Chapter 25

The fire burned low, its embers winking sleepily among the charred firewood. Frozen air streamed through the shutters and burrowed under my jacket and leather cuirass. A single lamp on the mantel offered more shadow than light.

The small table at my elbow held a tankard of untouched ale and a scroll with a broken seal. I ignored both, my gaze on the dying fire. If I didn't rise soon and prod it back to life, the chamber would grow too cold for sleep.

No matter. It wasn't like I planned on sleeping anyway. Rest was a risky proposition as long as Lorsten Hallerson and his army were camped outside. I scrubbed a hand over my face, a huff of humorless laughter slipping around my palm as I recalled arriving home to discover my mother moving her things from the castle.

"What is the meaning of this?"I'd demanded as servants carried a paneled armoire down the steps of the Great Hall in the middle of the night.

My mother had turned to me, a look of such malevolence on her face I'd almost taken a step backward. "You made it clear I'm not welcome here. I'm doing what you suggested and retiring to my dowager property. My people will provide escort since you can't manage to keep the roads safe."

The roads had been safe for years. But I ignored the barb as my gaze strayed to Lorsten Hallerson observing our exchange from a corner of the bailey.

"Cousin,"he'd called, one thick-fingered hand on the hilt of a dagger my knights must have missed. "Fear not. My men and I will see your lady mother safely away from the castle."

I looked at my mother. "My father hasn't been laid to rest. You dishonor him."

Her eyes burned within her wimple. "He dishonored me often enough in life. I leave his legacy with you. Do with it what you will." She turned and strode toward a group of Tola relatives dressed for travel.

But I'd known in that moment that they wouldn't travel far. An hour later, as my father's ashes spiraled into the snow-filled sky above the outer baily, the knights on the wall blew the siege horn. Lorsten and the rest of my Tola relatives had returned—and this time, they brought enough troops to outnumber my men two-to-one.

My father's death had provided my mother with a cunning strategy. Forced to offer hospitality, I'd invited my enemies into my home, where they'd undoubtedly studied the castle's layout and noted its weaknesses. Lorsten had wasted no time digging in. And I'd been right to suspect he and my mother planned their attack long before my father's death. In the twenty-four hours since I slipped from Ronan's chamber and hurried across the Covenant, Lorsten had positioned hundreds of men around the castle. Not even the most disciplined army could move that quickly.

No, they'd been lying in wait. Probably, Lorsten had stashed them in surrounding villages. He'd bided his time, waiting for my father to die.

Time.I released another joyless laugh. If Lorsten knew how thoroughly time ruled me, he might have been content to wait a bit longer.

Wind howled outside, but the noise wasn't enough to muffle the sound of the siege machines creaking across the snow. Lorsten hadn't been Lord of Coldvalley long, but he clearly understood strategy. Sieges were equal parts intimidation and showmanship. By surrounding the castle in such a blatant, public way, Lorsten attempted to prove I was weak. He'd forced me into a sort of competition with the people of Nordlinga as the judge. Did they want a king who cowered in a fortress and was constantly beset by enemies, or did they long for the return of King Tola's rightful heir to the Northern throne? Perhaps, they simply longed for an end to the conflict my grandfather had set in motion.

You could end it right now,a voice whispered in my mind. My gut tightened, as it had every time my thoughts strayed to the unimaginable power I'd taken from the Winter Court. Possibly, I had the means to vanquish the army outside. But the contest would be fundamentally unfair, the results absolute. Everything I'd learned as a knight said there was no honor in such victories. If I used the scepter and wiped out Tola's descendants, I would be no better than Tola himself.

On the other hand, what if it brought peace? A final, lasting end to conflict? Using the scepter may very well spell my end, too. But that was the destiny of all men. I'd accomplished what I set out to do. My father had died a king. More importantly, he'd passed not knowing our line ended with me. I hadn't chosen that destiny, but it was inescapable. Maybe it was time to stop running from it.

In the hearth, the last few embers snuffed out, plunging the chamber into deeper shadow. Whatever I decided, I had to send Mirella through the tunnels as soon as possible. So far, she'd resisted. "I'm made of tougher stuff than Lorsten Hallerson."

She was, but not even Mirella could stand against an army of northerners. Lorsten had honored the laws of hospitality because he wanted to be king. Most likely, he wouldn't risk a war with Eftar by harming Mirella. But I wasn't prepared to take that chance.

A scuffling sound made me whip my head toward the door. I shot to my feet, my dagger in my hand before I realized I'd drawn it.

The door opened, and Liria slipped inside. Ronan entered behind her, shut the door, and locked it. Cold fire burst to life in the hearth beside me. The lamp on the mantel flickered once, twice, and then flared with eerie blue light.

Ronan and Liria were just as eerie, their expressions hard and their bright eyes reflecting the fire. But they were also achingly beautiful, the differences between us starker than ever. Tall and lean, they were unnaturally still, as only elves could be. Their silver-white hair gleamed inside the black cloaks that covered them from head to toe. I hadn't allowed myself to think about what happened between the three of us in bed. Those moments—and the life they promised—could never be mine. But knowing that didn't blunt the phantom fist that buried itself in my gut. I kept my gaze on Ronan so I wouldn't be tempted to look at Liria. Because I was a coward, and I didn't want to face the hurt and confusion I knew I'd see in her eyes.

Ronan tugged his hood off. His pale gaze bored into me as he flicked the edge of his cloak aside and rested his hand on the hilt of Summerbane. A deliberate move—and a warning. He retained his magic in Andulum. He could slice my head from my shoulders before I drew breath to call for help.

"Your guard at the end of the hall requires medical attention," Ronan said. "His head struck the wall when he fell. Five others downstairs experienced the same injury."

It was a succinct way to tell me not to bother calling for the guards. None were around to hear.

"Thank you for not killing them," I said. "They all have families."

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you stole power from us."

Anger tightened my grip on my dagger. "You mean instead of asking nicely? I did that, remember? You refused me."

His eyes flashed. He stepped forward, an icy wave of menace rippling from him. "There's a difference between borrowing from me and trying to wield the scepter. You have no idea how its magic will manifest in Andulum. You could destroy the Covenant?—"

"Unlikely."

"—or yourself."

"A boon for you, then."

"Of course, you're going to be flippant about this," he said. Another icy blast emanated from him, the gust tousling my hair before making the fire in the hearth shudder. "You've always treated magic like a game."

I couldn't hold back the scoffing sound that broke from my throat. "Are you joking? You're the chess player here, always moving people precisely where you want them." I let a sneer touch my lips. "As long as everything is comfortable for you, right?"

He growled as he advanced on me, his cloak flaring around his ankles. "You?—"

"Why would it be a boon?" Liria asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the aggression in the air.

Ronan and I froze, and I realized I'd taken several steps toward him as we argued. We were close enough to touch now, each of us gripping the hilt of our weapons as we glared at each other. As the silence held, his expression changed, the anger in his eyes shifting into something that resembled panic.

Liria crossed to us, and her brow furrowed as she looked from Ronan to me. She pulled the hood from her hair as if she wanted to see us better. "What did you mean by that? Why would your death be a boon for Ronan?"

My heart sped up. The same regal, uncompromising air she'd displayed at the Covenant sparked around her now. It was the look of a king. But it was also more than that. Her eyes held the resolve of a woman who'd realized the men in her life were hiding something from her—and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Why would that be a boon?" she demanded.

"It wouldn't," Ronan said.

"I asked Sigurn," she snapped. She stared up at me, her green eyes unwavering. "Ronan said using the scepter could destroy you. How would your death benefit him?"

I looked at Ronan. So did Liria.

"You've lied to me," she said, a hard edge in her voice. "Both of you. I'll have the truth now. And before you consider lying to me again, Ronan, know that you have just one more chance to get this right. Tell me everything, or I swear on my father's memory I won't marry you. Na-sessni." I vow it.

Magic sparked in the air, filling the chamber with the kind of untamed charge that precedes a storm.

Ronan's complexion went ashen. "You invite disaster with a vow like that."

"So be it," Liria said. "Tell me why Sigurn's death would be a boon."

The charge in the air built, until the silence seemed to crackle. When Ronan spoke at last, his voice was hoarse.

"Because I have to kill him."

The admission landed like an arrow thudding into a target. Knowing the words were coming didn't soften their impact. They'd been a weight around my neck for eleven years, but the burden had always been tolerable. Now, it settled around me like a shroud, cold and suffocating.

Liria's eyes widened, shock palpable as she darted a look from me to Ronan. "Why?" she whispered.

"We didn't meet by chance," I said, my voice surprisingly steady in my ears. "Ronan hunted me. And when he found me, he forced me to my knees and put Summerbane to my neck." The memory of it flashed in my mind as bright and vivid as sunlight on water. "My grandfather, Roddard, was a young man when he joined a mob of northern nobles who set out to murder Sylvar Morendiel. So Ronan had no choice but to kill me. His vow forced him to make the men who killed his father nameless. "

Liria pressed her fingers to her mouth, her shock turning to disbelief. "But… Your grandfather was elfkin. He overthrew Tola the Bitter for trying to eradicate humans with elven blood. Why would he murder Ronan's father?"

It was a question I'd asked myself countless times over the years. Training men for war had offered the only answer that came close to making sense.

"You're more likely to survive if you fit in," I said. "People who are different stand out. They're easy targets. In a battle, men like that are the first to die. If you're standing shoulder to shoulder with an easy target, you become a target too. When your life depends on it, you might take matters into your own hands and kill before the enemy can. I've seen it happen." I shrugged, forcing callousness I'd honed through years of fighting. "Most people will do whatever it takes to survive. They'll repress important parts of themselves. Hide things that make them vulnerable."

Liria lowered her hand. "So your grandfather killed Sylvar to fit in?"

I glanced at Ronan, who stood stiffly, his jaw tight and his expression shuttered. "I can't say for certain. According to my father, my grandfather's role in Sylvar's death affected my grandfather deeply. As you know, Sylvar was the last of the great lords who created the Covenant. He was a peacemaker."

"He was too trusting," Ronan said, an angry glint in his eyes. "And you leave out the important part. Your grandfather didn't just join the mob. He summoned my father across the Covenant and told the mob where to find him."

"And he suffered for it." I held Ronan's stare, the echoes of old arguments filling the air between us. "I make no excuses for Roddard. I never have. He used his elven blood to forge a friendship with your father and then he betrayed that friendship in the cruelest way imaginable. But he also spent the rest of his life trying to make amends."

"By overthrowing Tola," Liria said.

I nodded. "My father always said Roddard didn't want to be king. But Tola wasn't satisfied with killing Sylvar. He wanted every trace of elvish blood and influence removed from Andulum. My grandfather realized too late that hiding wasn't the answer. You can only bury parts of yourself for so long before they start to rot. Roddard's change of heart wasn't enough to save him, but at least he realized how wrong he'd been." Bitterness rose as I caught Ronan's eye. "And as I said, he suffered a humiliating death. That should give you some satisfaction."

Old anger sparked in Ronan's eyes. "I have never celebrated Roddard's death."

"But you swore to wipe out his name," Liria said, horror creeping over her face. "And now you can't fulfill your vow unless you kill Sigurn."

Ronan's fingers on his sword hilt were white. "Yes," he said. "But Sigurn was just another warrior of Andulum when I met him. I had no idea he and I would…" Ronan glanced at me, then cleared his throat. "I never expected us to become anything more than reluctant, temporary allies."

Liria looked between us, and her thoughts might as well have been written on her face. She'd seen Ronan and me together. We didn't hate each other. Maybe we'd started out that way, but we hadn't been adversaries for a long time.

"What if Sigurn dies naturally?" Liria said, turning stricken eyes to Ronan. "He could live a full life. You wouldn't have to kill him."

"It won't work," I said softly, the weight of the past eleven years tugging harder. "Ronan modified his vow when he agreed to share power with me." He'd spoken in the Old Language, his words stealing my breath as they circled my chest and threatened to crush my ribs. "I promised to anchor Ronan in Andulum so he could hunt his father's killers. You know that part. But he also agreed to let my father die a natural death. I'm grateful for it. My father passed with a crown on his head and as much dignity as I could give him."

Liria's mouth trembled. "Oh, Sigurn…"

"It's what I wanted," I said. "I've sired no sons. My name ends with me."

"But…" Liria's brow furrowed as she turned to Ronan. "If you modified your vow once, why not do it again? If Sigurn dies without offspring, he'll die nameless."

"Magic demands balance," he said. "I spared Erland's life. I must take Sigurn's." Ronan shook his head. "Under other circumstances, I probably couldn't have changed my vow. But Sigurn anchors me in Andulum, which allows me to hunt the others who killed my sire. My vow needed Sigurn alive, so my magic accommodated his wishes."

Liria looked like she wanted to argue. Instead, she stepped into me and placed a hand on my chest. Delicate fawns danced around her wrist. The scent of lavender and evergreen teased my nose. "There has to be another way. You are the king. What of Nordlinga?"

More bitterness surged, and I gestured to the scroll on the table near the chair I'd abandoned. "My cousin, the Lord of Coldvalley, has sent terms. If I surrender the castle, he promises to pardon my supporters."

"Do you believe him?"

I sighed, weariness joining the weight around my neck. "Honestly, I don't know. But even if he honors his word, Nordlinga will be a different place under his rule. Regardless, I'm outmanned. I can't defeat him in a conventional battle."

"This is why you took the scepter?" she asked, stepping back. "You meant to win this war with magic?"

I rubbed at my chest, which had started to ache. She'd taken her intoxicating scent with her when she stepped away. The hints of spring faded, leaving me in the cold once more. I'd called her a witch once. Now more than ever, I had to wonder if it was true. Because I'd been under a spell since I met her. She made me forget. Worse, she made me hope. And hope was a dangerous thing for a man like me. Hope was a desire for something to happen in the future. I didn't have a future.

"I would have returned it," I said. "I was wrong to take it, but I was thinking of my people." I avoided Ronan's stare as I confessed my theft. "I've always been able to control the snow. When my power is at its highest, I can cover a field in frost. With the scepter, I thought I might be able to finally end the strife my grandfather started when he overthrew Tola. I wondered if that could be my legacy." Ronan's stare pressed into my side. "I like to think Ronan would take no pleasure in killing me. This way, he doesn't have to."

Liria made a frustrated sound. "Stop speaking as if you're going to die tomorrow. Ronan has hunted his father's killers for ninety years. There's another descendant out there. It could take decades to find him." She swung toward Ronan with a desperate look in her eyes. "Right?"

I took her hands, forcing her attention back to me. "You're forgetting something, Liria. I'm mortal. That was never more clear to me than when I woke in bed with you and Ronan. You looked…right together." Which was a fucking lie. They'd looked stunning. Irresistible. And I'd almost crawled back in beside them. But I'd come to my senses and left before I could make that mistake.

I squeezed Liria's slim fingers. "Even without the nameless vow hanging over my head, I can't offer you more than a handful of decades."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "That's not true. You offer so much more than that."

The ache in my chest spread. "Don't cry, sweetheart." Unable to help myself, I brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "Trust me, it's better this way. You and Ronan have each other. If I played a part in bringing you together, I'm glad for it. But my place is here, in Nordlinga. I have to see this through."

Anger leapt into her eyes. "So you'll let yourself be killed?" She shook her head as she stepped back, freeing herself from my grip. "No. I won't allow it."

"Liria—" I sucked in a breath as the tip of a dagger pressed against my nuts. And not just any dagger. A glance down revealed a wooden hilt carved with the bear of my house. Liria had moved so much faster than I would have thought possible, pulling a dagger from thin air. I'd underestimated her. Judging from the look in her eyes, she'd expected me to—and she'd taken advantage of it.

"You draw my own weapon against me?" I asked, my heart speeding up as nausea rolled through my gut in a sickening wave. The tip of the blade pricked my bare skin. I knew exactly how sharp the fucking thing was, having honed it myself. And the way the dagger lodged in my clothing, knocking Liria's hand away was a risky maneuver. She'd been smart to go for my manhood instead of my neck or heart—both places I could have easily defended. Someone had obviously trained her.

Ronan.Part of me approved. Another part—the part that most definitely didn't want a knife prodding my sack—wanted to punch his face on behalf of men everywhere.

Liria's bright green eyes held mine. "I'll use whatever weapons I have at my disposal."

I shifted my gaze to Ronan, who watched us with a neutral expression. "I don't suppose you're going to be any help."

"If Liria needed my help, she'd ask for it."

Fucker. He knew what I'd meant.

Liria spoke without taking her eyes off me. "Ronan? Do you want to kill Sigurn Brighthelm?"

"No."

Triumph flared in Liria's eyes. "And you, Sigurn? Do you want to die?"

"This isn't about what I—" A strangled sound broke from me as the tip of the dagger sank a few layers into my testicle.

"Yes or no," she said. "It's a simple question."

It wasn't simple. But she had me by the balls. "No," I bit out.

She hesitated, something fragile in her gaze. Then her chin went up a notch. "You told Ronan you love me. Was that a lie?"

My gut clenched. "No, Princess. I would never lie about loving you." I swallowed hard. "You are easy to love."

For a moment, I thought she might smile. But her eyes filled with resolve. "You're coming with us to the Winter Court."

Frustration almost made me forget the dagger. "If I slink away in the night like a coward, my men will never follow me again. I might as well abdicate." Captain Raldor's face floated in my mind. "I can't leave my people to defend what I won't defend myself. It's dishonorable."

Ronan was beside Liria in a flash of movement. "Cowardice was stealing the heart of Winter's power. Your dishonor was complete the moment you touched the scepter."

I bristled. "I already said I would have returned it."

"You could have killed Liria," he snarled. "You may have yet."

Liria stiffened, something that might have been irritation flashing across her face. But my heart was suddenly beating too quickly for me to linger on it.

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

Liria pulled the dagger away from my groin. "The night my father died, I…challenged the scepter. I didn't mean to do it, but magic can be unpredictable."

"She's been falling ill," Ronan said. "It started the first time you tried to steal the scepter."

Realization swept me. As I gazed at Liria, regret galloped swiftly on its heels. "You collapsed in the Crypt…" She'd taken ill so suddenly—and it was all my fault.

Ronan's features were hard. "You took the scepter. Now you're going to put it back where you found it."

"Of course," I said at once. Whatever it took to protect Liria. "I'm sorry," I told her. "I didn't know."

Her eyes softened, relief evident in the emerald depths. She sheathed the dagger, then put a tentative hand on my arm. "I believe you."

I covered her hand with mine. "Will this work? You'll be all right if I put the scepter back?"

"I think so." Her gaze skidded to Ronan, who regarded me with one of his impenetrable looks. Nothing was resolved between us, and we both knew it. I was the last of my line. At some point—whether now or ten years from now—Ronan had to kill me. Once he found the other descendant of the man who helped murder Sylvar, magic would force his hand. In the meantime, every moment I stayed in the Winter Court nudged me closer to slavery.

"Where is the scepter?" he asked.

I led him and Liria to an iron-banded chest tucked to one side of a bookcase. I pulled a bundle from the bottom of a stack of shirts. Faint blue light splashed over my hands as I unwrapped the scepter.

Ronan took it from me, his haughty features so nonplussed he almost looked human. "You hid the scepter in your laundry?"

"These shirts are clean."

He drew a breath like he meant to say something, then seemed to change his mind. "Let's go."

"Wait," I said. "I'll go with you willingly. I'll do whatever you require when it comes to the scepter. But I want your reassurance that you'll grant me safe passage back through the Covenant. I'm not asking for power. Just a chance to see this siege to some kind of resolution before I meet my end."

Liria sucked in a breath.

Ronan's tone was as cool as his expression. "We'll discuss it once the scepter is back in the Crypt."

Frustration made my voice sharp. "That's not good enough. I have responsibilities here. The castle's healer is a noblewoman entrusted to my care. I need to get a message to one of my captains?—"

"I can deliver the message," a feminine voice said.

I jerked around. By the time I spotted Mirella on the other side of the room, Ronan had thrust Liria behind him and drawn his sword.

"Shadowkin," he said, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Mirella, who most definitely had not been in the chamber a moment before.

If Mirella was frightened of Ronan, she didn't show it. "Yes," she said, her golden gaze unflinching. "And you're Ronan Morendiel, the Sword of the North. My father told me about you."

"How long have you been standing there?"

Mirella glanced at me. "Long enough."

For a second, I could only stare as reality slapped me in the face. A second later, I had to wonder at my blindness. All signs had pointed to Mirella being elfkin. Or, as Ronan had correctly deduced, shadowkin. Eftari descended from elves of the Autumn Court couldn't shapeshift, but many were accomplished shadow runners—and spies. Like their elven counterparts, they could manipulate shadow, traveling through it and wrapping it around themselves like a cloak. How many times had I puzzled over Mirella's ability to pop in and out of a room? She was always on the move, flitting from one end of the castle to the other. More than once, I'd sworn she simply vanished.

Now I knew she had.

"I'm not here to spy," she said, her coppery hair gleaming as she stepped from the darkened corner of the chamber.

Ronan lowered Summerbane but didn't sheath the blade. "An interesting assertion, considering you were just spying."

She gave him the same no-nonsense look she bestowed upon knights who balked when she tended their injuries. "I'm loyal to King Sigurn. When I saw you enter his chamber, I followed to make sure you didn't try to hurt him."

I braced for Ronan to laugh. Shadow runner or not, Mirella was half his size. Ronan was one of the most revered swordsman on either side of the Covenant. He could bat Mirella away like a kitten.

But he didn't laugh. After a moment of holding her stare, he inclined his head in a graceful display of respect. "Loyalty is always to be commended, my lady."

Mirella clasped her hands in front of her as she met my gaze. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was shadowkin. My father worried Queen Hetta might have persuaded you to hate your own kind."

Implications spun through my head. "Your father knew I was elfkin."

Mirella flashed a wry smile. "My father is a little too proud of our family's elvish blood." She darted a look at Ronan and Liria. "My ancestors supported the elves during the Rebellion. Through some stroke of luck, we managed to keep Purecliff after the war ended. We hide our heritage, of course, but my father dreams of a magical dynasty." Color touched her cheeks as she held my stare. "He hoped we would wed, but I know that's not possible."

Guilt tugged at me. Mirella had tended my father for two years. She'd been an excellent chatelaine, running the castle while I patrolled the kingdom and fought to keep the peace.

"I'm sorry, my lady," I said, my voice raspy in my ears. "For…so much more than you know."

"You don't owe me an apology, Sigurn."

"Yes, I do."

Her lips curved. "In two years, you haven't learned how futile it is to argue with me when I'm right?"

Somewhere behind me, Liria gave a crack of laughter.

Humor glinted in Mirella's eyes. Then she squared her shoulders. "You said you need to get a message to your captain. I'll take care of it."

I shook my head. "You need to leave the castle immediately. If Lorsten captures you?—"

"That will never happen." She gestured to a dark corner. "I can leave the castle whenever I wish. I don't need the tunnels."

Indecision tugged at me. But I couldn't deny her ability. "I owe you, my lady," I said at last. She waited as I scribbled a message to Captain Raldor, and she touched my arm when I handed the parchment over.

"Take care, Sigurn," she said softly, her golden eyes flicking to Ronan and Liria behind me.

My heart thumped. Just how much had she heard from her spot in the shadows? There was no way to tell, and no time to find out.

"I'll return as soon as I can," I murmured, unsure if it was a lie.

Mirella nodded. Then she strode to the corner and slipped into the shadows.

An hour later, I didn't slow my horse as it thundered across the Covenant. And I didn't look down as Ronan's sigils flared across my skin.