Page 7

N iam threw another log on the fire in his room and stared out at the darkening sky. Thick snowflakes drifted, piling against the window ledge. Telaga Pass would soon be impenetrable if the storm hadn’t made it so already.

What of Cousin Yarif? Was the poor boy caught out there in the freezing cold? But no, regardless of the image Niam carried in his head, Yarif would be a man now, whose kidnapping could start a war. Was his forced husband complicit?

If so, Niam would offer his cousin sanctuary. He’d also invalidate the marriage if Yarif wanted, even if it earned him the emperor's wrath. The gold found in Delletina’s mountains could surely buy some concessions. But first, to locate Yarif.

If anyone could find him, Casseign could. Niam should be out there, but no. He wasn’t the best swordsman nor a skilled tracker. He could only pace his rooms, hoping morning would bring good news. How long before he heard anything?

A tap came to his door.

Who’d knock at this hour? “Enter.”

Bert entered the room, a young cousin who-knew-how-many-times-removed who served as Mother’s apprentice in the healing arts. He brought with him the heavenly scent of the meat-laden, savory stew the cook favored on chilly nights.

“Place it on the table, please,” Niam said, returning to the window.

“I heard you sent out a search party. Is someone missing?” Bert gushed with all the curiosity of one who’d yet to see twenty winters.

Curiosity didn’t mix well with a king’s business. Niam fixed Bert with a narrowed-eyed glare. “Where did you hear that information?”

Bert swallowed hard while setting the tray down on a table near the fire. “Um… Just around.”

“As a healer, you might overhear many things, particularly from feverish patients. You'll lose respect if you don't learn to keep confidences, especially about things that don't concern you.” Niam kept his tone serious but shy of scolding.

“Ye… yes. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” A hint of pink tinted Bert’s pale skin.

“That will be all.” Dismissive, yes, but the boy couldn’t keep from prying. If he didn’t learn to control himself, Niam would suggest Mother find herself another apprentice.

He settled in a chair near the fire and ate a spoonful of stew.

Magnificent, as always. How their cook could turn something as simple as venison and potatoes into something so tasty defied his logic.

Then his thoughts turned maudlin. Was Yarif warm?

Hungry? Mother’s only tie to her beloved sister, sacrificed to start a war.

Yarif’s abduction would give the empire reason to invade Delletina, take their gold, and leave the people destitute. Nobles didn’t want the kingdom to make treaties with the empire for that very fear, but if they joined willingly, Niam could negotiate terms. If they were conquered….

Niam couldn’t let his kingdom fall to enemies.

He picked at his dinner, surprised to find he’d emptied his wineglass, barely eating, regardless of the flavorful stew.

Shouts from outside interrupted the quiet of his meal.

Niam ran from his room and raced down the stairs of the old keep he’d converted into a retreat.

He dashed into the courtyard just as riders came to a halt.

Casseign dismounted from his mule, barking orders at his men until they steered their mules to the side, revealing three mounted strangers, one hanging loosely in the arms of the man behind him, eyes closed.

The three men stank, were grimy from time spent on the road, and were covered in blood.

Theirs, or someone else’s? And were these Illa’s men? Or could one be Yarif?

“We need the healer,” Casseign shouted, reaching to take the obviously injured man.

The rider scowled, then maneuvered himself to the ground, taking the barely conscious man more securely into his arms. The rider proved to be larger than even Casseign, with dark hair and eyes. He wore no armor, only torn clothing and a tattered cloak. Blood smeared his face .

“Get them inside,” Niam ordered. “They’ll freeze to death out here.” He disappeared into the keep to locate Mother.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs behind Niam. “Your Majesty.”

Niam whirled to find Casseign a few steps below him. “Report.”

Casseign bowed as best he could on the narrow spiral stairs. “The men we found are two Cormirans and a badly injured Renvallian. I believe the Cormirans are Draylon Aravaid and Captain Rufe Ferund. They claim to be mere merchants.”

The breath caught in Niam’s throat. Draylon Aravaid? The emperor's son?

“The third man claims to be your cousin,” Casseign added.

Cousin Yarif! He’d looked so pale… “Get them settled,” Niam snapped, fear spurring him into a near frenzy. “We’ll talk later. How badly is my cousin injured?”

Casseign raised his brows but didn’t question the relationship. “Someone whipped him, Your Majesty. He appears starved as well.”

How dare someone attack Niam’s kin! “While I hate to move him more than necessary, we must place him in a room near mine on the family’s floor for his protection.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Niam barely tapped on the door before bursting into his mother’s solar.

“We have visitors, I take it.” She bustled about the room, assembling dried herbs in a basket. “Visitors needing my care.”

“How did you…? ”

His mother smiled. “Nothing avoids my notice. How many, who are they, and what should I bring?”

“Three men. Our nobles would revolt if they knew we had Draylon Aravaid under our roof. There’s also a Cormiran captain. The last is…” Niam needed to be delicate and not simply blurt out something that might cause his mother pain.

“The last is…” Mother rolled her hand in an “out with it” gesture.

“Possibly cousin Yarif, in terrible shape.”

Mother gathered a few more things. “Take me to him at once.” She pushed through the door before Niam got the chance. He rushed to keep up, but no one could match his mother on a mission.

She burst into a room a few doors down from Niam’s private chambers, though how she knew the location was anyone’s guess. Two soldiers held a man between them dressed in bloodied rags, pain twisting his face. The soldiers backed him toward the bed.

“No!” Mother yelled. “On his stomach.” She approached the wounded man.

“It’s all right now, lad. You’re safe. Lie down and let me tend to your wounds.

Afterward, we’ll find you a nice bowl of stew.

” Mother narrowed her eyes at one soldier, then took his place supporting her patient.

“Go to the kitchens. Get food.” He dashed out the door.

Keeping up a constant flow of instructions—to the remaining soldier and her patient—she maneuvered the injured man onto the bed.

“I’m dirty,” he protested. “I’ll ruin the nice sheets. ”

“Shh…” Mother soothed. “We have plenty more. Now, lie there. Let me look.” She ordered the other guard, “I’ll need water, soap, and cleaning cloths. Hurry.” The soldier fled the room.

She glanced at Niam. “Go see to our other guests. This poor, unfortunate man gets the next few hours of my time. If I’m needed, send word.”

Niam tried to find traces of the boy he once knew in the man before him, but dirt, pain, and a few weeks of hard living would make his closest friends appear unfamiliar.

He backed from the room, turning at the sound of approaching footsteps—coming face to face with dark hair, dark eyes, and an angel’s face.

If the angel came fresh from battle.