Chapter 13

My father's bedchamber was insufferably hot. The women had been preparing his body for hours, washing and anointing him. Clipping his nails and cleaning his teeth. Trimming his beard in the hope of speeding him more swiftly to the gods. Only family members were permitted to observe the ritual.

Unfortunately, my mother had invited her relatives, and now Castle Nordlinga crawled with descendants of King Tola. A little over a dozen large, stone-faced men crowded my father's chamber. My mother sat near the window with an assortment of female cousins around her. She and I hadn't spoken since I returned from the Covenant and discovered my father had died in my absence.

"What did you do?"I'd demanded, guilt and anger swamping me. Never mind that my father had no longer recognized me. I'd left him alone and unprotected while I hosted a tea party with an elven princess. Now he was dead, and it was my fucking fault.

My mother had stood her ground, her dark brows rising. "What did I do, Sigurn?" Her voice had gone hard and cold. "I endured." She turned, her heavy black skirts swirling. "We'll start the ritual at dawn. There's no need to drag this out."

Now it was past supper time, and I was dead on my feet from lack of sleep and the rush of preparations. My mother's people had traveled on such short notice, I had to believe she'd summoned them days ago. The timing strengthened my suspicions of foul play. But when I'd pulled Mirella aside and questioned her, she swore my mother had been in the ladies' solar all night.

"I give you my word, Sigurn," Mirella had said, her eyes stark. "Your father was old…and very ill. And…" She'd trailed off.

"What is it?" I'd pressed.

"Sometimes the sickly wait until they're alone to pass. I've seen it before. They don't want to die in front of their loved ones."

I couldn't prove my mother was a cold-blooded murderer, even if she acted like one. And several servants had confirmed my mother spent the evening in her chamber.

So I was trapped in a sweltering room with my mother's people while my father suffered the indignity of his sworn enemies watching servants bathe his corpse. Even if I were willing to endure a lifetime of being labeled a kinslayer, I couldn't slaughter those sheltering under my roof. The laws of hospitality were older than Nordlinga. Breaking them would make me a pariah throughout Andulum. The other kingdoms would shut down trade, and my people would suffer.

No, my mother had boxed me in neatly, leaving me no choice but to break bread with the very men who conspired to slit my throat.

Mirella had come and gone, bringing food and refreshments for my unwelcome guests. I owed her for taking on the role of hostess, but every time I tried to track her down, she was tending to another task. The woman was like a hummingbird, always flitting off before I could find her.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for my kin.

Two of my Tola cousins stood before the hearth, where they'd leered at the female servants for the better part of the day. The older of the two was Lorsten Hallerson, a tall warrior with bright red hair and a matching beard that descended to his sword belt. The man at his side was Rullo the Bald, a name he'd earned for obvious reasons. Rullo was landless, stupid, and cruel. Lorsten was also cruel, but he'd recently inherited Coldvalley, the ancestral seat of King Tola—and the place where Tola's supporters had murdered my grandfather.

As Coldvalley's new lord, Lorsten had more than a hundred trained warriors under his command. And unlike Rullo, he wasn't stupid. The second son of a second son, he'd never expected to inherit a fortress like Coldvalley. Poverty and lack of position sometimes made a man hungry. That was the case with Lorsten, whose ambition had seen him rise from a squire with secondhand armor to a titled lord with a private army. Some whispered he'd had a hand in speeding his uncle and brother to early graves, paving the way for Lorsten to claim the title of Lord of Coldvalley. Based on my interactions with my cousin, I was inclined to believe those rumors.

The chamber door opened, and a young servant girl entered with an armful of clean linens. As she placed them at the foot of the bed, Rullo stepped forward.

"Hey, lovely. Need any help?"

The women around the bed stiffened. A few darted their eyes in Rullo's direction. The young girl he stared at jerked her head down and continued her task.

Lorsten laughed softly, his teeth stained brown within the frame of his dark-red beard. He palmed Rullo's shoulder and shoved the shorter man forward another step. "You'll have to try harder than that, Cousin. Looks like the little dove is shy."

"She's fourteen," I said, stepping away from the wall, "and both of you will speak to her with respect." I stared at Lorsten. "Although, I'd rather you not speak at all."

Everyone in the room went still. Silence stretched.

Malice glittered in Lorsten's eyes as he held my gaze. Without breaking my stare, he offered a mocking bow. "Apologies, Your Majesty. I'll watch my tongue."

"You do that. I'd hate for you to return to Coldvalley without it."

One of the women around the bed gasped. She ducked her head, and the tension in the room ratcheted higher. My mother's cold stare bored into the side of my head.

Lorsten put a hand on the loop in his belt where his sword would ordinarily rest. I'd insisted my mother's relatives leave their weapons at the gate. Probably, I should have ordered the blacksmith to melt them down.

My mother rose from her chair in a rustle of skirts and wimple. "We don't threaten guests in this castle."

"It's my castle," I said, turning toward her. "I make the rules. Not to put too fine a point on it, Lady Mother, but you're a guest here, too. If you retire to your dowager property in the North, you can permit your guests to act like scum."

Her blue eyes mirrored the hate on the face of every Tola relative around the room.

The woman in charge of the ritual moved to the foot of the bed. She folded her hands and kept her gaze on the floor. "These women have worked non-stop since breakfast, Your Majesty. If we stop for dinner now, we can probably finish by midnight."

It broke the tension—and saved me from a public confrontation with my mother. "Thank you, Inga. I'll tell the men to start building the pyre." I strode from the room, the gazes of my mother's relatives like knives in my back.

They would rejoice to see that scenario happen in truth. As I made my way to the outer bailey, a different kind of exhaustion settled over me. My grandfather had overthrown Tola to prevent a genocide and salvage what little magic remained in Andulum. My father had sacrificed his youth and health to claw his way back to the throne. But my house's claim had never been secure. Tola's ghost had loomed over us for decades.

And now it rose again. But no one among Tola's descendants was strong enough to rule in my stead. Lorsten was new to his position, and Nordlinga was a different place than it had been under Tola. The people were used to peace, however tenuous. Civil war would shatter trade and leave Nordlinga poor and weak for decades. Undoubtedly, my mother knew it, and it stayed her hand—for now.

But for how long? I'd always believed she would tolerate me on the throne. She coveted the wealth and respect she enjoyed as queen. She considered these things her birthright. Exposing me as elfkin would jeopardize her position. But she was also King Tola's granddaughter.

She knew the message she'd sent by inviting her family to my father's funeral. She enjoyed seeing me miserable, but this went far beyond that kind of pettiness. No, she was preparing to unseat me. I couldn't let that happen. Nordlinga had been peaceful for ten years now. I owed it to my people to ensure that peace continued for as long as I could manage it. And I owed it to my father to ensure the kingdom he'd sacrificed so much for didn't fall on my watch. One day, my task would be finished. But not today.

Wind screamed around my head as I entered the bailey. One of my captains, a towering knight named Raldor Strongarm, rushed over to me and cupped his hands around his mouth so I could hear him.

"We're having trouble with the pyre, Your Majesty! The wind is so bad, we've had to lash the logs together to stop them from blowing away. I'm afraid we won't be ready until morning, sir."

I gripped his shoulder and pulled him into me so I could speak without yelling. "Give it two days."

Confusion filled his eyes. "You want us to delay?"

That was exactly what I wanted—and the reason I'd summoned the storm in the first place. "Take all the time you need," I said. "If you work more slowly, it'll be safer for the men."

Raldor nodded, respect replacing his confusion. "Consider it done, sir."

"Good man." I clapped his shoulder. "How is your wife? You have another babe coming, yes?"

Raldor's eyes widened inside the thick scarf he'd wrapped around his head. "Yes, my pri— Ah, Your Majesty." He grinned, displaying a gap between his front teeth. "Sorry, sir. You, ah, caught me off guard. I didn't expect you to know anything about my family."

I returned his smile. "Well, yours is more memorable than most, Captain. That's what happens when you sire ten children in ten years. I'd tell you to keep up the good work, but you clearly don't need the encouragement."

He ducked his head, chuckling as pink tinged his cheeks. "She's a fine woman, my Hildie."

"I'll keep her in my thoughts for a safe delivery." I clapped him on the shoulder again. "Relay my orders to the other captains, will you?" As he nodded and disappeared into the storm, I made a mental note to have my steward increase his pay. Then I hunched my shoulders against the wind and headed for the stables.

Minutes later, I thundered toward the Covenant. The storm eased, then dissipated as I left the castle and my mother's scheming behind. The snow would ensure my Tola relatives stayed put while I did what I needed to do. Settling more firmly in the saddle, I plunged into the forest.

Before long, fatigue descended once more. Lulled by the horse's steady gait, I struggled to stay upright. The moment the cabin came into view, however, my exhaustion fled.

Because I wasn't alone. Evening sunlight filtered through the trees as I pulled the horse to a halt and slid from the saddle. I drew my sword as quietly as I could, then crept forward, my gaze glued to the cabin. No smoke rose from the chimney. An eerie, unnatural stillness filled the air. I reached the door, my sword at the ready. Pressing my back to the side of the tiny porch, I waited, listening for movement within.

Nothing.

I drew a steadying breath, then spun and yanked the door open.

Liria bolted upright in the bed, one hand clasping the quilt to her chest. "Sigurn!"

For a second, I could only stare at her. Maybe I was dreaming. I'd fallen asleep in the saddle, and I'd tumbled from my horse and cracked my head against a rock.

I scrubbed my free hand over my eyes. When I lowered it, Liria still sat in the middle of my bed. She was a vision, her otherworldly beauty touched with the rays of the setting sun and her long, pale hair streaming around her shoulders. From the looks of it, she'd been slumbering for a while. Her boots were lined up neatly on the floor, and the bedding was rumpled. Her creamy shoulders above the quilt were bare except for two white, flimsy-looking straps. Her chemise. I looked around and spotted a black dress draped over the back of a chair.

Instantly, blood pounded to my cock.

"Oh," Liria said, following my gaze. Her eyes skidded back to me. She cleared her throat, color touching her cheeks. "I, um, shouldn't have used your bed without asking, but I was so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open."

"You're welcome to it," I rasped. "You never need to ask."

A tentative smile touched her lips. "Thank you."

We stared at each other. When a gust of wind sent snowflakes swirling past me, I roused at last, turning and shutting the door against the cold. When I turned back, she'd slipped from the bed and stood with the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. One small fist clutched the fabric, and her bare toes curled against the wooden planks.

"Um…" I sheathed my sword, suddenly feeling even larger than usual in the cramped space. "How long have you been here?"

"Since late last night." She pushed her long fall of silver hair over her shoulder. "My mother died."

I stepped toward her, the urge to comfort warring with the knowledge that she was nearly naked under the quilt. "I'm so sorry, Liria."

"Thank you, but…" She shook her head, then gazed up at me with intense green eyes. "I know I'm supposed to feel sad, but I don't. Is that normal, do you think?"

I had no idea what constituted normal. But I'd seen death in a hundred different variations. It was a great leveler—usually messy and degrading regardless of rank or wealth. I'd seen the light leave a young man's eyes when I thrust my sword into his heart, and I'd seen an old man's eyes fill with resignation as he drew his last breath. None of it had ever felt normal.

"Whatever you're feeling is normal for you," I said.

She drew the quilt more tightly around herself. "I came here to ask a favor."

I tensed, every nerve ending abruptly alive. "What kind of favor?"

Liria drew a deep breath. "My father clings to life. He's going to die, and my guardian is going to steal my crown." She gave me another intense look, her face gilded by the last rays of the setting sun streaming through the windows. "I believe you can help me stop him."