood among his handpicked men, one he trusted to cross borders to fetch me.
I would not have him fight his friend.
“I will prepare for the rite,” I growled, turning away.
With a glance at Sainte, my resolve hardened. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he looked at Grimm once more before leaving with me. I pressed my lips together, holding Lyana’s arm, practically dragging her along. Anderz followed, his steps measured and calm.
“Pack warm, sister!”
Adastrus’ laughter echoed throughout the room, haunting us as we departed.
I was going to die.
That fate was certain.
At least Sainte accompanied me, not that he was allowed to hold me in death’s cold embrace. He watched me from beneath his cloak’s deep, fur-lined hood. Flakes swirled, covering him in a dense layer.
It wasn’t even pretty snow that glittered in the sun, but a thick haze of white under a dark gray sky. It settled on my lap and Sainte’s hood with unnerving speed. The accumulation rose higher than my crossed legs, and I brushed it off in a vain attempt to stay dry.
Blindfolded, I endured a wagon ride lasting over a day. The rough, jarring journey left me sore and frustrated. Eating with my eyes covered was an unpleasant experience.
They dumped us somewhere… Whether we stood on a mountain, in a valley, or on a plain eluded me. Flat ground stretched beneath my feet, but it could change at any moment. I had no idea how Sainte and the priest would get home when I died.
“You may begin.”
I squinted up at the Priest of Nothar, wrapped in a fur cloak.
“Is it too much to ask for a pointer?!” I shouted over the gale.
He offered no direction, only stared at me with disturbing gray eyes, his stark-white hair snapping in the gust. I couldn’t fathom how he discerned the time of day, or how he knew when the rite should begin. He was there to enforce the rite’s law, nothing more.
I cursed, knowing he wouldn’t hear over the torrent, then pushed upright, shaking off the snow that piled on my lap. The bitter wind whistled and shrieked, shoving me until I staggered.
Sainte stood as well, keeping his distance. Anderz informed me Valahants were permitted to attend the trials, but any assistance would result in my forfeit.
I shielded my eyes from the glare and scanned my surroundings. Beyond a few paces, nothing popped out—no trees, rocks, not even the sky. I lifted the hem of my skirt as it snagged on the drifts. The fur trousers provided comfort, and the dress added warmth, but with it dragging, it wouldn’t be long before it froze solid.
I stopped, pulling the front of my dress to my thighs, then reached between my legs to yank the hem forward, tucking it into the thick belt at my waist. I’d seen women girding their loins like this as they walked the shore, searching for clams.
What I would have given to be back at the coast. To feel the salty breeze cooling my cheeks, reddened by the sun’s warmth. Gritty sand between my toes, with cool foamy water lapping at my ankles .
Grunting, I trudged forward into knee-deep snow, the priest and Sainte trailing behind. With each heavy step, the frigid stuff threatened to swallow me. At this rate, I would be buried in a few hours. I pushed onward, hoping I was headed in the right direction.
Anderz warned me to stay dry. Logic said to find a cave and wait out the storm, but this was the Rite of Hearth and Home. I needed to brave the Howl and make my way back to the castle.
Hopefully, they hadn’t dropped Adastrus off any closer.
I wouldn’t put it past him to cheat or abandon Grimm in a snowdrift.
Lyana was devastated over Grimm’s condition. She bonded with the big man during their journey, growing close to him. She spoke of him often, and I guessed she planned to make her move soon.
Then Adastrus snatched him from her grasp.
The vilest of people inflicted pain by targeting their victim’s friends, and that was exactly what my brother did. He didn’t choose Grimm because he was the best candidate, but because it would cause the most harm.
Anderz reassured me that Adastrus could only claim one Valahant. The Priests of Togamar were furious with him for not fulfilling the velebond in their temple. His actions not only offended the goddess, but also tarnished his reputation among the people. The inhabitants of Wynterborne would hesitate to follow a leader who disregarded the old traditions.
I couldn’t envision them ever completing the ritual. The thought of Grimm submerging Adastrus under the water, working out who was the leader, brought a sad smile to my lips. Their bond lacked trust, and while I didn’t view it as magical, their neglect of the pretense felt like a poor decision.
A gust of wind roared over a snowdrift, knocking me to the ground. I landed flat on my back, gazing at the swirling gray mass above before closing my eyes. I needed to stay on my feet and keep moving.
Struggling, I fought to stand. Only moments into the trial, I was already weary and frozen.
I was going to die very slowly.
Darkness enveloped me like a heavy cloak, muffling the world around me. With each step, my boots crunched on the snow, the sound echoing eerily in the silent night. I trusted that Sainte was following, but I couldn’t be certain about the priest—he might have been lost in a snowdrift.
My arms and legs grew numb, the icy chill seeping through layers of clothing. My wool scarf covering my face was dampened from breath condensation and frozen to my skin, each exhale creating a frosty barrier. My clothes, soaked through with snow and sweat, had turned to solid ice, weighing me down and hindering my movements. Hunger gnawed at me—I hadn’t eaten since the wagon ride, unable to carry rations.
I stumbled and fell face-first. The icy sting assaulted my cheeks, almost burning my skin. I tried to move my hands, but they barely twitched. The chill numbed my fingers, sapping strength from my bones with every passing second. Each deep breath turned into a choked gasp as the wet snow filled my mouth and nostrils, suffocating me. It felt like drowning, and I fought to free my face, to roll over, to sit up—anything to escape the oppressive cold that seeped into my very soul.
I moaned and struggled, slowly fading into darkness.
Something shifted me, rolling me onto my back. Ice forced my eyelids shut, frozen in place.
Warm hands, almost scorching, pressed against my cheeks, thawing the frost. I moaned, attempting to turn away from the intense heat, but they held me firm, forcing me to thaw. After a moment, the touch moved to my eyes, melting the freeze, and I coaxed them open. I blinked and squinted against the brightness, struggling to discern the figure that shielded me from the snow.
Golden hair cascaded from the woman’s head, wind teasing it into a wild dance. She wore a wool scarf, shielding the worst of the torrent. Unnaturally bright green eyes glowed with light as she smiled down at me. Her skin bore a warm bronze hue, reminiscent of those from coastal regions. Her mouth moved as she lowered her hands to my shoulders, but her words were lost in the roaring gale.
I gawked at her, wondering who she was and why she was helping me. Gratitude welled within, and I would’ve thanked her for saving me, but my frozen lips wouldn’t allow it.
A bone-aching warmth expanded through me from her touch. Heat radiated from her in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
I lifted my hand and examined it, relieved to have movement. Each tiny sensation brought a sense of hope. It was a slow, painful process. The gradual thawing accompanied by a faint tingle of pins and needles. Despite the chaos of the roaring wind and the threat of her scarf being snatched away, she smiled down at me as if everything were perfectly ordinary.
As warmth spread to my toes, I sat up, cradling my side where it felt like my stitches had torn. She tilted her head, and the soft brush of her hand covered mine. An odd sensation followed. The nerves beneath my skin twitched and wiggled, as if worms crawled across my flesh. I scratched at my wound—or tried to—but she held me firm. When she loosened her grip, the twitching stopped, and so did the pain.
“Who are you?!” I screamed over the gale.
In response, she simply smiled and patted my hand. When she looked up, eyes locked on something behind me, her mouth moved, but no sound came out. I attempted to read her lips, but whatever language she used was neither High Wynterian nor Muik.
I twisted, trying to see whatever she spoke to. Sleet swirled and howled, wrapping around itself, then scattering. There was nothing.
Yet, as I watched, a shape solidified in the distance, enough for me to discern the outline. A white stag, as pure as the swirling snow that enveloped it, stood calmly in the storm. Its antlers stretched toward the sky, framing a tall figure astride its back. The figure, uncloaked, displayed only a crown upon its head, crafted from ice. Its crystalline facets glinted in the faint light.
A warm hand gripped mine, and my attention returned to the woman. She stood, pulling me with her as her mouth formed a silent shout. It wasn’t the wind that whisked away her voice—there was no sound. She pointed at the stag, then nudged me toward it. I stumbled a step, peering around her in search of Sainte and the priest.
“My friend!”
She hesitated, scanning the Howl as if she could see through it. Her lips moved, and I focused on her mouth, struggling to decipher the word.
Valahant.
“Yes! Yes!” I shouted, nodding in case she couldn’t hear me. “Valahant!”
She smiled, her expression tender, as if I were a child professing love for their mother. She cupped my cheek, her touch warm and comforting, and I gawked at her, confused. Her mouth opened in a silent laugh before she gestured to the side.
At her command, the haze of snow parted, revealing the priest and Sainte huddled together among the drifts.
“Sainte!”
He didn’t move.
Again, she pointed toward the distant stag, its powerful silhouette turning its rump on us, blending into the snowy landscape. Urgency flashed in her eyes as she released my hand, a silent plea in her gaze. She made a shooing motion, the movement sharp and insistent. As she stepped back, the wind swirled in a vortex, carrying the scent of pine and frost.
“No! No, don’t leave me!” I shouted, stumbling after her. “Please! ”
Frantic and unsure, I glanced between her, the stag, and Sainte. Confusion and fear churned inside. Following her seemed the safest bet, but she was clearly leaving me. The stag began walking away, its rider twisting to peer at me with glowing green eyes.
I cursed under my breath. The woman, radiating warmth like summer sunshine, stood there with a sad smile. I turned back to Sainte, uncertainty gnawing at my resolve.
“Sainte! Sainte!” I screamed, voice swallowed by the howling wind.
I stumbled toward his huddled shape, snow crunching beneath my boots. When I collapsed beside him, as if breaking a spell, he looked up. His blue eyes squinted against the swirling flakes before they widened and he pressed his lips in determination.
My vision strained, the biting wind stinging my cheeks, trying to make out the rump of the white stag in the blizzard’s haze. Its faint outline was barely discernible. I trudged toward it, stumbling as the woman’s touch began to fade. When I glanced over my shoulder, Sainte was helping the priest to his feet, pulling the man’s arm over his shoulder as they stumbled after me.
I staggered through the snow, my gaze fixed on the stag’s rump, determined not to lose sight of it. There were fleeting moments of doubt, wondering if I was hallucinating or indeed following a man atop a stag. Logic didn’t intervene to question the absurdity of the situation; instead, I blindly followed the figure the woman had indicated, placing my trust in the warmth I had seen in her eyes.
It was the only hope I had.