Heart of Winter (The Drake Chronicles Book 1)

by Lauren Gilley

  “Yes, well, I am a man of medicine, but one can’t be too dismissive of certain…visions.”

  “Visions?”

  Olaf waved a dismissive hand and retreated to one of his shelves. He returned with a small, blue glass vial stoppered with a bit of cork. “Here, take this.”

  Oliver did so, carefully. “What is it?”

  “An experiment of mine. I’ve ground ice rose, tempered it with a few herbs, and created a suspension. Should you feel the fever begin to return – you’ll know the early signs, I’d imagine, even if you sometimes ignore them,” he said with a pointed tilt of his chin.

  Oliver’s face heated. “Yes.”

  “Take three drops of that, under the tongue, just before bed. I’m working on a theory.”

  Oliver glanced at the bottle dubiously – but he wasn’t averse to actually using its contents, should he feel himself relapsing. Lying on his back for five days, useless and stupid, was no way to live. “All right. Thanks.”

  “Oh, and…” Olaf went to fetch another bottle, this one clear, full of a viscous, pink-yellow oil.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Rose oil.” When Oliver glanced at him in question, Olaf winked. And smirked. “Never know when that might come in handy.”

  Face burning, Oliver thanked him again and hurried out.

  ~*~

  The mews was attached to the stable via a covered walkway, and Tessa was immediately charmed by it. The flags of the floor were covered in straw, all save a clean area in front where coals simmered in braziers, heating the whole of the small space. It was styled after one of the timber houses she’d seen in Aeres proper, by the harbor, its peaked roof laid with sod, and overgrown with cold-weather mosses; toasty warm inside, it boasted perches down both sides where hunting hawks and messenger falcons were tethered. Each had its own dish of water, and room to stretch his or her wings. Windows on the far wall let in light, illuminating dust motes as the birds ruffled their feathers and groomed themselves.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, pushing back her hood and surveying it.

  “You think so?” Leif sounded surprised.

  “There’s something very peaceful about an animal’s house,” she said, and turned to find him regarding her with a muted sort of delight. His smile was a small thing, but the emotion shone through in his eyes.

  “Yes, I think so, too.”

  His favorite bird was a large female with a creamy, brown-flecked breast and a barred tail. She was one of the few left unhooded, and she cocked her head to fix Tessa with one large, round, amber eye. Tessa had the sense she was being weighed and judged.

  “This is Él.” Leif stroked the top of her head and her chest with one finger. She nipped at him delicately, and then shut her eyes and leaned into the touch. He smiled. “She can be a bit particular, but she never misses.” He glanced toward Tessa. “You want to touch her?”

  “No.” She folded her gloved hands together in front of her. “That’s no way to make friends with someone particular.”

  That earned her another approving look.

  She stepped back and let Leif ready Él. He hooded her, and donned a thick leather glove; he tucked another in his belt, and she had the sense that she would be offered a turn, if she wanted; Tessa didn’t feel she’d earned the honor yet, at least not with the hawk.

  With a pouch full of raw meat scraps from the kitchen, and Él perched securely on Leif’s gloved forearm, they set out across the stable yard and through a postern gate to the flat, snow-covered field beyond.

  It was the same gate they’d set out from on horseback seven days ago; the tracks they’d left had been filled with fresh snow, and new tracks marked its surface now: messengers coming and going, the smooth sleigh tread of deliveries; the hoofprints of hunters’ horses, or those of some noble off for a good canter to clear his head. The sun rode high, nearly midday, the sky a clear, crystalline blue. Their breath steamed in the chill air, but the sun was bright enough to warm her skin, and there was no wind. A gorgeous morning, sugar-frosted and glittering.

  They walked for a way, headed toward the tree line, and stopped when Leif noticed a much smaller sort of track in the snow. “Rabbit,” he explained, pointing out the little snowshoe prints to her. “Él’s favorite.”

  Tessa studied the bird, still hooded, sitting upright and alert on Leif’s arm, but easy for all that. She had a sense of readiness about her, but not nerves. “She’s much larger than the birds in Drakewell – my brother used to go hawking,” she explained. “Does she ever bring you back anything besides rabbits?”

  “Martins, occasionally. She killed a fox, once.”

  “Really?”

  He grinned and stroked Él’s feathers. “It was too heavy, so she could only carry it a few feet at a time. I saw her sort of hopping along with it.” He demonstrated with his free hand, chuckling at the memory. “And when I got to her, she was so proud. She’d caught it right in the eyes with her claws.” He jabbed his fingers at his own eyes. “A lucky strike. She must have killed it straight off.” He glanced toward Tessa and winced. “Sorry. That’s not a pleasant image.”

  “But a true one.” She smiled at him. “I grew up with a brother – and a sister as bold as one. I’m not as delicate as you might think.”

  He returned her smile. “Never said you were.” Él shuffled on his arm. “She’s not impressed with our conversation, are you, girl? You ready to fly?”

  He removed the hood, and Él rotated her head, back and forth, pupils shrinking against the light. Tessa swore she could see the moment the hawk recognized her surroundings. She sat up taller, and gave a few quick, shuffling flaps of her wings. Made a high, chirping noise and glanced off toward the trees.

  “Ready?” Leif asked her. He chucked her under the chin like one would a baby, then lowered his arm, and lifted it quickly. “Off you go.”

  Él launched off his glove, wings beating the air, and went winging off across the snow, climbing and climbing.

  “She’s beautiful,” Tessa said, watching her shrink smaller and smaller with distance. Leif didn’t respond, and when Tessa turned to him, it was her he studied, rather than the bird.

  There was an intensity to him that reminded her of Erik. An air graver and more serious than that of his brother. He was still growing into it; it gapped in some places, and let youth and exuberance peek through, but there was no mistaking it for what it was: a kingly bearing. He wasn’t merely the older brother, but the heir, too. There was something wonderfully magnetic about it, for all that the sight and sound of Rune put butterflies in her stomach.

  She’d meant to ask him something about hawking, some benign bit of conversation that, like most of their conversations, helped her learn more about her new home, but which failed to address one pertinent fact: that she was meant to marry him. So, instead, caught in the blue of his gaze, she said, “My brother said something to me once, and I suspect he heard it from Father. He said, ‘Knowing that you are to inherit is not a blessing or a thrill. It’s a weight that you carry with you always. To know that the safety and happiness of an entire people rests on your shoulders is a heavy thing.’”

  His eyes widened, and then he nodded. “He had the right of it.” His gaze scanned out across the field, toward the distant, huddled shape of Aeres. “I imagine for some princes, it’s great fun to think about the jewels, and the fine horses, and – I don’t know, Birger talks about the great adoring crowds of admirers for the crown prince in the South – but it isn’t like that here.” He smiled a little ruefully. “Uncle never let us forget growing up that it was a privilege and a responsibility. It’s not all balls and beauties up here.” He didn’t sound bitter, exactly, but a heavy note touched his voice.

  “Do you ever…” Maybe she shouldn’t ask that.

  But he said, “What?” his gaze soft when it returned to her. Inviting.

  “Do you ever wish that your uncle had married? That he’d had sons of his own?” So that kingship had
n’t fallen in your lap?

  He took a deep breath, and considered a moment. “Not at first. It seemed like a high honor when I was little – and it is, don’t get me wrong. But lately it’s felt – it’s felt immense. Something sure, like death; I’m hurtling toward it, and I can’t change it.” His mouth tugged sideways. “I guess that’s how Uncle feels most of the time, so it’s only fair.”

  “Does he not” – she knew she was overstepping, now, but couldn’t resist – “want a family of his own?”

  Leif’s expression shifted, from a quick pulse of what she swore was fear, to something more careful and guarded. “He has a family,” he said, firmly. “All the family that he needs.”

  She thought of Erik bent over Oliver’s bed, one hand cupped beneath Oliver’s head, the other resting on his chest. Did Leif know? Did he understand? Surely he must, but… She bit her lip. “He’s lucky to have all of you,” she said. “He’s a very sweet man, and he deserves to be loved.”

  His brows lifted. “Sweet isn’t the word most people use.”

  “I’ve seen him be sweet. He was very caring with Ollie, while he was sick.”

  Leif’s nostrils flared, and his gaze narrowed. Worried, now, for sure. He glanced away, off into the distance where Él had disappeared. “Yes, well…”

  “Family’s important to me as well,” she went on, her tone gentle, hoping that he could understand what she was driving at without her having to say it outright. “It’s only Mother, and Lia, and Ollie and me left, now, thanks to the war. Oliver can be prickly, and insubordinate, and I know he isn’t a proper warrior like everyone up here in the North, but he’s kind, and brave, and he always wants what’s best for us. He’s very dear to me, and I would like to see him happy. I like when I can tell that others see him as I do, for who he really is, and not merely for his lack of name.”

  His gaze cut slowly back toward her, his lips pressed together into a thin line.

  She pushed on, pulse tripping: “I’m glad that your uncle and Oliver seem to have reached an accord. I think they could be great friends.”

  His brows gave a single jump, and he twisted to face her fully. “Great friends,” he repeated, woodenly.

  “Yes. Quite intimate friends.” She stared back.

  And saw the moment he went from thinking she was probing about his uncle, to instead offering up her cousin’s truth – both of their truths. Understanding dawned, his smile wide and blinding as the snow all around them. “Yes. Yes, I think you might be right.” He laughed. “You’re a marvel.”

  She flushed, but before she could answer, he stepped in close – very close. His free hand lifted, and his fingertips pressed lightly along her jaw, the pad of his thumb resting at the point of her chin, his skin cold, but his touch oh so gentle. “Oh,” she murmured, caught and held in his gaze.

  “Tessa.” His voice went low, and earnest. “I know that you fancy my brother – no, I understand. Rune is handsomer, and more charming. Rune is fun in a way that I am not. He’s my little brother, and I love him dearly, and I would never stand in the way of his happiness – nor of yours.

  “All that I ask, before you make a final decision, is that you consider. Consider me. Please.” And he leaned in and kissed her.

  It was quick, proper and not untoward, his lips cold from the chill air, but it was a firm press, no hesitation. Not the awkward fumbling of a pompous lordling back home, but the swift, sure touch of a man’s mouth against hers.

  He was smiling when he drew back, and she could only stare, as his thumb lifted and pressed against her lower lip, briefly, before he let go and stepped back. Still holding her gaze, he lifted his gloved hand, and Él landed lightly upon it with a flutter of wings, a dead rabbit landing with a plop in the snow at their feet.

  Tessa finally breathed out, her breath a white mist between them, and she was most definitely considering.

  ~*~

  Oliver’s lingering headache made reading difficult. His eyes kept glazing over, and he would snap back to attention to realize that he’d read whole pages without absorbing any of the information on them. With a sigh, he abandoned the library and made his shaky way down to the great hall to see what was available for lunch.

  The king was hearing petitions, seated upon his throne, on his dais, before the reindeer banner. Food had been left out to the side, though. Oliver plated up some cold chicken, bread, and a bowl of soup, and sat at the trestle left available for anyone wanting to observe the proceedings. He was aware of the man two spaces down from him, a wealthy merchant by the richness of his clothes, giving him a suspicious, sideways look – whether because he was foreign, because he’d recently been ill, or because he was wearing what was very obviously one of Erik’s old tunics, given the fine, crimson velvet chased with silver, Oliver didn’t know, nor did he care – but Magnus was on the dais with the king, and he caught Oliver’s gaze and winked.

  Oliver grinned, and dunked bread into his soup.

  A woman stood before Erik, dressed in sturdy boots, thick, homespun wool, and a clean apron. Her face was weathered, but just as clean as her apron, as was her hair, braided into a tidy crown around the top of her head. She held herself tall and proud, though her hands twisted together in front of her in a show of nerves.

  “They got two of the ewes, your majesty. Took them off in the middle of the night, and only a little blood and bit of wool left to show what had happened. I saw the tracks, though, and there was no mistaking them for dogs.”

  Wolves, Oliver thought, with an inward shudder.

  “We have fences,” the woman continued, “but the wolves got through the slats. My neighbor says I ought to have a wall, instead, but with my husband in the ground these past six months, and three mouths to feed…” She trailed off, and bowed her head, shoulders shaking fractionally as she fought her emotions. Not a single tear fell.

  Oliver frowned to himself. It was easy, at moments, to feel overwhelmed by what lay ahead of him, and to get bogged down in his disadvantages. The war with the Sels, the threat to Drakewell, being here in a new country, as a landless, titleless bastard, negotiating a marriage contract and dealing with an ever-increasing attraction that got harder and harder to ignore. But this woman was a widow, and a mother, and predators were eating her sheep, and his own problems felt small and stupid by comparison.

  Erik had listened in attentive stillness, one elbow braced on the arm of his throne, chin resting on his knuckles. The sunlight sparkled now on the beads in his hair as he leaned forward, hand falling, his simple shift in posture seeming to bridge the large distance between himself and his petitioner. When the woman lifted her head, face steeled against hope, he inclined his head to an angle that Oliver was coming to know, and to admire – for the way it highlighted the sharp-cut features of his sometimes-harsh face, and for the way it made his eyes seem so large, framed by black lashes, and serious brows. It was a sincere expression, one that battered down the invisible barrier between king and subject, so that he seemed only a man – albeit a regal and powerful one, rather than a heartless monarch.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, voice a low, meaningful rumble that sent pleasant shivers rippling through Oliver’s stomach. “I’ll send my own men to build you a wall.”

  “Oh,” the woman breathed, shoulders dropping with relief. “Your majesty…”

  “If my stablemaster and my mason visit tomorrow, will you and your fellow shepherds be able to meet with them? If the wolves are having a lean winter, it may be necessary to fortify the entire city, and I can donate some of our excess reindeer herds to satiate their hunger.”

  The woman’s tears fell, then, and she dashed at them with trembling fingers as she thanked him profusely.

  Erik smiled, narrowly, but truly, a sad, sympathetic sort of smile.

  He wishes he could do more, Oliver thought, and knew it was true. Because he was not an awful, arrogant prick like Oliver had thought at first. He was tall and strong and stern, yes, but he felt things – deep
ly – and he wanted to do right by people – random fits of overzealous passion in the sparring yard notwithstanding.

  “Mr. Meacham.” Birger settled on the bench beside him. “Good to see you up and about.”

  A quick glance proved his smile was warm and glad. Oliver twitched a smile back and returned his gaze to the dais. Revna was leading the now-crying woman away and a man was stepping up to take her place. “Good to be up and about.”

  “It’s nicely done, isn’t it?” Birger asked, and Oliver saw him gesture toward the dais in his periphery. “For all his bluster, there’s a true heart underneath.”

  Oliver wondered if every soul in Aeres was going to assure him of the goodness of Erik.

  “Yes, it appears so,” he said, mildly, and Birger snorted.

  “I hear we’re to begin serious negotiations in regards to a marriage.”

  “You heard correctly.”

  Birger chuckled again, for some reason. “We’ll go to the study from here. If you’re up for it.”

  “Oh, I’m up for it,” Oliver blustered. He might feel awful, but he wasn’t going to let it be known just yet.

  The man standing before the dais bowed his head, and took his leave of the king.

  Erik stared a moment into the middle distance, after his departure, rubbing at the undersides of his rings with the pad of his thumb. Oliver remembered their cool, smooth silver surfaces all too vividly. Then he turned his head, caught Oliver’s gaze, and his smile was a subtle thing; it only touched his eyes, crinkles sprouting at their corners. It lit up Oliver’s insides as if it were a beacon.

  “Ah,” Birger said, as Oliver returned to his lunch.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, laddie, nothing.”

  Oliver spooned soup into his mouth, keenly aware the whole time of Erik leaving the dais, trailed by his guards, and approaching the trestle where he sat with Birger. He was careful not to look up until Birger said, “The wolves do trouble me.” Then he glanced up from beneath his lashes and saw that Erik stood right before them – before him, rather than Birger, his rings glinting in the sunlight where his hands rested with thumbs hooked behind his wide belt buckle.