“He said it belonged to his mother,” she interrupted. “I believe him. Look at what he pulled from his pockets. Nothing else there seems obviously stolen or unusual for a boy to carry around. And I will not see any child parted from a remembrance of his mother.” The cramping in her stomach had become sharp pain. Alternating waves of heat and cold washed over her. She took a breath and swallowed. “If I’m wrong, I will compensate whichever merchant he robbed and see the boy suitably punished. So, give the bracelet back to him. Now.”

Glowering, the merchant did as he was told. The boy clutched the bracelet so fiercely, Khamsin knew she’d been right. That small band of silver was precious to the boy, and in a way no stolen trinket could have been.

“My thanks.” Her skin felt cold and tight. If she didn’t find privacy soon, she was going to humiliate herself in front of Wynter, Valik, and half the village, but something about the boy would not just let her walk away. Maybe it was his defiance. Maybe it was the way he clutched his mother’s bracelet, as if that small piece of metal held every ounce of happiness in his world. He reminded her of herself. Half-wild, full of fire and fierce rebellion. Desperately clinging to whatever small, precious memories of love he could find.

“Do you have any other family, Krysti?”

The boy’s grimy chin thrust up in the air. “No, and I need none. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not. At least not without stealing.” Her lips pressed tight together as her stomach clenched with another sharp pain, and bile rose in her throat.

“Khamsin?” Wynter frowned down at her. “Are you all right?”

She dragged in a shallow breath and waved him off. “You were caught stealing, Krysti. We have returned what you took, and I’ve offered compensation to any other merchant you may have robbed. You owe me a debt. I claim a year of your service in payment. Starting now. You will be my page. And no more stealing. It isn’t honorable.” The last several sentences came out in a desperate rush. She spun away. Her belly was rippling with cramps. Sweat beaded her upper lip. “Bron, please have someone escort Krysti back to the palace. I need to—to—”

“Khamsin?” Wynter reached for her arm.

She twisted out of his reach and spun away, walking quickly back towards stables at the center of town where the horses were waiting.

She’d just cleared the last row of tents, when a brutal onslaught of cramps doubled her over. A low cry broke past her lips. Her knees gave out and she sat abruptly in the snow.

“Khamsin!” Wynter raced towards her, dropping to his knees beside her. Valik, Bron, and the guards followed close on his heels, forming a protective line between Khamsin and the crowd of curious Winterfolk. Krysti was still clutched in one of Valik’s hands.

“Bron,” Wynter snapped, “fetch the horses. Loke, ride back to Gildenheim. Summon Lady Frey to the Queen’s chambers. Valik, bind that boy. He’s coming with us.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her!” Krysti’s voice broke the ensuing silence. “I swear, I didn’t!”

“Be silent, boy!” Valik barked.

Khamsin laid a hand on Wynter’s arm. “Not his fault,” she said. “Felt ill since lunch. Ah!” She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw as another series of violent cramps racked her body. “Merciful sun!” she breathed when the seized muscles finally relaxed.

The clatter of horse hooves on cobblestone announced Bron’s return with several horses in tow, Hodri among them.

“You’ll ride back with me.” Wynter gathered Khamsin into his arms and rose to his feet, lifting her with effortless strength. “No arguments.”

“Wyn.” Valik’s voice was low, quiet, but filled with urgency. “Look.” He nodded at the snow-covered ground near Wynter’s feet.

Wynter glanced down. His body went still. The arms holding Khamsin clenched a little tighter. “Khamsin . . . you are wounded?”

“No, I—” She frowned and followed his gaze. Bright red glistened in the patch of compressed snow where she’d been sitting. “What in the name of—ah!” Another brutal series of cramps tore through her body.

Her eyes widened in fear as a hot gush of blood soaked her thighs and the dense folds of her skirts.

CHAPTER 14

The Mercy of the Mountains

Rays of sunlight fell over Khamsin’s face, bringing warmth and the familiar, energizing tingle of power sparking in her veins. Lost in hazy, pleasant dreams of summer and her brother Falcon sneaking up into the Sky Garden to play Swords and Warriors with her, she tried to resist consciousness, but the dreams faded despite her strongest efforts to cling to them.

She stretched, then hissed as a dozen tiny needles of pain stabbed her abdomen in response. She opened her eyes, blinked at the silvery blue satin canopy overhead, and sat up.

She was in her room in Gildenheim. She sensed the sun’s position high in the sky. Her brow creased in a frown. It was midday, and she was still abed?

A whisper of fabric and a cool wind made her turn towards the bedroom door. Lady Galacia Frey entered.

“Ah, you’ve finally awakened. Good. How do you feel?”

Kham scowled. Feel?

“You lost quite a bit of blood. Between that and the restorative herbs I gave you, you may still feel a little . . . disoriented.”

Memories were coming back. Terrible cramping pain. Bright red blood, so much of it the air filled with a sweet, metallic stench. Her own hoarse screams as she writhed in agony, feeling as though her body were ripping apart from the inside out.