The Winter King (62 page)
Authors: C. L. Wilson
Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy Romance, #Love Story, #Historical Paranormal Romance, #Paranormal Romance, #Alternate Universe, #Mages, #Magic
“That blue bastard tried to kill Rorjak with the spear. Khamsin jumped in front of it to save me. She’s still alive, Laci. She’s frozen, but I can see the heat in her heart. I can feel it in her blood. And in this.” He reached for the hilt of the sword still embedded in his chest, intending to pull it out.
“Wait!” Laci cried. “What if that sword is the only thing keeping Rorjak at bay?”
The Calbernan snatched up his trident again.
“Calm yourselves. The sword didn’t drive Rorjak out of my heart.
She
did that. I won’t turn again.” He yanked the sword, which had only penetrated perhaps an inch of flesh, out of his chest and glared at the Calbernan, who lowered the points of his trident but kept an unblinking eye on Wynter.
“You said this thawed the Ice Heart; maybe it will work on Khamsin, too.” Hoping he didn’t have to stab her with the blade to get it to work, Wyn pressed the sword against her chest.
Please, gods, let this work.
“Come back to me,
min ros.
Come back to me.”
The limbs that had been frozen solid buckled as they began to thaw. Wynter caught his wife’s body and cradled her to his chest, careful to keep Roland’s sword in place.
“That’s it, Summerlass. You can do it.” He raised her hand and brushed his lips against the cold, soft skin of her slender fingers. She was so slight to be so brave and fierce. A marvel.
His
marvel. He bent over her, pressing his mouth to her cold, still lips, breathing into her lungs the first warm breath he’d had in years. “I love you.” He lifted her closer, trailing a line of kisses from her mouth to her ear and whispered again, “I love you, Khamsin. My own, Summerlass. I don’t have words enough to describe how much I love you.”
Her throat moved on a swallow. Her lips parted. A small noise breathed out.
“What was that,
min ros
?” He bent his ear to her mouth. “What did you say?”
The fingers in his hand flexed. The lips pressed to his ear moved. And then on a bare whisper of breath, “Try.”
He pulled back in shock. Her lashes fluttered. Silver-gray eyes looked up at him expectantly through a fringe of lush, curling lashes. One dark brow arched.
He let out a bark of laughter, hugged her tight, and showered her face with kisses. “I love you more than the sunrise. More than laughter. More than song. I love you more than skating on a frozen pond on a clear winter day or soaking in the hot springs of Mount Freika. I love you more than any man in the history of Mystral ever loved a woman. I love you more than I love making love to you—well, no, wait . . . that’s a tie.” She punched him weakly in the arm, and he laughed again. Then the laughter faded, leaving a heart so full he thought it might burst inside his chest, and a solemn sincerity that shone straight from his soul. “I love you. Angelica Mariposa Rosalind Khamsin Gianna Coruscate Atrialan. Rorjak will never have a hold on my heart again, because it belongs wholly and completely to you.”
“Where are we going?” Blindfolded, Khamsin held one hand out in front of her, waving side to side. Although rationally, she trusted Wynter not to walk her into a wall, the instinct to be certain was too strongly ingrained to completely overcome.
“You’ll see.”
She could practically see the smile in his voice, the mischief sparkling in his pale eyes. He sounded like a boy waking on Wyrn’s Day, eager to see what the Old Man of the North had left by the hearth for him.
In the nearly six months since Rorjak’s defeat, Wynter and all of Gildenheim had virtually transformed. Gone was the cold reserve, replaced by laughter, warmth, and friendship. With Khamsin celebrated as the savior of Wintercraig, there wasn’t a home or hearth in the entire kingdom where she would not find welcome. Even the remaining band of Reika’s followers made their peace with her and worked to make amends for their previous transgressions.
Although there had been some rumbling in the court, Wynter had agreed to honor the terms of Khamsin’s negotiations with the invaders—even the part where he arranged for Falcon to be escorted to the closest port and put on a ship sailing to the destination of his choosing. Though hardly a day went by that Khamsin didn’t think at least one sad thought about her brother, in her heart she was glad he was still alive and out in the world somewhere. And each day, she prayed that Falcon would yet become the man he should have been, a man worthy of the blood that ran in his veins.
“We’re coming to another set of stairs,” Wynter said.
“Not too many more stairs, I hope.” As her belly had swollen with the twin babes she could swear were half-giant, Khamsin had become less and less enamored of Gildenheim’s many stairways and labyrinthine corridors. Though it was only June, and she still had months to go before the babies were due, she was already waddling so much she might soon sprout feathers and start to quack.
“Not too many,” he vowed.
“Is it much farther?”
“We’re almost there,
min ros.
” He held her left arm in one hand, and his right hand rested snugly in the small of her back.
She loved the feel of his hands. So big and powerful, yet so breathtakingly gentle and protective. And warm.
Gone was the cool chill that had emanated from his Ice Heart-infused body. Heat now radiated from him like a furnace. Though he could still summon a frosty Gaze when it served him—the divine powers of the immortal essence he’d drunk would always be a part of him—the Ice King’s loveless, merciless cold no longer held any part of him in its grip.
Khamsin had studied the histories of Wyn and Rorjak with Galacia Frey, and they both agreed that Wynter was the sort of man Rorjak could have been had the Ice King’s heart not hungered for power more than love.
Kham thanked Wyrn and Freika each day that Wynter had made the choice he did.
She heard the sound of someone’s whispering, only to be quickly hushed. A slight breeze feathered across her face as a nearby door swung open.
Beneath the mask, Khamsin’s nostrils flared. “Something smells lovely.” A warm breeze carried the scent of roses and gardenias and rich, loamy soil.
“All right,” Wyn said, unfastening the blindfold. “You can look.”
Khamsin opened her eyes. Her jaw dropped. The smells of summer had not prepared her for the gift Wynter had created.
They were standing in the Atrium, the place Wynter had kept his frozen shrine to the memories of his family and brother. Only the breathtaking ice forest with all its frozen sculptures was gone. In its place was a lush and fragrant garden, an oasis of Summer, blooming here in the heart of Wintercraig.
“I know you have been missing Summerlea, but since traveling isn’t an option until our children are born, I thought I would bring a little of Summerlea to Gildenheim, so you can visit anytime you like.”
“It’s beautiful. But what about your ice sculptures? The ones of your parents? Of Garrick?”
“I kept a few. I made a cold room behind the Atrium and stored them there. I don’t need those memories anymore because I’m going to make plenty of new memories with you. And I wanted this place—the heart of Gildenheim—to be as warm and alive as you’ve made my heart.”
She smiled up at him, blushing a little at the intensity in his gaze. She tugged his hand. “So show me what you’ve done. I want to see everything.”
As they walked, a feeling of familiarity came over her. A brick walk circled the outside of the Atrium, with several walks leading to inner circles. The feeling of familiarity solidified into certainty.
“It’s my mother’s Sky Garden.” She looked up at him in amazed wonder. He’d re-created her mother’s private garden: the paths, the flowers, the apple and pear trees growing up the sides of the walls. Oh, it was still young, with years of growing yet to do, but the bones were here. He’d given Kham her favorite piece of Summerlea, here in the heart of the Craig. “But how did you do it? How did you re-create it so perfectly?”
“Valik hired an artist to sketch everything and a gardener to provide all the clippings, seeds, and the like. Your sisters helped me with the planting, using your mother’s journals.”
“My sisters.” It took a moment to process his words. “You mean my sisters are here?”
“Surprise.” Spring, Summer, and Autumn stepped out from behind a row of flowering fruit trees.
Khamsin screamed with joy and rushed forward. Happy tears spilled from her eyes as her sisters flung their warm arms around her. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re here. I wasn’t expecting you for another month at least!”
“We wanted to spend more than a few weeks with you before the Calbernans arrive,” Summer said.
“Keeping them away from you these last ten days has been more difficult than you can imagine,” Wynter said.
“Ten days? You’ve been here ten days?”
“All this planting took longer than we’d planned,” Spring said, “but your husband was adamant to keep us hidden and keep everything a secret until the garden was done.”
“If it weren’t for Tildy, we might still be working,” Autumn added. She nodded to the plainly dressed, gray-haired woman waiting off to one side with Krysti by her side. “She organized us like one of your husband’s generals.”
Khamsin wiped the tears from her eye and smiled at her nurse. “I wondered what was keeping her so busy this last week.” She waved Tildy over and pulled her into a hug. “I know I’ve never said it before, but I will say it now.” She pulled back so she could look directly into Tildy’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “Thank you for everything. If not for you, none of this would have been possible, and I never would have known such happiness.”
The woman who had raised her from birth gave a damp-eyed smile. “I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you, dearly.”
“I know. And I want you to know that I love you, Tildy. I always have. You’re the only mother I’ve ever known.” She hugged her nurse again, wiped away more tears, then laughed and pulled Krysti into a hug, too. “And you! No wonder you’ve been under my feet all week—you were helping them keep this all a secret—making sure I never got anywhere close to the Atrium or my sisters.”
The boy grinned hugely. “I did a good job of it, too, didn’t I?”
She laughed. “Clearly.”
Spring took her hands. “We want you to know, Storm, that whether any of us choose Merimydion or not, we are all resolved to be here when the babies are born.”
“We wouldn’t miss the birth of our first nieces or nephews for anything,” Autumn agreed. “And if the Calbernan doesn’t agree to those terms, then he won’t be getting a Season as a wife.” She sniffed and tossed her auburn curls.
“Not that that will be a problem,” Summer reassured Khamsin with a comforting smile. “From everything I’ve heard or read, Calbernans cherish their women. I’m sure the Sealord won’t mind a small delay to bring his new bride joy.” She gave her other two sisters a look of gentle reproof, which was as close to a scold as Summer had ever been able to manage.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Kham agreed. “He struck me as a good man, or I would never have given him a chance to come within a thousand leagues of any of you.” She flung her arms around her sisters. “Oh, I missed you all so much.”
With her beloved family around her, filled with more joy than she’d ever known, Khamsin looped an arm around Wynter’s waist and strolled through the remaining paths of her own Sky Garden.
“Well?” Wynter murmured, smiling. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect. It’s everything I could ever have hoped for.” She stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. “
You’re
everything I could ever have hoped for.”
Arm in arm, they walked towards the very heart of the garden, where Wynter had placed a perfect replica of her mother’s carved wooden bench. A new, silver-gilt copy of
Roland Triumphant
lay on the wooden slats, waiting for her. Behind the bench, a young, gangly Snowfire tree had been planted in a mound of moss-covered soil. Healthy, strong, already flowering with its beautifully scented white summer blooms, the Snowfire would grow in the coming years and drape its branches like a veil around the bench, waiting for their children to sit beneath its fragrant blooms to read and dream of heroic battles and noble deeds of their ancestors, and imagine the day they, too, would earn the right to protect their kingdom and discover a love to last the ages.
C. L. WILSON wrote her first story at age six, and though she took a number of long detours during her life, she never gave up her lifelong dream of being published. Many years, hundreds of false starts, and five completed novels later, she received “The Call” in October 2006 and sold her epic fantasy romance,
Tairen Soul
, at auction. Her debut novel spent two weeks on the
USA Today
bestseller list, and her subsequent novels have gone on to hit a variety of lists, including
USA Today
,
New York Times
, and
Publishers Weekly
.
When not writing, C. L. enjoys relaxing with her husband and three children in sunny Florida and daydreaming of a world where people exercise in their sleep and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream is a fat-burning food.
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