18. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
I panted and stumbled to my knees. The snow, bleak and dense, rose to my chest. I doubted I could stand.
The stag halted, its fur shimmered in the pale light as it faced me. The snowfall lightened, revealing the figures more clearly. A man crowned with ice—his glowing green eyes marked him as more than a mere mortal. Was this another dream? A hallucination brought on by fatigue?
I panted for air, my lungs ablaze and my chest throbbing. The blizzard’s fury lessened, but the wind still whipped around me, stinging my face. Snowflakes clung to my eyelashes, and the cold numbed my fingers.
“I can’t!” I shouted with as much force as I could.
He watched me in silent disinterest.
My lips trembled. “I can’t,” I whispered.
The man shook his head, disappointed, and the stag turned, changing direction. Had he given up on me? Did he realize I couldn’t go any further and decide to abandon me here?
Deflated, all fight left me, my shoulders drooping with exhaustion. They vanished into the blowing snow as Sainte staggered behind me, gasping for breath while supporting the priest’s weight. He stopped, noticing my expression, and I shook my head, sorrow etched on my face. Tears threatened, but would have frozen on my cheeks. Too exhausted to cry, I knelt there, numb.
“Elspeth.”
I stared at my gloved hands, unable to feel them, as if they weren’t my own. I’d come this far, and now blame wreaked havoc inside for entangling Sainte in this mess. Grimm was suffering because of me.
Why did anyone think I could lead ?
I lived my life in a coastal city, only to be thrown into a frigid wasteland. They believed me to be chosen by the gods, destined to rule Wynterborne. In reality, I was a street rat. It was nonsensical. Following a man on a deer through a storm was absurd. Little girls who laughed and danced, leaving frozen circles around people, defied logic.
None of this made sense.
“Elspeth—look.”
It dawned on me that he spoke instead of shouted, the storm’s fury having subsided. Frowning, I observed his gaze shift upward, prompting me to turn and discover what had caught his attention.
Wynterborne.
The castle stood before us, its towering walls casting a shadow over the landscape. Its cold banners snapped in the dying gusts of the storm.
“She’s been touched by the gods!”
“Her face!”
“She passed the rite! This is her home, her hearth is here!”
On a white horse, gripping the mane tightly, I navigated through the bustling streets of Wynterborne. The crowd’s collective awe murmured around us, blending into a low, continuous roar.
Beside me, Sainte rode astride another horse. We exchanged weary glances, and I managed a smile. He responded with a faint grin, shaking his head in wonder. I threaded my fingers through the coarse mane, bracing myself as we crossed the narrow bridge to the castle.
Staff whisked me away to my rooms, the shattered window replaced. Sainte collapsed on the cot as priests of Togamar fussed over him. Gilead approached me as I fell onto the bed, two healers trailing behind her.
“That is no mark of Nothar,” she murmured in awe. Her eyes lit with curiosity as she brushed her fingers against my cheek.
“There was a woman,” I sighed, weariness tugging at my mind.
Gilead drew her touch away. “What was she like?”
“Like… summer sunshine.”
“Togamar!” a girl gasped.
“There was a man, too,” I said, trying to sit up.
The healer clicked her tongue. “Easy, Princess. Lie still.”
Hands tugged at my sodden clothes, their urgency palpable as they worked to strip them off and warm my frozen body.
“He rode a stag…” I murmured.
“What was his name?”
Exhaustion tugged at my senses, dulling my thoughts.
“His name, Your Highness?”
“I don’t know,” I moaned, fighting a yawn. “He had a crown of ice. Green eyes… the color of emeralds…”
Someone gasped. “Nothar!”
“My dear princess, the God of Snow and Cold guided you,” Gilead whispered, voice tinged with awe. “Rest now. You’re home.”
Those words wormed their way into my heart, warming me from the inside out. I didn’t know why they meant so much to me, but hearing them sparked a tiny flame in my soul. My eyelids drifted shut as I sank into serene oblivion—the dark abyss a welcomed embrace.
“Therefore, the high court will be calling you to meet on occasion.”
Anderz droned on while I studied my reflection in the polished silver mirror. I traced the fading pink handprints framing my face. The impressions were elegant, marked by long, delicate fingers, thumbs pressed against my nose, and palms cradling my cheeks, with fingertips stretched toward my temples.
Riders set out to retrieve Adastrus, Grimm, and the accompanying priest. They found them a few hours from Wynterborne, riding eastward, away from the castle.
I hadn’t laid eyes on him since his return, but the servants’ hushed tones and nervous demeanor spoke volumes about his mood.
“I wager my brother is thrilled,” I muttered.
“Beyond measure,” Anderz replied dryly. “The council has requested a formal gathering to celebrate your victory over the second rite.”
“I haven’t passed the third. Isn’t it a little early to celebrate?” As I wandered over to the table, I caught Sainte’s gaze, his intense stare leveled on me. Butterflies fluttered low in my belly.
Anderz leaned on his elbows, his golden eyes roaming my face. “The third rite involves a test of the gods’ choosing. We will summon Nain and Yail to call upon the deities for their response. However, it’s evident you already have their favor.”
Sainte strode over, pulling out my chair for me. I offered a small smile and settled into the seat, amused by the unnecessary gesture.
As if I couldn’t have pulled the thing out myself.
“Are there any rumors that the priest or my Valahant touched me during the trial?” I asked .
Anderz rubbed his jaw with a glint of mirth. “A man’s hands couldn’t have made those marks, let alone those of a mortal.”
I sighed, knitting my fingers on the table. Emotions swirled within me, a mix of confusion and reluctance. Winning the rite felt hollow, and leading a kingdom seemed meaningless. Despite my hatred for my brother, I couldn’t bring myself to embrace the idea of ruling. The evil he embodied made it impossible to give up, yet I hesitated to move forward.
Survival was the only thing driving me.
“Tell me about Nain and Yail,” I said, lifting my gaze to Anderz. “What are they?”
“The names given to the God Stones. They’re remnants from an ancient era when rulers sought guidance from Nothar, their father.”
I pressed my lips into a flat line, remembering how Nellie alluded to there being divine blood in mine and Adastrus’ lineage.
"They illuminate when a descendant of Nothar seeks counsel,” Anderz continued. “Nain for no, and Yail for yes. Quite straightforward.”
“And if the answer’s complicated?” I asked.
“Then there will be no answer. Such questions are for the high court to address.”
“Comforting.”
In Tilamuik, citizens practiced a laid-back approach to religion, invoking their favorite deities when it served their needs. In Wynterborne, residents were devout. Even minor events were seen as divine responses. With that logic, it seemed anyone could shape their own ‘favor’ with the gods.
“The question should be simple: ‘Am I favored by our great father and god, Nothar, to lead his people?’ The council will finalize the wording to prevent any misinterpretation.”
“And you’re sure these stones will glow? You’ve seen it?”
“Princess,” Anderz started, with a solemn shake of his head, “for generations, the gods have been little more than a formality. You have sparked something profound in the people, a quiet yet fervent belief in an essence more powerful than themselves. The gods’ judgment has been neglected and elusive within my lifetime. If legend holds true, Nothar will answer.”
Legend? That’s what all this boiled down to? Sheer luck and lore.
And hallucinations of a wild man atop a deer, and a woman whose aura exuded summer and sunlight
“So, if Yain glows—”
“Yail,” Anderz corrected.
“If Yail lights up when I ask, I will pass the rite? What if it answers Adastrus as well? ”
“Have more faith in the gods, Princess.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “You bear the mark of the chosen. Nothar will answer you, not your brother.”
“But if it does?”
He sighed, shook his head, and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his deep black robes draping around them. “In that very unlikely circumstance, your victories outnumber the prince regent's, two to one. However, a response on his behalf would allow him to invoke the Rite of Combat.”
“Gods! I assume Adastrus is skilled with a blade? It would be a fair fight?”
“Aye, Princess.”
“I’d lose,” I stated flatly, shooting him an exasperated leer. “Anderz, I grew up in the slums. I might stand a chance in a gritty brawl, where I could use my surroundings to my advantage, but not in a duel!”
“He would use Grimm,” he said.
My heart twisted as I peered Sainte’s way, though his gaze was fixed on the counselor with intense scrutiny. Tension crackled, as if he searched for hidden truths beneath Anderz’s words, his expression a blend of curiosity and suspicion.
My throat tightened. “I would have to fight Grimm?!”
“No. I would.” Sainte’s voice carried a low, dangerous edge.
An unspoken exchange passed between their locked gazes, and I stared, desperate to gain some clarity.
“I won’t allow it.” My chin dipped, conveying my assertion.
Sainte had suffered enough. I wouldn’t let him fight his friend for my sake.
“You’d have no choice,” Anderz said with a small shake of his head, bringing his unblinking gaze back to me. A heavy frown rode his thin lips as he thought on it. “You would have no chance against Grimm, and it would be expected that a Valahant fight another, not the royal themselves.”
“You said they are forbidden to interfere in the rites.” Skepticism laced my tone.
“A Valahant is bound in life and death. If it comes to your demise, Sainte would intervene.”
That would have been nice to know in the middle of the Howl.
“We need to find a way to release Grimm,” I huffed, my frustration evident.
Knowing my brother, if there was an opportunity for him to invoke the Rite of Combat, he would. I lacked trust in gods who only manifested in dreams and hallucinations to depend on their response.
“Do you believe the regent wouldn’t try to strip you of your Valahant if it were possible?” the counselor asked.
“There has to be a way.”
Sainte’s stare bore into mine. “I am bound to you in life and death. ”
“Why would Grimm agree to that?!” I cursed, bringing my palms up to my face.
“Princess, the velebond between you and dear Sainte is unique.” Anderz’s tone softened. “It’s rare for a Valahant to choose their bonded. Traditionally, it is requested by a royal, and such a request given by Adastrus would only be a veiled command. Grimm of Strongstone had no choice.”
I was out of my depth. Every aspect of politics was a foreign concept to me. Anderz did the best he could. His wisdom was a lifeline, valuable beyond measure. Without him, I was a fish floundering out of water. If he had no solution, I could only trust that there was no way out of the bond.
“Take heart, Princess. The God Stones will rule in your favor,” Anderz said, his voice carrying a touch of optimism. “We face an incredibly daunting task ahead.”
I peeked at him from between my fingers, dreading what came next.
“I must prepare you for your presentation… before the masses.”
My head dropped to the table with a groan.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a sharp pang of mental anguish. The maid’s hands brushed against the hem of my dress, rustling the fabric as she arranged it around the stool beneath me. The soft swish of the material filled the room, contrasting with the tightness in my chest. Each adjustment she made sent a shiver down my spine, the cool touch of the wooden stool grounding me in the moment.
The seamstress’s fingers, deft and cool, hemmed the sleeves tightly against my wrists. I stood stiff as a statue, each breath shallow. The scent of fresh fabric and sewing thread filled the air, churning my anxious stomach. The dress needed minor adjustments, yet the urgency from the council added a hurried tension. They wanted me presented with the handprints still vivid on my face.
The material, a rich green, shimmered with gold as I shifted. Inside the skirt and bodice, a thin fleece layer added unexpected warmth to the sheer fabric. The seamstress had explained its origin—a wild sheep from the Great Iceland, whose wool lined most of the elegant winter dresses I would wear throughout the season.
“I’ll never be able to run in this.” My voice trembled with frustration.
“A princess would not run, Your Highness. You would simply walk with considerable speed. ”
I scoffed, my eyes darting to Anderz seated nearby. He lounged, exuding a relaxed calmness as he watched the seamstress embroider gold thread into the fabric at my wrists.
My gaze shifted to Sainte. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together with fingertips touching his lips. He studied me intently, and a thrill coursed through me when his eyes traveled down my figure.
“Be still now, Your Highness!” the seamstress pleaded.
I turned back to the polished silver mirror propped before us. The dress’s high collar wrapped snugly around my throat, its fabric cascading in heavy swaths that covered me from neck to toes. I cringed at the excess, imagining how many garments could be made from the wasted material.
Not that there was anything to be spared from neck to hip.
The dress clung to me—a second skin. It was uncomfortable to see my feminine curves on display after endless years spent hiding them. I took shallow breaths, anxiety twisting in my chest, fearful that breathing deep might tear the seam.
“I look like a fool,” I muttered.
“You look like a princess,” Anderz cut in. “Thank you for your time and effort, Master Seamstress Floria.”
Panic surged as I glanced down at her, the sharp needle poised near my wrist. Her frown deepened, reflecting her offense.
“My apologies,” I blurted out before she could stab me. “I’m just used to loose tunics and trousers.”
Her fierce gaze met mine and a smile bloomed on her rosy lips. “Then it is time you learn how a proper lady dresses. Beg your pardon, Princess, but tonight you will catch the eye of every soul this side of the Veil. You’ve brought hope to the people. Now, it’s my turn to bring their eyes to you.”
“Thank you,” I sighed, checking my reflection.
“Hope in the gods, Your Highness—”
I caught her worried expression in the mirror as she tied off the thread.
“—that they still care for us mere mortals.”
Adastrus’ dark mood had quite the reach when staff in my own chambers were careful with their words.
The hairdressers had combed and styled my hair, transforming the short strands into soft waves adorned with peridots and opals. Despite their pleas to cut the long braid, I refused. I couldn’t lose my identity. After much discussion and negotiation involving Anderz, we compromised. They pinned the braid underneath, keeping it hidden but intact.
“There,” Floria stepped back to admire her work, “I’ve done my best, Your Highness.”
“Many thanks. ”
I shifted slightly to get a better view. The lantern light danced across the fabric, turning it into a shimmering tapestry of gold against green.
“Allow me a few moments to ready the nobles,” Anderz said to Sainte, rising from his seat with a sigh.
He remained in his dark robes, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever changed his attire for different occasions.
As he and Floria took their leave, I admired the gown—a stunning creation that didn’t quite feel like me. It was a masterpiece, and I felt inadequate for its beauty.
“Well?” I asked.
Sainte grunted, still perched on the edge of his seat.
“What do you think?”
“Of?”
“The dress, Sainte,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. I swayed my body, testing the fabric’s movement.
“It’s a dress.”
I shuffled my feet in a circle to face him, hands propped on my hips. His blue gaze twinkled, and a small crooked smile lifted his lips.
“I’m a man.” He stood with a quick wince that he tried to conceal, and gestured to his thin leather armor, the daggers at his sides, and his dark trousers. “I’m not well-versed in such things.”
“Does it catch your eye?” I asked, easing my hands to my sides. Quick movements didn’t seem wise in the tight-fitting garment.
He tilted his head, a predatory gleam in his stare as he prowled toward me. He stopped close enough that the warmth of his breath tickled my face.
“You catch my eye.”
The butterflies that had taken residence low in my belly fluttered like mad as he wrapped his hands around my waist. I held his gaze, as a dizzying sensation prickled beneath my skin. Those eyes would be my undoing.
With surprising strength considering his recent injuries, he lifted me off the stool with ease. I gripped his forearms as he settled me on my feet again. I tracked the dark bruises marring his face. They faded some thanks to Gilead’s care. Anderz had suggested covering them with a skin-colored paste. That way, the people of Wynterborne would see my Valahant as strong and unharmed, but Sainte refused. He argued that the citizens should see the cruelty of Adastrus’ rule.
“You’re a princess, Elspeth,” he rumbled, smirking. “A rebellious one.” He gave my hair a gentle tug before stepping away.
When his hand dropped from my waist, I fought the urge to close the distance he created. The warmth of his touch lingered on my skin as if I’d been seared by a hot iron. I sniffed, shaking my head to rid myself of the sensation, then shuffled past him.
“I didn’t choose this.”
“We don’t always get to choose our fates,” he called after me.
“So I’m supposed to trust the gods with my future?” I rolled my eyes, and guilt prickled as I mocked the deities who very well might be the reason I survived this long.
“Elspeth—”
I halted near the door to the corridor, then faced him. His face scrunched into a mirthful mix of a cringe and a smile.
“—stop walking like a seal.”
My head jerked back, stunned, then glared at the fabric wrapped around my hips before directing my glower at him. “Ever worn a dress, dear Sainte?” I asked.
He grinned, then passed me to hold the way open. “Can’t say I have,” he said, dipping into a bow.
“Then do not presume to tell me how to walk in one,” I snapped, lifting my chin.
As I brushed past him, I let my shoulder ram into his chest, ignoring his low chuckle as I strode down the corridor with my head held high, hoping for all I was worth, that I didn’t look like a walking sea creature.