“Where are they?” Lady Frey asked. “And when?”

“Second elevation, about an hour ago,” came the cryptic reply.

“My thanks.” The priestess turned her horse left towards a rocky path that curved around the mountain face. The rest of the party followed in single file.

The road turned down, and the air grew slightly warmer as they descended several hundred feet. Stark, snow- and lichen-covered rocks gave way to carpets of ground-hugging juniper. The rocky path split in two. One fork headed down towards the lower elevations, but they did not turn. Instead, they leveled out, traveling laterally across the mountain’s face. A few minutes later, the horses slowed, then came to a halt. Khamsin stuck out her head to see what was going on, but all she could see was the back end of her guards’ horses. The sound of approaching riders echoed against the stony mountainside. She knew who it was even before she saw Hodri’s shining whiteness and Wynter’s grim face and blazing eyes. Just the sight of him sent a warm, electric tingle shivering through her blood.

He didn’t have the same reaction to her. He took one look at her, and snapped, “Draw the curtains, woman! And pull those furs around you before you catch your death!” He whirled his horse around. “Damn it, Laci! What in Wyrn’s name are you thinking? Two days ago, she lay near death, and today you cart her through the mountaintops? Are you mad, or just trying to finish the job that idiot servingwoman started?”

Laci? Kham poked her head back out through the litter curtains and watched Wynter confront Lady Frey. He did not seem the least bit afraid of her as he bellowed insults at her for her “dim-witted bit of insanity” for bringing Khamsin to Mount Gerd.

Lady Frey seemed neither surprised nor impressed by his rage. “I brought her to witness the mercy of the mountains!” she snapped back. “As she was the injured party, it’s more than her right, and you know it. Besides, some fool has left her with the impression that the mercy of the mountains is a sentence of certain death—and told her that is her fate if she doesn’t bear your child in a year’s time!”

For a moment Wynter looked nonplussed—and decidedly guilty—but then his jaw clenched tight, and his teeth bared in a snarl. “She drew her own conclusions. I told no lies.”

“Idiot! Lunkhead! Bah! I should leave you to your fate. If I liked you even slightly less, that’s exactly what I’d do.” The priestess glared, her usual air of icy remoteness completely shredded.

Kham smiled. Ooh, she could easily like Lady Frey.

“Besides,” the priestess continued, “she was awake. If I’d left her on her own, she’d be running around the palace. This way, I’ve successfully managed to keep her lying down in that litter for several hours.”

Kham’s smile turned into a frown. Then again, maybe not so easily. She didn’t like being manipulated.

Wynter turned his head and caught Kham looking at him. His nostrils flared. “Fine,” he snapped. “Show her and be done with it. But then it’s straight back to Gildenheim, and she stays in bed the rest of the night and tomorrow with no complaints.”

“Agreed,” Lady Frey answered before Kham could do more than open her mouth. “Even if I have to drug her again.” She cast back a look of such icy promise that Kham scowled and sank back against the litter cushions.

Wynter and his riders turned their mounts around and headed back the way they’d come. The rest of them followed. Several minutes later, the path widened to a small plateau carved into the side of the mountain. Here, the snow had been trampled down.

The horses bearing the litter halted. Wynter pushed aside the curtains and lifted her out, but he did not set her down. “You shouldn’t be walking,” he growled when she protested. “You shouldn’t be here at all, so be silent or I’ll stuff you back in that litter and send the horses racing home to Gildenheim.”

She scowled her disapproval of his high-handed ways, then tried not to be too obvious when a brisk gust of wind made her snuggle closer to him for protection. Khamsin could see both hoofprints and boot prints all about. On the far side of the plateau, several large iron rings had been bolted into the mountainside. A pile of chain and two empty manacles lay in the snow near the center rings.

The servingwoman was nowhere to be seen.

“There’s no one here,” Khamsin said.

Wynter grunted. “The mountains have been merciful.”

She glared and thumped his steel breastplate. “Enough of this cryptic ‘mercy’ nonsense. Speak plainly. What happened to the woman from the tavern? Where did she go? Is she dead? Did you even bring her here at all?”

His lips compressed. He strode towards the far side of the plateau. As they neared, Khamsin could see another path leading down the mountain. Fresh footprints had flattened the snow. Wynter pointed down below, where a group of some half dozen bundled people were descending on horseback. “She is there.”

Khamsin squinted at the party. “Alive?”

“Against my better judgment.” Grim dissatisfaction rumbled in his voice. “I would have cleaved her in two when they first brought her to the palace and told me what she’d done, but Laci, Valik, and Barsul stopped me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Winterfolk are the mercy of the mountains. We live in a harsh world, where our survival often depends on one another. There is no room in the clans for people who cannot be trusted, but we are not brutes or barbarians. The woman admitted to putting a purgative in your food, but, even Laci agreed that if she’d truly meant to kill you, there are dozens of more effective poisons she could have used to ensure your death. Those people down there are the folk from Konundal who were willing to climb the mountain and offer her mercy. She will be taken away from this province. If she ever returns, or commits any other serious crime, she will be taken to the glaciers and left there to die.”