The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride

by Kati Wilde

  Laughing, he lifted her astride the nightmare before she could protest. “They are both strong enough to carry me.”

  “That is sensible.” A palfrey would tire under the burden of his giant frame, and on such a journey, they could not be certain one of the horses wouldn’t be injured or fall lame. Finding another horse for Anja would be easy. Not so for him.

  He held up her satchel. “Shall I tie this to the saddle or do you wish to carry it?”

  “I’ll carry it.” Anja slung the strap over her shoulder and across her breasts, then adjusted her sword sheathed at her back so that the satchel wouldn’t interfere with drawing her weapon.

  Kael looked her over, then nodded before leaping up into his saddle.

  “You have my seal,” Kael said to Minam. “Use it well. But do not send for more brides.”

  The chamberlain flushed. “Yes, my king.”

  The Conqueror swung his horse around. Anja nudged hers forward, and they started off at a brisk pace—too brisk for conversation. Yet she had little to say, anyway. All the amusement she’d felt earlier had fled, and a sick knot lodged in her chest as they began this trek home. If not for the urgent reason to return to Ivermere, she would have slipped out of the fortress in the night and ridden south, left this humiliation behind, until she reached a land with no expectations of her, and there was no shame in being herself.

  Then they passed through the outer gate, and her breath was taken away. For she had known that the mountain fortress in Grimhold was a truly astonishing feat, but she had been sleeping through their arrival. Never had she seen anything so imposing—or so beautiful. Carved from the mountain itself, it soared upwards in heaven-piercing spires, and spread outward, overlooking a deep chasm crossed by a wide stone bridge.

  They slowed the horses to a walk as they approached the bridge, allowing her the opportunity to say, “The stronghold is so very impressive. All the more so because no magic made it.”

  Kael cast a glance over his shoulder at the fortress. A grunt was his response before he looked forward again. “With enough slaves, a king needs no magic. He needs instead a sword stabbed through his head.”

  She could not argue with that. Looking over the side of the bridge to the chasm below dizzied her, so she studied him as they rode forward. He seemed so eager to leave—yet was his kingdom under threat of war? Never had she seen so many demands upon a king’s time, except when there was a looming danger. Yet surely he would not abandon his fortress for a month if there was?

  “Do you truly intend to conquer Winhelm?”

  His mouth tightened. “Only if Frewin leaves me no choice.”

  “By sending his army over the pass?”

  “Yes.”

  “What argument does he have with you?”

  “None that I have started. He fears I will not be satisfied with four kingdoms and intends to stop me before I can take his.”

  Given all that she had heard of Kael, she would have believed the same as Frewin. Yet now she was not so certain. “Are you satisfied with four?”

  “I have not time enough in a day for five.” With a suggestive arch of his brow, he looked to her again. “You wished to have your own kingdom. Shall we ride in that direction instead? You can conquer it with your magics and I will assist with my sword.”

  She smiled despite the hurt in her heart. She would like to ride south, and rule her own kingdom. Yet it was impossible. She tried to keep that pain out of her voice as she said, “I have heard their king has a sorcerer of his own.”

  “One so unskilled that he cannot even spy on me and see that I have no intention of invading their lands. He will be easily defeated.”

  She eyed him, trying to decide if he was jesting, or genuinely offering to help her conquer Winhelm. But it didn’t matter. With a sigh, she said, “We must ride north.”

  He regarded her with curious amusement. “Is there truly a spider in her bedchamber, or was the potion giving you waking dreams?”

  “There is truly a spider. But you are free to believe everything else I said was a potion dream.”

  His mouth hardened, the humor leaving his face. “I wish I could believe that.”

  So he would not forget her threats. Though he must not take them seriously if he meant to travel with her alone. Even last night, when she’d stood with a sword in her hand, he had not taken them seriously. Instead he had laughed when she had spoken of killing him.

  There was no reason to kill him now. She would gain nothing. And she was no longer certain Kael was the man he was rumored to be—a monster who had deserved such killing.

  Silence fell between them again.

  A city lay at the opposite end of the bridge, the stone buildings appearing almost as old as the fortress. Either Kael did not often ride through the city or he did not often ride alone, for he received astonished looks at every turn. Many people simply stopped and stared, others turned to run—though not in fear, because those who fled returned with others at their side to silently watch him pass.

  And then follow him silently through the streets. It was the strangest royal procession that Anja had ever taken part in.

  Abruptly it ended, as Kael reined his horse to a stop, frowning at something ahead. He looked to a woman standing at entrance of a home, holding her daughter’s hand. The young girl gaped up at them.

  “What is happening there?”

  The woman darted a glance at the square farther down the street, where a handful of people stood milling about a stone platform. “A sentencing today, your majesty. There were two found guilty this week.”

  Unexpectedly Kael dismounted, then looked up at Anja. “I will only delay a moment.”

  “Yes,” she said dryly. “I have seen how short your moments are.”

  A faint smile crossed his mouth, and a moment later he was at her mare’s side to help her down though she did not need the assistance. He asked the woman to look after their mounts and received tearfully happy reassurances that their horses would be cared for as she would her own children.

  Such a strange man he was. Anja felt like one of the crowd following him, though not with the same awe that they showed, but sheer curiosity. A sentencing was a common occurrence, so it was strange that he would stop now to watch—especially after tossing a table and abandoning a room full of officials who had delayed his journey.

  A magistrate in black robes sat beneath an awning, scrolls spread out on a table in front of him. Those being sentenced had already been found guilty; now they would hear the punishment that the magistrate had chosen. A woman in chains stood before him, but there was not a word said as Kael approached. He joined the small circle of observers—though that circle almost immediately grew to overfill the square, bodies packed close, except that an arm’s length of empty space remained around Kael and Anja. The magistrate stood, looking out over the crowd, clearly overwhelmed and uncertain.

  “My king,” the man said unsteadily. “May I help you?”

  “I am here to observe,” he told the magistrate. “Continue.”

  “Of course, my liege,” he said, sitting again. Nervously he shuffled papers, cleared his throat and began, “Shalen of Stonebrook, you have been found guilty of…” The magistrate hesitated, stumbling uneasily again before continuing, “of the crimes you committed, I sentence you to a silencing, wherein your tongue will be cut from your—”

  “What was the crime?” Kael demanded.

  “Crimes of slander, your majesty.”

  “She is to lose her tongue for that? What did she say?”

  “I— That is, she—” The official mopped his sweating brow. “I do not wish to repeat them.”

  “But you will repeat them.”

  With shaking hands, the older man lifted the scroll and read, “For speaking slanderous words against the king, including calling him a violent, foul murderer; a barbaric, foreign usurper undeserving of the throne; and a rapist, I sentence you to—”

  “You will sentence her for this
?” Kael shook his head. “All but one of those are true.”

  “Shall I sentence her for the one that is a lie?” The magistrate hesitated. “Which is untrue?”

  “I have never forced a woman,” Kael said.

  “But the rest are also monstrous accusations—”

  Kael gave a harsh, short laugh. “And I have done monstrous things. After I broke the chains that held me in the mines, I fought my way into Qul Wrac’s great hall. His magics shattered my hammer, so I ripped his jaw away before he could chant more spells. That was the moment he lost, but still my rage was such that I ripped out his tongue and used his own jawbone to rip him from gut to gullet. When I was finished, he lay in pieces around my bare feet and his blood painted every inch of my skin. Tell me, am I a violent murderer? Say truth.”

  Anja stared at him in horror. She had known what that slaver’s fate had been. But never had such a picture been painted of it.

  So she had heard the truth of him. Perhaps not the worst of it.

  Stubbornly the magistrate said, “If I must say you are a murderer, then I will also say he deserved that bloody death, my king.”

  “You would say that of him, but not of me?” He gestured to the woman awaiting her sentence. “She has most of it right. Only the details are amiss, and she is hardly to blame for mistaking them. Will you sentence her for repeating what she has heard? I have been called the Raviner.”

  The magistrate squirmed. “That does not only mean that you have forced women. It also means your hunger is unceasing. That could be hunger for destruction or violence, not only for women.”

  Kael looked to Anja. “What did you take it for?”

  She might as well be truthful; she had admitted to worse the past night. “I thought you ravished women against their will.”

  He appeared unsurprised by that confession. “And what did Shalen of Stonebrook think?”

  To the guard, the magistrate said, “Allow her to speak.”

  The woman turned angry eyes upon Kael. “It means exactly what he has done. Any man with such violence in him, any man who needs such power—he will take it any way he can. That is a man who will force a woman.”

  The tension in the crowd swelled, with shouts rising in anger against the woman’s words. Until Kael held up his hand. He looked to the magistrate again. “I have known too many men of whom that is true. I think she has also known such men and I cannot blame her for assuming that what is true of them is also true of me. Give her a full pardon and strike the law from the books. A citizen may say whatever she likes about the king.”

  Reeling with surprise, Anja stared at his profile, trying to reconcile that generous decision with the unyielding power standing before her. Around them, murmurs of disbelief and uncertainty joined the crackling shuffle of parchment as the magistrate rifled through his scrolls.

  “That particular law does not only concern the king. Do you give all citizens leave to make monstrous claims about another’s character?”

  “If they say truth, they can say whatever they like. But if they speak ill, and are not certain whether it is true—or if they know it not to be true—they ought to be more careful with their words, for others might be harmed by them.”

  “And if someone is harmed by a lie?”

  “That is a matter for the magistrates.” He looked to the guards. “Release her now and provide protection for her until she reaches her home.”

  They hurriedly obeyed, opening the woman’s chains—who turned and spat in Kael’s direction before stalking out of the courtyard.

  Anja looked to Kael, expecting him to respond to that insult, but he merely said to the magistrate, “Who is next?”

  “Only one more, my king.” He mopped his brow again while a short, thin man with soft eyes and fidgeting fingers was led out before the platform. The prisoner’s hands twisted together as the magistrate announced his name, then read out the sentence. “For the crimes of thievery and murder, you have been found guilty, and I have considered both your attempt to undo what was done, as well as your refusal to show remorse or accept responsibility for your actions. Therefore I sentence you to—”

  The prisoner didn’t wait to hear what it was. “I wish to petition the king!”

  “That is your right,” the magistrate said. “The next Petition Day is—”

  “Now,” Kael interrupted. “I will hear your petition. Are you guilty?”

  “I’ll admit to the theft, and that I stole a coin because I was hungry. But I don’t admit to killing anyone.”

  His face impassive, the magistrate offered, “There were witnesses who saw the stabbing, my king. Should I call for them?”

  “I confess to using my blade, but it was not murder.” Arguing earnestly, he continued, “His death wasn’t my fault.”

  Anja frowned. “If you stabbed him, how can that be?”

  A murmuring came from the crowd and all eyes turned to her as Kael spoke, “This is Princess Anja of Ivermere. Treat a question from her as if it were a question from me.”

  “Ivermere!” The thief’s face lit. “You will surely agree that the fault was not mine, Princess. For we were at the Crowing Cock, you see? Mere steps from the healer’s square. And I didn’t mean to hurt him so bad, truly I didn’t. But I lifted his coin, and he came after me, and I was in fear of my life. But once I got my knife into him, it was too deep, so I offered to carry him to the healer. And—”

  “Your majesty, your highness,” the magistrate interjected, “I am compelled to add that the prisoner only offered to carry him to the healer after he was confronted by witnesses to the stabbing. They stated that, prior to his offer to help, he attempted to run out of the tavern.”

  And would have left the man to die. But if the thief stayed, why had the man died? “Why was he not saved if the healer’s square was so near?”

  “He refused the healing,” the prisoner claimed. “He said he was an abjurer.”

  Anja blinked in surprise and looked to the magistrate. “Truly?”

  The older man nodded. “Witnesses confirmed his statement.”

  An abjurer. Anja had heard of those who refused to use magic of any sort, because the scale of the world must remain in balance—and so for every healing, there was a wounding. But it was not always equal. Sometimes the injury was small. Sometimes it was many times worse. It always changed in the scaling—and it always sought something living, which was why healers allowed only the person who needed help behind their wards, and kept cages of mice and insects for the magic to act upon. She had heard of people who refused to use magic for small injuries. But never had she heard of abjuring in such a case as mortal wounds.

  “Truly.” The thief nodded solemnly, his soft eyes gently imploring. “It was my knife that cut him, but he’d have lived. Except for that choice. He chose to die because he feared the scaling would kill another living thing, even if it was only one of the healer’s mice. But the scaling might have done no more than pinch the mouse’s belly.”

  Anja shook her head. Perhaps the man had refused the healing, but the fault here was clear. “That is not true. Only one choice here killed him, and that was when you chose to stab him.”

  “I could not know he was an abjurer, and we were so near to the healer’s square. I believed no harm would be done.”

  She was unmoved by that argument. “Then it is your fault for not asking him about his beliefs before you stuck him with your blade.”

  Seeing she would not be the ally he’d hoped for, the prisoner turned his soft eyes toward the king and met the grave hardness of Kael’s features.

  His voice as rough and sharp-edged as gravel, Kael said, “You ought to withdraw your petition. Whatever the magistrate’s sentence is, it is likely more lenient than mine.”

  “But it was not my fault!”

  “No?” With a hard smile, Kael drew his sword. “When I sliced Eathe of Vale open, he held in his guts as he fled. He made it almost four hundred paces before dropping dead. How far away i
s the healer’s square?”

  “Only fifty paces, my king,” the magistrate answered.

  “Tell me,” Kael asked the thief, “whose fault is your death if you cannot reach the healer’s square after I open you up?”

  Desperate, he tried again. “That is not the same. His refusal—”

  “Was a refusal he would not have had to make if you hadn’t stuck him with a blade!” Kael roared. “It was your knife that killed him. If you disagree, we will test how far you can run—and make no mistake, I will have killed you. Do you wish to receive my sentence?”

  The thief wildly shook his head.

  Kael looked to the magistrate. “I leave you to it.”

  Taking Anja’s hand, he pulled her with him—perhaps so she would not be lost as he pushed his way through the crowd. Except there was no pushing. From the square to the street where their horses stood waiting, the crowd fell back at his approach. Fearing the sword he still carried—or the thunder on his face.

  A young girl with curly brown hair darted out into the street and into his path, bringing them to an abrupt halt. Anja judged her only three or four years of age.

  “Bela!” A woman rushed out after her, only to freeze at the sight of the king towering over her daughter, sword in his hand. A cry broke from her lips, terror paling her face.

  Smiling up at him, her eyes bright, the child held up a small, dried flower, with petals so brown that Anja barely recognized it as a daisy.

  Kael looked down at her. “What is this?”

  “He hates flowers,” came a hiss from the crowd. “He forbade them in the fortress.”

  Moaning in abject fear, the mother pressed forward and lifted her hand beseechingly. “My king, please forgive her.”

  “What is to be forgiven?” Sheathing his sword, he knelt. “You are only showing this to me, young one, or giving it to me?”

  “Giving.” She thrust the flower at him. “You will be happy?”

  She pointed to his frowning mouth, which slowly curved upward.

  “Indeed it does.” With his huge, battle-scarred hand, Kael carefully lifted the dried daisy from her tiny fingers. “Now be kind to your mama, little one, and run back to her arms. And always remember she braved the Raviner himself to keep you safe.”