“Yes.”

Khamsin slumped back against the pillows. She’d read the legend of Thorgyll and his mighty ice spears. “Why are you telling me this? I’m an heir to the Summer Throne? Aren’t you afraid I’ll use this knowledge to destroy Wintercraig?”

Lady Frey laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Only a madman utterly lost to reason could even contemplate such a thing.” She leaned forward, her eyes bleak. “Listen to me, Summerlander, for this is the direst of warnings. If the Ice King is born, there will be no victory for any human ever again. The vengeance Wynter wreaked upon your land is nothing compared to what Rorjak will do. He will cast the entire world into endless winter. Your family’s powers, which are derived from the sun, will fade. The Frost Giants and their monstrous wolves, the garm, will reign at Rorjak’s side, and all humankind will be nothing but meat for their table. It is the day the Frost Giants live for: Carnak, the end of the world.”

Even though the poisons had long since been purged from her body, Kham’s stomach gave a queasy lurch. “If this magic is dreadful, what on earth are you doing with it? Why would you keep it unguarded for any man to use?”

“Unguarded? The Ice Heart is Wintercraig’s most carefully hidden and lethally defended treasure. It is the essence of the god-king Rorjak, the mortal-born man whom Wyrn loved so much, she gave him immortality. Because of her gift, even though his body could be destroyed, his godly essence never could. So after slaying him with Wyrn’s spears, Thorgyll gathered that essence and hid it away in a place he thought would be safe. And for thousands of years, it has been. Many have tried to embrace the Ice Heart, but except for a rare few, they died before ever reaching the place of its confinement. Wynter is one of the few. I should have known he would be. He is, after all, a legend in his own right, the man who at the age of sixteen slew a Frost Giant single-handedly.”

“If the Ice Heart is consuming him, how do we stop it?”

“Bear him a child. It was love for his brother—grief over his death—that drove Wynter down this path. Love for his child is the thing he hopes will save him.”

“Love can melt the Ice Heart?”

“It’s the only thing that can.”

“That’s why he said if I didn’t bear him a child within the year, he’d slay me and take one of my sisters to wife.”

The priestess’s eyebrows shot up. “He said he’d slay you if you didn’t give him a child?”

“Several times. Only he tried to pretty it up with a Wintercraig euphemism, saying he’d send me to face the mercy of the mountains.”

Lady Frey scowled and rolled her eyes skyward. “Idiot men. Wyrn save me from them all.” She leaned forward, her piercing eyes intent. “Listen to me, Khamsin. Wynter doesn’t have a year left. The Ice Heart’s grip is very strong, and if he can’t break free of it, he will not long survive. As to the mercy of the mountains, I suspect he has deliberately misled you as to what it truly means. No doubt, he thought fear was the best way to force your compliance because he is a great buffoon of a man who does not understand women with the hearts of warriors any more than he understands women with the hearts of snakes.” Her lips drew back, baring her teeth in what was a very close imitation of a wolf’s snarl.

Despite her initial dislike of Lady Frey, with her chilly aloofness and ice-dagger eyes, Khamsin now realized she could like this woman very much indeed.

The priestess’s snarl faded, and she eyed Khamsin in silent consideration. “Perhaps you should get out of bed today after all,” she finally said. “I know you’ll be doing so anyways as soon as I leave the room, and this way at least I can keep an eye on you for another few hours.” She rose to her feet and, without turning her head, called out, “Come in, Summerlander. See that your mistress eats as much as she can, then help her dress. Bundle her warmly. Krysti, go to the stables and tell Bron to prepare a litter.” To Khamsin, she added, “And you will promise me to stay in the litter and to tell me the instant you feel the least bit unwell. Agree now, or this will not happen.”

“Agreed.” The word popped out before she even thought about it. She blinked and gave a wry laugh. “What did I just agree to? Where are you taking me?”

Lady Frey drew herself up to her full height, looking icy, beautiful and remotely regal. “To the slopes of Mount Gerd, to witness the mercy of the mountains.”

With both Valik and Wynter gone, there was no one to gainsay Lady Frey. Lord Barsul tried, but he withered quickly beneath the priestess’s icy glare. Within the hour, the small party rode out: six armed guards, Lady Frey riding a shining white beauty of a horse, Krysti bundled thickly and riding a shaggy tan mountain pony, and Khamsin borne in a drape-covered litter suspended between two large draft horses.

The litter wasn’t quite as stomach-churning a ride as the carriage had been, and Khamsin alleviated her travel sickness by keeping the curtains drawn back. The brisk, cold air on her face and being able to see where they were going staved off the worst of the sickness.

The journey to Mount Gerd was a two-hour, six-mile trek across rough mountain terrain that ended with a nerve-racking traversal of a crumbling stone bridge stretched over a deep gorge between mountains. On the far side of the bridge, perhaps a half mile from the ice-capped summit, a small round lodge had been built into the mountain. Smoke curled from lodge’s chimney, and as they approached, two guards in leather armor emerged to greet them.