The Winter King

CHAPTER 19

Shades of Belladonna

For the first time since bringing his Summer-born bride to Gildenheim, Wynter did not return to his own bed before dawn. Instead, he remained in hers, holding her as she slept. He dozed lightly only when his eyelids grew too heavy to stay open, but otherwise remained content with the quiet peace of lying beside her, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, trying to reconcile the profound desire to protect her with the fear that her loyalty belonged to her brother before him. Verdan Coruscate, he knew, had no hold on her, but her defense of Falcon earlier at the pond had made her feelings for him equally clear.

If she had to choose between the enemy king she’d been forced to wed and the brother she’d idolized all her life, whom would she choose?

The sun was just rising when the bedroom door latch opened with a click and the door swung inward.

The sound fired in his brain like a hammer stroke shattering glass. He had one split second of frozen incomprehension followed by a reaction that was more instinct than thought: Protect Khamsin.

With a roar, he sprang up from the bed and landed on the floor between the bed and the door, shielding his wife from view and buffering her from any would-be attacker. Before the door swung more than a few inches inward, his eyes were already blazing with Ice.

“Bella!” Khamsin, who must have been awakened by Wynter’s shout, grabbed his shoulder.

That slender hand on his shoulder saved Bella’s life. He squeezed his eyes shut to block his Gaze. When he opened them again, the Summerlander maid was standing in the frost-coated doorway, her mouth gaping in shock, staring at him and Khamsin.

“Get out,” he growled. His teeth were bared in a snarl, and there was such naked menace in his voice that even without the added lethal force of his Gaze, it was a wonder the maid didn’t expire on the spot.

The girl gave a squeak and stumbled backward, closing the door with a slam.

The tension stayed with him for several seconds after she’d gone. He was scarcely aware of the threatening, warning growl that still rumbled in his throat as he waited to see if the interloper would return.

Beneath him, Khamsin made a muffled sound that sounded like a sob. He shook his head to clear the Wolf from his mind and glanced down in concern. Her hands were clapped over her mouth, and her eyes were squeezed shut. But then she drew her hands from her face, and the sound pealed out without restraint, and he realized she was not sobbing.

She was laughing.

Not wickedly, not with sarcasm or arrogance, but with delight. Her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Did you see her face? And yours? I don’t know which one of you was more shocked.” She laughed again with such helpless abandon he could not take offense. The sound broke over him like a warm summer rain, and just like that, he wanted her.

“You think that was funny?” He rose to his feet and towered over her, naked and without shame or false modesty, watching her dazzled eyes gaze up at him. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was instead looking up at him with undisguised hunger, and he was gladder than he’d ever been for his height, his strength, the broadness of his shoulders, the muscular build of his warrior’s body.

He bent and swept her up into his arms with effortless strength and laid her on the bed. “Good morrow, min ros,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her lips, then nuzzle the soft skin just behind her ear. “I do believe I could get used to waking up beside you.”

Her arms twined around his neck. “Me too.” She kissed him, and he felt her grin against his mouth as his body covered hers. “But I think Bella will demand hazard pay.”

An hour later, Wynter gave Khamsin one last, lingering kiss, and headed back to his chambers to bathe and dress for the day. She lay there for several, long, lazy minutes afterwards, humming to herself and twirling one long, black curl around her index finger. She rolled over to lay her head on the pillow he’d used, breathing his scent deep into her lungs.

If only all their time together could be as wonderful as this morning. She’d felt so at ease, holding him, touching him, breathing him in, reveling in his closeness. They’d seemed so . . . right. Like two halves of a whole.

It was more than just the sex. Yes, he could just look at her, and she melted. Yes, he made her moan and gasp and explode with a pleasure she’d never thought possible. But this time, they’d seemed . . . closer. Gentler. Instead of their usual rough, wild, passion, they’d shared exquisite tenderness. Afterward, he’d watched her with the strangest expression on his face. As if he was beholding something . . . precious.

Kham ran her hands over her face, letting her fingers linger on her passion-swollen lips. She’d never been precious to anyone. Not that way. Even with Tildy, behind the abundant love had always been a hint of pity, a measure of sadness for the child no one else treasured. With Wynter, there’d been none of that.

Of course, she’d probably misread the look on his face. Or even if she had read it right, the feeling was probably ephemeral—a fleeting tenderness brought on by the glut of pleasure they’d shared and gratitude for the lives they’d saved at Skala-Holt. Not something to trust. Certainly nothing to think would last.

With a sigh and a pout for the cold splash of brutal practicality that seemed determined to dampen her good mood, Khamsin set aside the Wynter-scented pillow and sat up. Time to steel herself for another cold day in Gildenheim. Throwing off the covers, Kham thrust her feet into the slippers beside her bed and reached for her velvet dressing gown.

“It’s all right, Bella,” she called to the still-frosty door. “You can come in now.”

The door cracked open, and Bella poked her head through, casting a cautious gaze around the room. Once she ascertained that Wynter was indeed gone, she opened the door completely and carried in a tray laden with Khamsin’s usual pot of fragrant, steaming jasmine tea and a small repast of smoked salmon, soft, creamy cheese, and thick slices of toasted bread bursting with whole grains and plump nuts. Bella set the tray on the small tea table in the alcove near Kham’s bed.

“I am sorry we gave you such a fright earlier,” Kham apologized as she took her seat at the table.

“No, no, the fault was all mine, ma’am,” Bella demurred. “I didn’t realize the king was here, or I would never have intruded.”

Kham closed her eyes as Bella ran Queen Rosalind’s brush through her hair, enjoying the soothing tug on her scalp. Few things in life were as comforting as having one’s hair brushed. Bella pulled Kham’s hair back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, then reached for the teapot and poured a stream of fragrant, dark golden liquid into the porcelain teacup, adding a cube of sugar before handing it to Khamsin.

Kham took a sip and frowned. “How long are you steeping the tea, Bella?”

The maid stilled. “Five minutes, ma’am, precisely as Mistress Tildy instructed. Is there a problem?”

“It just seems a little bitter. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed it.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Bella snatched the pot off the table. “I’ll go make a fresh pot.”

Bella looked so horrified and contrite, Khamsin felt guilty for saying anything. “Please don’t bother. It’s not that noticeable. Leave the pot. Just try steeping the tea a bit less tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Bella set the teapot back on the table. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

Kham turned in surprise to see her husband emerge from the connecting rooms that joined their two bedchambers. He hadn’t bothered to fully dress. A pair of tawny leather pants rode low on his waist. His feet were bare, and so was his chest. Every broad, magnificently muscled golden inch of it.

“Wynter!” she exclaimed in surprise. Then, remembering Bella, she added a more respectful address, “Your Grace. Has something happened? Is something wrong?” Her first thought was that there’d been another avalanche.

“What?” Silvery brows rose over pale eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. Why would you think so?” He crossed the distance from the dressing room to her breakfast alcove in a few long strides. “Can a man not share breakfast with his wife without causing a stir?” He bent to kiss her upturned lips, started to straighten, then paused and dipped down for a second, more lingering kiss. When he pulled back, she could only gape at him in wordless wonder. He took a seat—dwarfing the feminine chair with his massive frame—and reached out to place two fingers beneath her chin to gently nudge her mouth shut.

“I—” She was at a loss for words. Aware of Bella’s eyes upon them, Kham blushed and blurted, “Bella, fetch the king a plate.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The maid bobbed a swift curtsy and hurried out.

“I think I frighten her,” Wynter murmured. He looked not the least bit remorseful.

“You know you do. Wasn’t that your intention?”

White teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. “Perhaps.” He reminded her of Krysti, with that mischief sparkling in his eyes, but there was nothing boyish about the low, husky voice that made her toes curl in her slippers.

Khamsin cleared her throat and reached for her teacup, taking a quick sip of the bitter brew. “If I’d known you wished to join me this morning, I would have had Bella prepare more food. I don’t normally eat much breakfast.”

He glanced at her plate. “We can share this until she brings more. I’m in no hurry.”

“You’re not?” Gah, she felt like a ninny, repeating everything he said. But this was the first time he’d been in her bedroom in broad daylight, and for some reason it felt so unsettling. She’d grown used to having him in shadows and firelight. In the bright light of day, he seemed bigger, broader, more real. And so desirable, she could scarcely put two coherent thoughts together.

“No hurry at all. Everyone’s been telling me for months to slow down and start enjoying life again.” With deft hands, he smeared the creamed cheese across one slice of the toasted wheat-and-nut bread. “I thought we might ride out together again after breakfast. There’s still much work to be done in Skala-Holt, and the villagers you saved will want to thank you.”

“They don’t need to thank me.”

“Yes, they do. And they will want to. So just say, ‘Yes, husband. I would love to ride with you to Skala-Holt today.’ ” He layered smoked salmon across the cheese-covered toast, then cut the prepared bread into inch-wide strips.

She honestly couldn’t manage a reasonable objection. “Yes, husband. I would love to ride with you to Skala-Holt today.”

“Good. That’s settled.” He lifted the first of the strips to her lips and waited for her to take a bite.

She was intimately aware of his intent, focused gaze as her teeth sank into the moist salmon, cheese, and bread. The combination of flavors burst in her mouth. She chewed slowly and found she couldn’t tear her gaze away as he carried the remaining slice to his own lips. She watched his white teeth bite through the food, and all she could think of was those teeth nibbling at her flesh, scraping across her breasts, his lips tracking lines of fire across her body.

He reached for her teacup, and she almost laughed at the incongruous sight of his enormous hand closing around the delicate cup. In Wynter’s grip, the cup looked like one of those miniature doll’s toys her sisters had played with when they were young. He held the cup to her lips, and she drank without hesitation. The tea could have been as bitter as wormwood, and she still would have drunk it because he had offered it to her.

He turned the cup and, holding her gaze, slowly put his mouth to the spot her lips had touched and drank.

Sweet, smoldering Freika! Kham practically melted.

“If you don’t stop trying to seduce me over breakfast, we will never leave this room today,” she warned him with a rueful laugh.

Even before she finished her laughing admonition, Wynter’s nostrils flared, and his teasing, seductive playfulness gave way to a stiff, distant coldness. His eyes turned snowy, and the tea in the cup turned so abruptly into ice that the delicate porcelain shattered. The frozen brown block of ice that had a split second ago been steaming tea thumped on the tabletop. His fingers fisted around the broken cup handle, and drops of violet-tinged blood stained the tablecloth.

“Sweet Halla!” She jumped up, snatched a napkin from the table, and reached for his hand to staunch the wound. Before she could touch him, his free hand closed around her wrist, and she gasped. It was as if she’d been shackled with an unyielding ring of glacier ice.

“Wynter!” She yanked against him, trying to pull her arm free, but he didn’t budge.

He rose to his feet with slow deliberation, straightening inch by massive, aggressive, all male inch, until he towered over her, forcing her to crane her head back to look up at him. His eyes were pure white now, his face hard as graven stone. Gone was the seductive lover, the teasing mischief in his eyes. He was pure, cold, Winter King, full of wrath and ice.

When he spoke, his voice filled her with dread. “You bound your life to mine.” Each word tore from his lips with a sound like the very earth ripping apart from unimaginable pressure. The low, dangerous rumble shuddered through her, rattling her bones, making the hairs on her arm stand up. “You promised me the fruits of your womb.”

She gaped at him without comprehension. “You said that was what you wanted!” Her throat was dry. The air had gone so cold, each breath scraped through her lungs like sharp knives. What on earth had set him off?

“You smile at me and invite me to your bed. You make me swear to take no other in your place. You act as though you welcome my touch . . . as though you want my child.”

“I did. I do! Wynter, for Halla’s sake, tell me what’s wrong!”

“And all the while . . . all the while as you were smiling so sweetly, welcoming me into your bed and your body, convincing me you were different . . . better than your kin, more honorable and trustworthy . . . all the while you were every inch the lying, deceitful, treacherous witch Valik warned me about. A true Coruscate! Corrupt to the bone, just like every other member of your cursed family!”

Frost crackled across every surface of the room and prickled across her skin. Her chest felt tight. Each breath hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you even know what truth is? Or would it burn your tongue like fire to speak it? Do you dare deny your crime?”

“How can I deny anything when I don’t know what I’m accused of?” she cried. As stunned as she was, she was also starting to get angry. How could he have gone from sensual, seductive lover to raging Ice-Hearted bastard in a matter of seconds? What did he think she’d done? “What crime have I committed?”

“This!” He snatched up the frozen block of tea with his bloodied hand and crushed it with one flex of his fingers. “How long have you been drinking this? Since the day you learned that the mercy of the mountains wasn’t the death sentence you thought?”

“You’re angry because I’m drinking tea?” Had the man gone insane?

“Don’t play the innocent, Khamsin Coruscate. It doesn’t suit you. You know damn well I’m not talking about the tea, but about the poison you brewed with it! Or did you think perfuming your tea with jasmine would hide the odor of that herb from my nose?”

“Poison?” Khamsin gaped at him. “You think I’m trying to kill myself? Are you mad? I just spent the better part of three months trying to win over your people in order to save my life.”

“Stop!” Wynter shoved her hand away, then snatched up the teapot and flung it at the stone wall. The pot shattered in a million pieces, splattering steaming liquid and shards of broken porcelain in every direction. “Wyrn take you! Quit your lies! What sort of fool do you take me for? We both know you didn’t put enough of the herb in that tea to end your own life, only the life of any child in your womb!”

Alternating waves of heat and cold washed over Khamsin, and they had nothing to do with the powerful weather magic brewing in the room. Her stomach flipped, and for a moment she thought the tiny bit of breakfast she’d ingested would make an abrupt reappearance.

“Are you telling me there’s an herb in that tea to stop me from having a child?” It was her turn for her voice to go low and dangerous. Her fists clenched at her side. The bitter aftertaste of the tea she’d sipped filled her mouth anew. The frost Wynter had spread across the room began to melt as Khamsin’s own anger fueled her power and heat began radiating from her.

For the first time since the rage had come over him, she saw a break in the blizzard in Wynter’s eyes. A sliver of doubt crept in. “Are you telling me you didn’t know?” He remained stiff, suspicious, but no longer certain.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” She knew her own eyes had turned to pure, shifting silver. Electricity crackled through her veins. Sparks popped at her fingertips. “What’s the name of the herb that’s been put in my tea?”

“Black tansy.”

“How do you know of it? Does it grow here?”

She could see that he’d begun to believe her. The blizzard in his eyes had slowed to small flurries swirling across the ice blue of his irises.

“Elka used it,” he admitted. “Our engagement was long. Neither of us wanted our first child to be born a bastard. And no, it doesn’t grow here. She imported it from an herb woman in Summerlea.”

It didn’t grow in Wintercraig, but it could be easily imported.

Or brought in a coach traveling from Vera Sola.

“Where is my maid, Bella?”

“You killed my child.”

Khamsin stood in the cold, drafty stone cell of Wintercraig’s dungeon and fought the urge to fry her former maid with a lightning bolt. She’d just come from a meeting with Galacia Frey, and the High Priestess confessed her belief that Khamsin’s hemorrhaging womb that first month had, in fact, been the result of a miscarriage. She’d kept her suspicions secret to spare both Krysti and the Konundal woman Wynter’s deadly wrath. Not even Lady Frey had suspected the miscarriage was deliberately induced.

Clapped in irons and chained to the floor of the cell, Belladonna Rosh met Khamsin’s accusation with a flat stare and obstinate silence.

After overhearing Wynter and Khamsin’s fight and realizing she’d been found out, Bella had tried to flee the castle. She’d nearly succeeded, despite the fact that Wynter had stormed out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard and shouted for the palace to be locked down. In a matter of minutes, the whole of Gildenheim transformed from royal palace into a fortress braced for a siege. The portcullises were slammed into place, the gates behind them closed and bolted with massive slabs of iron-reinforced timber. Wynter’s White Guard lined the barbican and tower walls three deep. Every courtier, servant, and civilian not armed for battle disappeared through the closest doorway, clearing the way for Wynter’s troops.

With an easy exit blocked, Bella had waited for the initial furor to die down, then attempted to smuggle herself out of Gildenheim in a farmer’s cart the following morning. She hadn’t counted on the guards searching every pack, wagon, cart, and person coming in or out of the palace. After a brief struggle and a final attempt to flee, she’d been clapped in irons and taken to the dungeon.

“That day in Konundal, when I hemorrhaged so badly I nearly died, it wasn’t just the Lady’s Blush or the kick to the belly that injured me,” Khamsin accused. “You’d dosed me with tansy. You suspected I was with child, and you killed it.”

Belladonna turned her head to one side and remained mute.

Wynter, standing behind Khamsin, grabbed Bella’s jaw and yanked her back around to face them. “Answer your queen.”

Bella looked up then, and her black eyes spat defiance and a depth of hatred Khamsin had never suspected.

“She’s your queen, not mine. And you are the soulless bastard that killed my entire family.” Bella jerked free of Wynter’s grip and glared at Khamsin. “Yes, I suspected you were with child. So I made sure you wouldn’t stay that way, and I’ve made sure you wouldn’t conceive ever since. I would do it all again—gladly!—to keep his child from ever taking its first breath!”

Khamsin flinched. The confirmation of what had only been a terrible suspicion struck hard. Heat billowed inside her, making her skin feel tight. This woman—this girl she’d trusted—had set out to murder any child that might have taken root in Khamsin’s womb.

Wynter gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Coolness radiated from his fingertips, drawing the worst of the heat from her rage. She reached up to clasp his hand, curling her fingers around his. More of the anger bled away, as if his touch calmed the perennial storm that lived inside her.

Anyone else would have had to weather her violent emotions until they passed. But Wynter drew the tempest from her heart and banished it with a simple touch.

Kham took a calming breath and blew it out slowly. The murderous rage had passed. The anger was still there, still burning, but it no longer threatened to consume her.

“Verdan, the former king of Summerlea, asked you to do this.” She made it a statement. There was no doubt in her mind who had placed Belladonna Rosh in Khamsin’s employ.

“He didn’t need to ask me,” Bella sneered. “I volunteered.”

Kham squeezed Wynter’s hand again and let that pass. “When we first came here . . . in the carriage when I was so sick . . . you were poisoning me even then, weren’t you? You put something in the cream Tildy gave you to treat my back. That’s why I didn’t get better until you were gone.”

The maid’s lip curled. “What makes you think she didn’t poison it herself?”

“She wouldn’t. She would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Belladonna laughed. “But then, you thought the same thing about me, didn’t you?”

Khamsin took an involuntary step back and bumped up against Wynter. Tildy couldn’t have been involved. Could she? She cast a troubled glance up at her husband.

His eyes were cold and hard, and fixed on Belladonna. “How were you communicating with Coruscate?” Wynter asked. “We know falcons were carrying messages into Gildenheim. How were you getting information back out? What information did you provide?”

Black eyes flashed briefly in their direction, then turned resolutely away again.

Khamsin regarded Wynter in surprise. He’d known Verdan was sending messages via bird to someone in Gildenheim? He’d never let on that anything of the sort was happening.

Her brows knit, and she turned to stare blindly at Belladonna and the icy dampness of the dungeon wall.

He’d suspected she was the spy, of course, not Bella.

The messages were coming in by falcon. He knew Kham’s brother had a gift with birds—similar to his own clan-gift with Wintercraig’s wolves—and he knew how much she loved her brother. She’d never made any attempt to hide it. Of course, he would have thought she was spying on behalf of Falcon.

That explained so much. Valik’s scarcely veiled dislike that never softened. The guards who accompanied her whenever she stepped so much as a toe beyond the castle walls. Why she kept running into the same servants over and over when she wandered in certain parts of the castle. Even the way Wynter had kept his distance during the day, coming to her only at night and leaving before she woke.

They’d treated her like a traitor in their midst because of Bella. And now Bella’s betrayal might destroy the strides Khamsin had made to gain the trust of her husband and his people. The place she’d begun to make for herself here could be utterly ruined. Who would believe she’d been so blind to her maid’s misdeeds?

“Is the king right?” she snapped. “Have you been feeding information to Wintercraig’s enemies?” A memory rose . . . the day she and Krysti had picked the lock on Wynter’s aerie. “I saw you in the garden with a falcon. What message were you sending?”

Bella arched one brow and lifted her upper lip in a sneer.

“Answer me!” Khamsin’s hand shot out. Her palm cracked against Belladonna’s cheek. Sparks flashed like tiny fireflies in the shadowy dungeon. “Tell me what you’ve done!”

“Stop, min ros.” Wynter pulled her back against his chest and wrapped an arm around her waist. “She can cause no more harm, and she will tell us everything before she faces the mercy of the mountains. But you need not upset yourself with her betrayals. Come away with me.” He guided her towards the cell door. As they passed through, he told the waiting guard, “Find out everything. What her orders were, who they came from. What she sent and to whom she sent it.”

The guard snapped a crisp bow. “Yes, my king.”

“Send word when you’re done.”

“Yes, my king.”

Wynter led Khamsin out of the dungeon and into the sunny courtyard above. The fresh, cold air blew through her hair, sending her curls flying.

She turned to her husband. Her fingers clutched his soft leather vest. “I didn’t know, Wynter. I know it’s hard to believe I could have been so blind to what was going on beneath my own nose, but I swear to you I didn’t know. Not about the tea she was feeding me or about the messages she was sending. I didn’t know.” It wasn’t her life she was worried about losing. It was his trust. “I would never betray you that way.” She pulled back to look earnestly into his eyes. “Never.”

“Hossa. Hush. Do not upset yourself, wife. My men will get to the bottom of this, then you and I will decide Belladonna Rosh’s fate.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be part of that decision.” She crossed her arms over her belly. “At the moment, I don’t feel any mercy towards her at all.”

“Nor do I, Khamsin, but that won’t stop me from passing judgment.” Wynter glanced down at Khamsin, and there were snow flurries in his eyes again. “She should have considered that before harming my family.”

“Let me get this straight. Your wife, who has been taking tansy daily, said she had nothing to do with any of this, and you believed her?” Valik gaped at Wynter with utter incredulity.

“Yes, I believed her,” Wynter snapped. “And you can just stop right there. Don’t say another word.” Valik’s response had Wyn bracing for a fight, and he was already so angry that it would be a very bad idea. “Khamsin may be many things, but an accomplished liar she is not.”

“That remains to be seen,” Valik muttered. When the Ice rose in Wynter’s gaze, Valik wisely snapped his mouth closed and changed the subject. “And the maid?”

“Graal will find out what she’s been up to, and she will be dealt with accordingly.” Wynter clenched his fists. “She killed our child, Valik. Khamsin was pregnant that first month, and the maid killed it. That’s what really happened that day in Konundal.”

“According to whom? Your wife?”

“Laci admitted that she suspected Khamsin had suffered a miscarriage, but she kept silent to spare Krysti and the Konundal woman my wrath.”

The outrage and suspicion on Valik’s face faded. He straightened to his full height. “Wyn . . . I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“The maid was acting on Coruscate’s orders.” Wyn drew a deep breath, fighting the rage that threatened to turn his blood to solid ice. “He wasn’t content with Garrick’s death. He means to end my line—and end his daughter with it. He sent the maid to keep Khamsin barren because he thought facing the mercy of the mountains was an automatic death sentence.” That realization ate at him. He was the one who’d deliberately misled the Summerlea king about what would happen to his daughter. And Coruscate had latched onto that lie. If Wynter hadn’t threatened Coruscate with the death of his daughters, Khamsin would never have been poisoned, and their child would still be alive.

Wynter regarded his friend. There was no other in Gildenheim Wynter loved or trusted more. “Valik?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t asked this before, but I’m going to ask it now. Try to get along with her. She may yet betray me for her brother’s sake, but she is still my queen and the only wife I’ll ever have.”

Valik’s jaw worked, but then he nodded. “I’ll do my best, Wyn.”

“Thank you.”

Three days later, Khamsin, Wynter, twelve White Guard, and the four judicars who had heard the testimony of Bella and the witnesses against her all made the long, cold trek up the slopes of Mount Gerd to the place of judgment. They passed the trail leading to the lower levels and instead took the steep, switchbacked path to the icy, windblown peak of the mountain. There, snow swirled in the harsh winds, ice that never melted clung to the black rock in great white sheets. The temperature was so cold, a person could die in minutes.

This was the level of Mount Gerd reserved for rapists, murderers, and traitors. The level from which there was no hope of salvation from kindly villagers in Konundal or the folk of Gildenheim.

The procession came to a halt. Wynter, Khamsin, and the judicars dismounted while several of the White Guard dragged a chained, drooping Belladonna from the prisoner’s cart and brought her to stand before the assemblage.

“Belladonna Rosh of Summerlea,” the head judicar intoned, “you have been found guilty of treason and of crimes against the person of your queen, and you have been sentenced to face the mercy of the mountains. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

Three days ago, Bella would have answered the judicar’s pronouncement with sneering defiance and hatred, but the Belladonna Rosh who sagged in her bonds and shivered in the cold was a far cry from the fiend who’d gleefully crowed her delight over killing Khamsin’s child.

Kham stood by Wynter’s side as the White Guard dragged Belladonna to the chains hammered into the mountain, stripped away her outer garments, and chained her to a slab of icy rock.

As Khamsin had learned, the worst offenders were not stripped of their clothes but rather warmly bundled, so as to make their death by exposure last as long as possible. And though the grieving mother in Khamsin wanted Bella to suffer for what she’d done, the lonely girl who’d spent the last months viewing Bella as a friend from home couldn’t bring herself to inflict more torture upon her former maid. She had asked Wynter to grant Bella the quickest death, and he had agreed.

She pulled her hand free of Wynter’s and approached the chained maid. “I wish I could say I forgive you, but I don’t. Not for what you did to me. Not for what you tried to do. May the gods grant you no more mercy than you showed my unborn child.”

The maid—no, King Verdan’s hired assassin and spy—looked up with dull eyes and blunted defiance. “This doesn’t end here. I am but one of many.”

Kham nodded. “Perhaps. But after today, the many you speak of will count one less among their number.”

She returned to Wynter’s side. He enfolded her in his arms, pulling her close to his body. He tilted her face up to his and brushed one large thumb across her cheek in a gentle caress.

“Pay her no heed, min ros. She’s just trying to get under your skin, the same way she did when she tried to make you doubt your old nurse. She knows of no others serving your father here in Wintercraig, and she confessed your nurse had nothing to do with your father’s schemes. She said everyone in Vera Sola knew Tildavera Greenleaf’s first loyalty was to you.”

“You had her questioned about Tildy?” She frowned up at him. “Why?”

“Because I could see that her accusations were troubling you. And I know what it’s like to be betrayed by someone you trust. I thought you deserved to know the truth.”

He knew her so much better than she realized. She hadn’t truly believed Tildy would have harmed her, but the doubt had still been there, poisoning her mind as surely as Bella’s herbs had poisoned her body. And he’d seen that and put a stop to it.

“Thank you.” She looped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. “Take me home, husband. To Gildenheim.”