Chapter 9

Sigurn's cabin was like a small wooden jewelry box tucked away in an enchanted forest. The scent of cedar filled my nose as I stood in the center of the one—and only—room, which was dominated by a stone hearth with an intricately carved mantel.

"Does the heat bother you?" Sigurn asked as he crouched before the fire he'd built. His back was to me, and his bulk obscured the flames. He'd removed his cloak, leaving him in leather pants and a quilted blue jacket that strained across his broad shoulders. A thick leather sword belt circled his waist, and his sword clinked softly against the floorboards as he poked at the flames. His hair, which had been damp with snow when we entered, dried in curls that nestled against his nape. The glow from the lamp he'd lit put reddish highlights among the brown.

He twisted around suddenly—and caught me staring.

"Not really," I said, turning away so he wouldn't see the color I was certain had rushed into my cheeks. I wandered toward one of the cabin's two windows, which boasted thick glass. Through it, snow coated the pine trees like frosting. More snow swirled in the moonlight.

Behind me, Sigurn made a skeptical sound. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable. If the heat is too much?—"

"It's not," I said, shifting my gaze to his blurry reflection in the glass. Even crouched as he was, he dominated the small space. When he was standing, he had to hunch a little to keep his head from brushing the ceiling. "I can handle short periods of warmth. Don't deprive yourself of comfort on my account." I touched the windowsill, which was as beautifully decorated as the mantel. Flowers and vines chased each other around the frame. In a few places, the bear of Sigurn's house romped among the vines.

"Did you build this place yourself?" I asked.

Sigurn's low chuckle rumbled the boards under my feet. "I could only wish for such skill." In the window, he rose from the hearth. When I faced him, he offered me a smile as he dusted soot from his hands. "My father commissioned artisans to build the cabin when he first reclaimed the throne. It's a bit whimsical for a hunting lodge, but I suppose he was tired of war and longed for some beauty."

I looked around the room again, taking in the table and two chairs and a tall cabinet that probably served as a pantry of sorts. Various weapons dangled from pegs on the walls. Swords in scabbards. A crossbow and two longbows, along with several quivers of arrows. A sizable bed was tucked into one corner, its plump mattress covered with a patchwork quilt. I jerked my gaze back to Sigurn, who watched me with his thumbs tucked into his sword belt and a soft look in his brown eyes.

He startled, as if he hadn't realized he was staring, and he rubbed his beard as he looked around the room. When he rested his gaze on me again, he raised his brows in a hopeful expression. "Do you like tea?"

"I love it."

He flashed a boyish grin. "Then you're in luck." He went to the cabinet and rummaged around, withdrawing porcelain cups, a kettle, and a metal tin. When he backed away from the cabinet with everything balanced in his hands and a strainer tucked under his chin, I started forward.

"Let me help you."

"Just take the strainer," he said, shuffling toward me. I plucked it from under his chin, and he rewarded me with another smile as he went to the table and deposited everything on the surface. "You sit, Princess," he said, turning and heading for the door.

Confusion swept me as I went to the table and slung my cloak over the back of one of the chairs. "Where are you going?"

"You'll see," he said, a teasing note in his voice. Snow swirled into the cabin as he disappeared outside and then reappeared with a wooden bowl full of snow in his hand. He winked at me as he strode to the hearth, swiping the kettle from the table as he went. He dumped the snow into a cast iron pot and swung it over the fire. "This will only take a moment," he said, grabbing an iron poker and stabbing at the logs.

Fresh heat spiraled through me as I absorbed the impact of his wink. My heart pumped faster, and I longed for some of the snow to press against my searing cheeks. What was wrong with me?

But, of course, I knew. When I sneaked through the tunnels tonight, I told myself I was running from Ronan. That I simply needed time to think. But I didn't need to cross the Covenant to do that.

No, I'd risked returning for just one reason. I was attracted to Sigurn Brighthelm. I'd wanted to see him again, plain and simple. Still, I had no business crossing the Covenant just to get another look at a human.

And now he knew my true identity. The second he called me "princess," I should have run. But he was elfkin. We shared a common heritage, however distant. And he hadn't pressed me to visit the cabin. On the contrary, he'd dropped the issue the moment I declined. He'd never pressured or bullied me into doing something I didn't want to do.

I couldn't say the same for Ronan.

Fresh anger rose as the scene in the library played through my head. Had he always wanted the crown? Why push me at suitor after suitor when he intended to take the scepter for himself? Maybe he'd expected me to be grateful for his attention. He knew how much I hated enduring the parade of men he invited to the castle.

So he'd arranged for me to fall in love with him instead. And when my magic failed to progress, he became "too busy" to help me get stronger. He'd set me up, and I'd fallen right into his trap.

Metal creaked, jerking me from my thoughts. Sigurn swung the pot away from the fire. The pot had a pour spout, and he wrapped a cloth around his hand and carefully funneled the boiling water into the kettle.

"I hope you're ready for the best tea of your life," he said, carrying the steaming kettle to the table.

I couldn't control my smile—or my runaway heart rate. Not when he looked so pleased with himself.

But he also looked a little ridiculous contorting his giant body into the much smaller chair. As he pushed it forward, his knees bumped the edge of the table, setting the teacups rattling and the water sloshing over the top of the kettle.

"Damn," he muttered, glancing up at me. "Sorry."

"It's all right," I said, hiding another smile. "But maybe I should pour," I added, reaching for the kettle.

"Probably a good idea." He gave me a sheepish look as he opened the tin and spooned dried leaves into the strainer. We worked as a team and, within minutes, we lifted our cups and clinked them together.

"Skella," he said softly.

"What does that mean?"

"Good health. It's an old word from the language Nordlingans used before—" He snapped his mouth shut.

"Before…?" I prompted.

He sighed. "Before the elves stamped it out."

I lowered my cup. "Oh."

Regret passed over his features. "I shouldn't have brought it up?—"

"No, it's fine." I set my cup down. "I've never heard of my people stamping out human languages."

He offered a wry smile. "That doesn't surprise me. Ishulum has a much different view of the Rebellion than Andulum."

"You mean the Incursion."

Another wry smile. "We have a different name for that, too, Your Highness." He nudged his chin toward me. "You should drink that before it gets cold."

I sipped my tea. He did the same, his brown eyes holding mine over the rim of his cup. More heat snaked through me—and it wasn't from the tea. At the same time, a thread of tension marred the cabin's easy atmosphere.

"Well?" Sigurn asked when he'd lowered his cup. "Is it good?"

"Yes, thank you." I set my cup down. "I know my people didn't always act honorably toward yours, but you murdered us by the thousands."

"Only after you enslaved us."

For a moment, I was speechless. "Are you referring to a magical binding? I'll grant you that the practice required a human to follow an elf's orders, but it also allowed your people to live more than a handful of decades. I'm not entirely ignorant of human history. Some of your greatest scholars and poets were bound. Their achievements were possible because they had more time to study, learn, and write."

He leaned back in his chair. "Come now, Princess, do you really think all of Andulum rose up against our elven oppressors because humans were happy to be bound? Many of the scholars and poets you speak of also wrote about the horrors of involuntary servitude, and they fought alongside the unbound when we pushed the elves from our land."

Anger kindled in my gut. "You speak of Andulum as if my people invaded it. That's not the case. Andulum was ours, too. And you're elfkin. At least one of your ancestors must have loved an elf."

His mouth tightened. "You can't think of another way a human woman might find herself pregnant with an elf's child?"

I snapped my mouth shut. Immediate contrition coursed through me. "I… I'm sorry, Sigurn. I didn't know." And I'd ruined our time together.

All at once, the tension drained from his face. He sat forward, his shoulders lifting as he sighed. "I don't know for certain, either. As I said, my ancestry is murky. But I know such things happened." His voice softened. "A lot of bad things happened between our two peoples, Princess. But it was a long time ago. And you're right. I'm elfkin. I know how it feels to be hated for something beyond my control."

"I thought you said no one knows about your blood."

"My mother knows." He lowered his gaze to his teacup, his dark lashes thick against his cheeks. "She's the granddaughter of old King Tola." Sigurn lifted his head. "Tola was?—"

"The king your grandfather overthrew," I said. "I read about your family."

Sigurn's smile was slow and wicked. "Did you now."

My heart sped up. "Your family," I stressed.

"You wanted to know more about me."

I picked up my tea and took a healthy sip. But I knew it didn't hide my blush. "I just wanted to know if you were a real prince."

He lifted the kettle and poured us both more tea. "Did you read about my battles?" he asked mildly.

I pretended to think about it. "Nothing really stood out."

His boyish grin made another appearance. "You read all of them, didn't you? I bet you know them by heart."

"You're impossible," I said, laughter tugging at my cheeks. It was a relief after the horrible tension.

"Which battle interested you the most?" He raised a dark brow. "I'm right here, available to answer all your questions."

"Fine. What happened at the Battle of Bleakpoint? The one where you earned your spurs and the name Brighthelm?"

"I was seventeen. My grandfather had just been murdered, and my father was trying to reclaim the throne. I fought hard." Sigurn huffed. "I felt invincible, as most seventeen-year-old boys do. None of us realized the war would drag on for eight years."

Curiosity tugged at me. "Your grandfather was called Roddard the Usurper. Why did he overthrow Tola?"

Sigurn sobered. "Tola was determined to drive the elfkin from Andulum. He preferred driving us into the sea. Or a pit filled with venomous snakes. My grandfather realized our family's noble blood wouldn't keep us safe if Tola ever discovered what we were. He also believed the elfkin existed for a reason. That it was important for a spark of magic to endure in Andulum. So he killed Tola to stop the killing." Sigurn ran a hand through his hair, mussing the thick, dark waves. "My grandfather wasn't the strongest king, but he managed to hold onto power for twenty years."

"Before Tola's supporters killed him," I said, recalling the histories. But the histories hadn't said anything about Sigurn's mother. "You said your mother is Tola's granddaughter."

He nodded. "Her name is Hetta. Once it became clear my father was going to win the Midden War, Tola's supporters offered a deal. If my father pardoned the last of Tola's men and married Tola's granddaughter, no one would oppose his claim to the throne."

It was a common enough way to end conflicts. That didn't mean it made for happy marriages. And Sigurn had said he knew how it felt to be hated for his blood.

"Did your mother know your father was elfkin?" I asked.

"Not at first." Sigurn shifted in his chair, making the wood creak. "I was a child when she realized I had magic. She can't denounce my father or me without sacrificing her own position. If she thought she could get away with it, she would."

An ache shot across my heart. How could any mother hate a son like Sigurn? He'd fought beside his father, risking his own life to defend his family.

On impulse, I reached across the table and took his hand. "What does your father say about this? Does he know how your mother feels?"

Sigurn looked at my hand on his. Just as I started to pull away, he curled his fingers around mine and lifted his dark eyes. "Unfortunately, he doesn't say much at all these days. The injuries he sustained in the fighting finally caught up to him a few years ago. He keeps to his bed. We have a…healer in the castle who looks after him and manages his pain."

I squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry. It must be hard for you to see him that way."

"It is. But at least he accomplished what he set out to do. I'm grateful for that."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Sigurn how alike we were, with both of our fathers living yet lost to the world. But I swallowed the words, which might have raised questions I wasn't prepared to answer. Not yet. Maybe never.

Because no matter how much I liked Sigurn, there could never be anything but friendship between us—and even that was tenuous. He couldn't enter Ishulum, and I took an enormous risk every time I crossed the Covenant. I couldn't keep doing it.

"I should go," I said, pushing my chair back and standing.

Sigurn stood with me. "Already?"

I pulled my cloak from the chair and swung it around my shoulders. "It's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. If someone discovers me missing…" An image of Ronan finding the pillows I'd stuffed under my blankets sprang into my head. Suppressing a shudder, I pulled my hood up. "Thank you for the tea."

Sigurn fetched his own cloak. "I'll walk you to the Covenant."

"There's no need."

"There is every need." He retrieved his sword and buckled it around his waist. "It's non-negotiable, Princess. I'm going with you."

I could hardly stop him. "Call me Liria. Your blood is as royal as mine."

"Not everyone would agree with that," he said. "I can think of plenty of people who would line up to call me unworthy."

My chest tightened.

Unworthy.

Ronan's angry voice echoed in my memory. Do you know what happens to weak rulers, Liria?

Yes, actually. The person they trusted more than anyone in the world lied to them and broke their heart. I ducked my head and fiddled with my cloak as Sigurn put out the fire. By the time he finished, I'd stuffed my anger and disappointment away.

"Ready?" he asked.

I smiled. "Yes."

We were both quiet on the walk to the Covenant, the weight of unsaid things heavy between us. Was this the last time I would see him? And why did that bother me? I'd met him twice. But I'd never spoken so freely with anyone. With Sigurn, I could let my guard down. I hadn't realized how much I needed the freedom to just…talk. To share a conversation with no purpose or agenda.

When we reached the Covenant, he frowned. "You don't have a weapon."

"I don't need one this time. My horse is secure, and I'm not worried about injured boars."

Sigurn passed a hand over his mouth, palming his beard. "Well, I am," he muttered.

"I'll be fine," I said, resisting the urge to tug on the thick, dark hair that covered his chin. "I'll get my magic back as soon as I'm across the Covenant."

He grunted.

"Thank you for showing me the cabin. It was lovely."

He smiled, but his eyes held some of the melancholy I'd glimpsed the first time we met. "I have a feeling this is the kind of goodbye that lasts forever, Princess."

"I asked you to call me Liria."

He adjusted my hood, tugging it more snugly around my face. As he withdrew his hand, his big fingers brushed my cheek, the calluses scraping gently. His were a swordsman's hands, the rough spots earned over a lifetime of wielding weapons. But he was gentle. My gut instinct about Sigurn Brighthelm had been correct. He would never use his size or strength to hurt unless honor demanded it. Because he was honorable.

"Liria, then," he said softly. "Let's not say goodbye. Instead, let's say we'll see each other soon. I'll wait for you here each night just like I've been doing."

My throat thickened. Which was silly. I couldn't cry over a man I hardly knew. I couldn't lie to him, either.

"I don't think I'll be able to return, Sigurn. My father is dying."

"I thought it was sorrow sleep."

"You know about my parents?"

His smile was soft. "My people concern themselves with the elven houses."

My face heated. "You must have thought me very arrogant for saying that."

"You had a point. Humans live such short lives compared to elves. Your father has ruled for centuries. It's much easier to keep track of your royals." His eyes grew intense as he took my hand. "Whatever happens, promise me you'll be careful."

Anxiety prickled over my nape. "You mean crossing the Covenant?"

"With your succession. Take it from someone who's spent his life reclaiming and defending a throne. It's the loneliest chair in the world, Liria. You can't afford to trust anyone, not even those closest to you. Proximity to power tends to make people want more of it. And power can corrupt even the purest heart."

I nodded, the weight of his words heavy on my shoulders. "I won't forget."

He took my hand, an apology in his eyes. "I don't want to part on a negative note. The next time you come, I promise we'll only speak of happy things."

We both knew "next time" might not come, but I smiled anyway. "All right. I'll see you soon." I turned toward the Covenant. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I spun, went on my toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," I whispered, then rushed through the Covenant with his sharp intake of breath at my heels.

I didn't look back until I reached the Winter forest. Sigurn was a hazy outline on the other side of the barrier. Maybe I would see him again. But first, I had to face Ronan. I wouldn't let him steal my legacy. My magic settled over me like an old friend, the tattoos around my wrists glowing softly as my power surged in my veins. I moved deeper into the trees, then paused and looked over my shoulder.

Sigurn was gone. Or at least no longer visible.

With a deep breath, I turned and kept moving. He couldn't help me now. I had to fight my battles alone.

A light snow fell, and I welcomed the swirl of chilly air after the heat of Sigurn's fire. Mindful of how the Covenant affected animals, I'd left Davina happily pulling up grass at the entrance to the forest. As I neared it, the snow grew thicker. The temperature dropped, icy air burrowing under my gown. The cold rarely bothered me. I'd been born into its embrace. But my breath puffed and my lungs burned as I walked the last few steps of the forest.

Without warning, foreboding slid down my spine. A horse's soft whinny drifted toward me on the air.

Davina.

I started forward, my heart pounding painfully. If something had hurt her, I'd never forgive myself. I jogged the last few steps and burst from the trees. And I staggered to a halt at the sight that greeted me. Ronan sat atop his destrier with my horse's reins in his hand.

And a line of Winter Guards behind him.