Chapter 28

We waited until nightfall to cross the Covenant.

I'd wanted to race to Nordlinga at once, but Ronan persuaded me to delay a few hours. If Lorsten was using Mirella as bait, Ronan reasoned, he wouldn't kill her. Not yet. Part of me resented his cold, seemingly emotionless assessment. But I had to admit he was right. Ronan's calculating approach to the mission was better than rushing headlong into an unpredictable situation. Even the most careful battle plans tended to fall apart at the first clash of steel. A cool head was an advantage.

And we needed every advantage we could get. Lord Ulred's horses were an enormous help, but we were still outnumbered, with only Ronan's magic functioning across the barrier. My magic didn't count. Blizzards were great for slowing an army's movement, but they wouldn't help us free Mirella.

So we crossed the boundary as the moon rose in the sky, our armor covered by black cloaks that hid the glint of steel. We rode swiftly but cautiously, braced for an ambush.

But no humans lay in wait beyond the barrier. The forest path was clear, and the journey to Castle Nordlinga was tense but uneventful.

"I don't like it," Ronan said in a low voice, his gaze on the fortress in the distance. We'd stopped on a rise, the Winter Guard and our horses at the base of the hill behind us. Liria and I stood on either side of Ronan as he surveyed the castle, which blazed with light. Abandoned siege towers rose like the skeletons of enormous beasts around the perimeter. A handful of tents were still up, their pennants hanging limply. My blizzard was long gone, the only sign of weather a few tired-looking snowflakes that drifted toward the ground.

Liria followed Ronan's gaze. "What do you mean?"

"It's too easy," I said, running my eyes along the battlements. We were too far away to see the guards, but I had to assume Lorsten had posted a watch. Still, we should have seen or heard something. A flash of steel in the moonlight. Men's voices carrying on the wind. Knights made noise, and sound traveled when the air was this cold.

Ronan grunted in agreement, and his jaw was tight as he met my gaze. "It's like he's daring us to try it."

"Yes."

"I should go alone."

"No way." I shook my head. "If anyone goes alone, it'll be me."

Impatience flashed in Ronan's eyes. "Right. We should definitely send the one person Lorsten wants to kill."

"You think he wouldn't kill you if he got the chance?"

Ronan's smile was tight and humorless. "Chance being the operative word. I assure you, he won't get one."

Liria made an impatient sound. "As much as I enjoy listening to you two argue, we're wasting time. Mirella is in there somewhere. We have to get her out. How are we going to do it?"

"I'll go," I said. "Mirella is my responsibility."

"Absolutely not," Ronan said.

Liria looked between us. "If only one of you goes, you won't have anyone to watch your back. So you should both go." She drew an even breath. "I'll wait here with the Winter Guard."

Ronan blinked. "You will?" Under other circumstances, I might have laughed at his stunned expression. But the precariousness of our situation throttled my mirth.

"I hate staying behind," Liria said, "but it's the responsible thing to do. I'm not a warrior, and I don't have any magic here." She swallowed hard. "Nothing is going to happen to either of you, but if…" Her voice wavered. "We have to think about Winter. About our people."

Ronan cupped her face, his eyes tender. "Spoken like a queen." As she offered him a tremulous smile, he bent and kissed her forehead. "Sigurn and I will return quickly. Stay here and keep the knights out of trouble."

"I will."

I elbowed Ronan out of the way. "Stop hogging our queen." Liria gasped as I dipped her, but she softened in my arms as I planted a thorough kiss on her lips. When I pulled her back up, Ronan watched me with a stony look I didn't buy for a minute.

"Ready?" I asked him, checking the buckle on my sword belt. Winter's Wrath nestled against my hip, the weight of the broadsword offering familiar comfort. Ronan opened his mouth, and I put a finger over his lips. "Don't make fun of my sword. You'll ruin our nice moment."

Liria laughed softly. Ronan grumbled, but I could have sworn I saw the shadow of a smile.

The expression disappeared, however, as we headed toward the castle. He moved soundlessly, his elven grace allowing him to slink across the frozen ground without leaving footprints in the frost. I was quiet enough, but my size alone made it difficult to mimic his stealth. Halfway between the rise and the fortress, he closed a hand around my wrist. A chill spread through me, the shock like plunging into an ice bath.

"What just happened?" I croaked, my teeth chattering. I clamped my jaw shut.

He leaned close. "Cloaking magic. We aren't invisible, but we're less noticeable. I'll explain it later."

I nodded, my lungs burning. I'd lived my whole life in the North. As a lad, my father and I had hunted in the glacier fields where the sun never rose above the horizon. I knew cold, but this was different. It seeped into my bones and sloshed in my veins. The discomfort increased with every step, which had the unexpected benefit of keeping my mind off the danger that surrounded us. Ronan maintained his grip on my arm, glancing at me occasionally as we made our way to the entrance to the escape tunnel.

Once we were inside, he released me. Immediately, the chill receded, and I drew my first pain-free breath in what felt like hours.

"I hated that," I gasped, wiping cold sweat from my brow.

"You would have hated an arrow in your chest a lot more."

"Fair enough."

Ronan opened his hand, and a ball of blue flame flared from his skin. "Are you all right to keep moving?"

I grunted. "I'll lead."

We navigated the tunnel, both of us stooping to avoid scraping our heads on the ceiling. I had to stoop a lot more than Ronan, and it didn't take long for an ache to settle at the base of my spine. Ronan's fire lit our way and kept me from stumbling. When we approached the narrow stone steps that led to the main part of the castle, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"I should cloak us again," he said quietly.

I couldn't hide my wince. "Maybe I'll just let myself get captured."

He rolled his eyes as he took my wrist.

"I liked you better when you didn't show emotion," I said, my breath puffing in small clouds as ice crept through my body.

Minutes later, we eased into the maze of corridors that ran through the bowels of Castle Nordlinga.

Dungeon, I mouthed, tipping my head toward an archway. Ronan nodded, and he kept his fingers around my wrist as I led him forward, my head on a swivel and my ears pricked for any sounds of pursuit. But the corridors were quiet, the only noise the drip of water that ran down the ancient walls.

The stonework grew cruder, the air thick with the scent of mildew, iron, and rot. As we rounded a corner, we both scuttled backward at the same time. Backs pressed against the wall, we stared at each other. Ronan lifted two fingers, a question in his eyes, and I nodded to let him know I'd seen the guards too.

I'll handle it,he mouthed, and I nodded again.

He was gone in a flash. A few seconds later, the sickening thud of flesh hitting flesh bounced back to me. When I rounded the corner, Ronan stood over two unconscious guards. They were unfamiliar. Lorsten's men.

"Look," Ronan said, pointing. Light shone through another archway, the glow spilling over the worn flagstones.

"That leads to the dungeon," I said, foreboding crawling down my spine. I moved quickly, clearing the arch with Ronan behind me. I knew without asking that he guarded my back, and even in the middle of a decidedly shitty situation, there was something exhilarating about having him at my side. We moved seamlessly, covering each other as we followed the light, which grew so bright it stung my eyes. The air became warmer, and the scent of oil joined the unpleasant odor of general decay.

Finally, the open doorway of the dungeon loomed. Light blasted from every direction, and I squinted as my heart knocked against my ribs. No guards sprang from the wall or bolted around the corners to stop us, and we raced down a line of empty cells with thick iron bars. When we reached the final cell, a growl lodged in my throat.

Mirella sat on the ground in the center of the bleak space, her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on her arms. Oil lamps of every size and shape imaginable hung from the ceiling, the chains holding them well out of reach. The cell blazed with light and heat.

And that was the point, I realized. Mirella was trapped. She couldn't move in and out of the shadows if there were no shadows to be found. Lorsten had done this. Somehow, he'd discovered she was shadowkin, and he'd imprisoned her in the cruelest and most effective way possible.

I stepped close to the bars. "Mirella."

She startled, jerking her head up. "Sigurn! What are you doing? Don't you realize this is a trap?" Her eyes were bleary, her face flushed. Sweat turned her hair a darker red at her brow and temples. The fabric under her arms was stained with more sweat.

My anger became a bright, solid knot in my chest as I gripped the bars. "Who did this?" I grated. "I want every name. They're all dead men."

Mirella's complexion was waxy as she darted a terrified look behind me, obviously searching for enemies. She attempted to rise, only to collapse to one knee with a soft, broken cry. "You can't stay here, Sigurn. I don't know what they're planning, but they only took me to get to you. Please, you have to go."

"Not without you."

"Here," Ronan said, pulling my hands from the bars. "Stand back." When I obeyed, he gripped the bars and bowed his head. The sigils visible around his wrists flared bright blue. Ice crept from under his palms and climbed up the bars. More ice stretched downward. A second later, the bars shattered. Ronan stepped through the opening and went to Mirella.

"Let's get you to the shadows," he said, helping her to her feet.

She went even paler as she swayed against him, and my anger expanded. Had Lorsten fucking starved her? The cell was empty except for the lamps and a wooden bucket in the corner.

"We're getting you out of here," I said, helping her through the narrow gap in the bars. "The second we reach a dark corner, I want you to go."

Her eyes were stark. Perspiration beaded her upper lip. "I can't run the shadows when I'm weak."

I bit back a curse. "Then you'll ride with us. I'll make sure you get to Eftar safely." I looked at Ronan. "Can you cloak all three of us?"

"Yes, but I'll need to hold onto both of you. One arm each. It'll slow us down a little."

"Let's go," I said, leaving unspoken that Mirella's condition was already going to slow us to a crawl.

But we made it to the tunnel without incident, and Mirella seemed to rally once she was away from the light. She was as enthusiastic about Ronan's cloaking magic as I was, and she and I even managed to share a relieved smile as we stepped from the tunnel's entrance.

"I thought I was tired of sweating," she said, "but I'll take the heat over that ice any day."

"How did Lorsten know you were shadowkin?" I asked.

A sheepish look flashed through her eyes, which were ringed with dark circles. "I was careless. I tried to sneak into his camp to spy. One of his men saw me move through the shadows."

"Lorsten will pay for what he's done."

"Later," Ronan said, grasping our arms once more. "Right now, we need to move."

Grimacing against the creep of ice, I nodded. The wind picked up as we moved away from the castle. More snow fell, the white flakes spinning around us. The cold didn't appear to bother Ronan, who moved as fluidly as usual, but Mirella suffered. Her bright hair tangled around her shoulders, and her tattered gown dragged on the ground. Just as I contemplated scooping her into my arms and making a run for it, a horn split the air.

I froze, a wholly different kind of ice sliding down my spine.

The ground in front of us exploded, dirt and snow flying. As I shoved Mirella behind me and drew my sword, men burst from trenches with weapons in their hands. Several carried torches as they bellowed battle cries. Archers scrambled from the scars in the earth, their fingers taut on their bowstrings.

For a second, I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. Then I realized Lorsten had covered the trenches with grass woven into a sort of blanket and then covered it with a dusting of snow. The concealment was ingenious. And I was a fool. As hundreds of knights and men-at-arms poured from trenches all around us, my foreboding solidified into a dense, horrible knowing.

Lorsten hadn't been preparing to lay siege. He'd been preparing to spring a trap.

And I'd walked right into it. Ronan and I had entered the castle far too easily, encountering just two guards. Lorsten had meant for us to rescue Mirella. He'd meant for us to make it back out unscathed.

Because he'd wanted me out in the open so he could kill me publicly.

The knights formed a wide circle around us, their swords at the ready. My gut clenched as I spied my men among them. Familiar faces wore hard expressions. Men I'd bled with drew weapons against me. Guards and squires. Knights and men-at-arms. My gaze landed on the castle blacksmith, who lowered his stare, a frown forming between his bushy eyebrows.

I'd been correct when I told Ronan Nordlinga was never meant to be mine. If only I'd realized it sooner.

Mirella hovered at my shoulder. Beside me, Ronan had drawn Summerbane, and his expression promised death as he stared at the line of armored men. But not even the Sword of the North could defeat an army singlehandedly.

Lorsten strode from between two broad-shouldered knights, his red hair catching light from the dancing torches. He stopped, sword in hand, and offered me a broad, mocking smile. "Cousin! It's a pleasure to see you again."

Ronan stiffened, his breath whooshing out. When I looked at him, he stared at Lorsten with an intensity that lifted the hair on my nape. His sigils pulsed brightly, and all the color bled from his eyes.

My heart thumped wildly. "Him?" I asked under my breath.

In my peripheral vision, Ronan gave a slight nod.

Ninety years.For ninety years, Ronan had hunted his father's murderers. And now he'd found the final man he needed to kill to fulfill his vow. Lorsten was the last descendant of the mob. Maybe I should have guessed it. But Lorsten was the second son of a second son. Never expecting to inherit, he'd lived his whole life away from Coldvalley. No one had paid much attention to the brutish young man with no prospects and no hope of a title.

But his ancestor had killed Sylvar Morendiel. And Lorsten's rise to power was over. He was a dead man. He just didn't know it yet.

Seemingly oblivious to Ronan's scrutiny, Lorsten turned and raised his voice to the line of knights. "Men of Castle Nordlinga, behold your king! You see his eyes? The marks on his skin? Your sovereign is whore to the elven lord!"

Mirella made a strangled sound.

I moved forward, putting distance between us. If arrows started flying, they would undoubtedly aim at me. The farther I was from Mirella, the better. If she recovered enough, she could dart into the shadows and escape.

But hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If I surrendered, Lorsten might spare Mirella and Ronan.

The eyes of my men glittered in the darkness, every stare an accusation.

"Yes," I said, my voice carrying in the cold air. "I am elfkin. But I've only ever wanted peace for Nordlinga. I want peace for your families. This endless fighting does nothing but steal future generations from us."

Silence stretched. Lorsten smirked. As he drew breath, undoubtedly prepared to fling another insult, movement stirred at his right flank.

A man stepped from the line of knights. Halfway between the trenches and me, he stopped and removed his helmet. My mouth went dry as Raldor Strongarm moved his gaze down my neck, taking in the sigils that glowed on my collarbones. He met my eyes, nodded once, and then faced the crowd.

"I will fight with the king! Blood runs thick, but it's not the only thing that makes a man. King Sigurn has served this kingdom with honor. I will continue to serve him. If I die, so be it. "

Lorsten's face tightened with obvious anger. Murmurs rippled through the line of men. Then, another knight stepped forward.

"I, too, will fight beside the king!"

One by one, more men defected, crossing the stretch of frozen ground to stand in front of me. After a few minutes, at least fifty knights flanked me and Ronan.

Relief and gratitude swelled my chest. But we were still outnumbered.

Ronan lifted his hand. Cold fire formed a sizzling ball on his palm.

Lorsten's eyes widened. For the first time, fear sparked in his eyes. "Impossible. Your magic shouldn't work in Andulum."

"Does it look broken to you, human?" Ronan asked, his voice like silk. With his other hand, he pointed Summerbane at Lorsten. "I owe you a debt."

Confusion joined the fear in Lorsten's eyes. He flicked his gaze between Summerbane and the fire dancing on Ronan's palm. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're the rotten fruit of a poisoned tree. And now I'm going to tear you from the ground by the root."

Lorsten's throat bobbed. Eyes on Ronan, he raised his voice. "The elf lies! He has broken the Covenant!" Behind him, his men stirred, murmurs running through the crowd. "If we don't kill him, more will come! They'll enslave us." Lorsten looked at me, hatred shining in his dark eyes. "Better to die a free man than live with a collar around your neck."

The knights beside me shifted, some casting each other anxious glances.

"King Ronan is no threat to Andulum," I said. "He accompanied me to save Lady Mirella."

"He accompanied you because you share his bed," a woman's harsh voice called.

My breath seized as my mother emerged from behind a knot of knights. Her blue eyes glittered with malice as she stopped between two men holding torches.

"The elf speaks of rotten fruit," she said. "My grandfather, King Tola, was murdered by usurpers with elvish blood in their putrid veins. I was wed to the son of his killer without my consent, and I bore his child with no knowledge of the evil I brought into the world." She lifted her chin as she held my stare. "For ten years, Sigurn Brighthelm has crossed the Covenant to consort with this elf lord. He carried on with him, engaging in unnatural relations."

Fury coiled like a snake inside me. I didn't look at Ronan. I couldn't bear to see his face as the woman who bore me spoke of our relationship like something lower than trash. But I wanted to reach for him. To touch him. I wanted to tell him she was as rotten as Lorsten and just as ripe for killing.

A red haze descended over my vision. My blood pumped harder, and I tightened my grip on my sword.

"We have a chance to right this wrong," my mother yelled. "Tonight, the people of Nordlinga can finally banish the plague of magic from this land and return it to the people!"

Behind her, knights cheered, thrusting their swords in the air. They were going to charge. Ronan and I had lost. Even as the thought slipped around the corners of my mind, denial pounded in my chest.

No.

No.

I couldn't lose. I wouldn't lose—not now, when I'd finally found the things I really wanted.

The roar of the knights swelled. The men in front leaned forward, baring their teeth. I sank into a ready crouch, the blade of Winter's Wrath reflecting the light from the torches.

A horse's whinny sounded from somewhere. As men turned, the rumble of hooves filled the air. I lifted my head as the Winter Guard burst from the night, their battle braids streaming behind them.

Liria led the charge. She wore a battle braid, too, her hair streaming behind her in a thick silvery rope. She was breathtaking, her green eyes blazing and her mouth stretched on a war cry that lifted over the thunder of the horses' hooves.

And she held the scepter like a sword.