She turned to her husband. Her fingers clutched his soft leather vest. “I didn’t know, Wynter. I know it’s hard to believe I could have been so blind to what was going on beneath my own nose, but I swear to you I didn’t know. Not about the tea she was feeding me or about the messages she was sending. I didn’t know.” It wasn’t her life she was worried about losing. It was his trust. “I would never betray you that way.” She pulled back to look earnestly into his eyes. “Never.”

“Hossa. Hush. Do not upset yourself, wife. My men will get to the bottom of this, then you and I will decide Belladonna Rosh’s fate.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be part of that decision.” She crossed her arms over her belly. “At the moment, I don’t feel any mercy towards her at all.”

“Nor do I, Khamsin, but that won’t stop me from passing judgment.” Wynter glanced down at Khamsin, and there were snow flurries in his eyes again. “She should have considered that before harming my family.”

“Let me get this straight. Your wife, who has been taking tansy daily, said she had nothing to do with any of this, and you believed her?” Valik gaped at Wynter with utter incredulity.

“Yes, I believed her,” Wynter snapped. “And you can just stop right there. Don’t say another word.” Valik’s response had Wyn bracing for a fight, and he was already so angry that it would be a very bad idea. “Khamsin may be many things, but an accomplished liar she is not.”

“That remains to be seen,” Valik muttered. When the Ice rose in Wynter’s gaze, Valik wisely snapped his mouth closed and changed the subject. “And the maid?”

“Graal will find out what she’s been up to, and she will be dealt with accordingly.” Wynter clenched his fists. “She killed our child, Valik. Khamsin was pregnant that first month, and the maid killed it. That’s what really happened that day in Konundal.”

“According to whom? Your wife?”

“Laci admitted that she suspected Khamsin had suffered a miscarriage, but she kept silent to spare Krysti and the Konundal woman my wrath.”

The outrage and suspicion on Valik’s face faded. He straightened to his full height. “Wyn . . . I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“The maid was acting on Coruscate’s orders.” Wyn drew a deep breath, fighting the rage that threatened to turn his blood to solid ice. “He wasn’t content with Garrick’s death. He means to end my line—and end his daughter with it. He sent the maid to keep Khamsin barren because he thought facing the mercy of the mountains was an automatic death sentence.” That realization ate at him. He was the one who’d deliberately misled the Summerlea king about what would happen to his daughter. And Coruscate had latched onto that lie. If Wynter hadn’t threatened Coruscate with the death of his daughters, Khamsin would never have been poisoned, and their child would still be alive.

Wynter regarded his friend. There was no other in Gildenheim Wynter loved or trusted more. “Valik?”

“Yes?”

“I haven’t asked this before, but I’m going to ask it now. Try to get along with her. She may yet betray me for her brother’s sake, but she is still my queen and the only wife I’ll ever have.”

Valik’s jaw worked, but then he nodded. “I’ll do my best, Wyn.”

“Thank you.”

Three days later, Khamsin, Wynter, twelve White Guard, and the four judicars who had heard the testimony of Bella and the witnesses against her all made the long, cold trek up the slopes of Mount Gerd to the place of judgment. They passed the trail leading to the lower levels and instead took the steep, switchbacked path to the icy, windblown peak of the mountain. There, snow swirled in the harsh winds, ice that never melted clung to the black rock in great white sheets. The temperature was so cold, a person could die in minutes.

This was the level of Mount Gerd reserved for ra**sts, murderers, and traitors. The level from which there was no hope of salvation from kindly villagers in Konundal or the folk of Gildenheim.

The procession came to a halt. Wynter, Khamsin, and the judicars dismounted while several of the White Guard dragged a chained, drooping Belladonna from the prisoner’s cart and brought her to stand before the assemblage.

“Belladonna Rosh of Summerlea,” the head judicar intoned, “you have been found guilty of treason and of crimes against the person of your queen, and you have been sentenced to face the mercy of the mountains. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

Three days ago, Bella would have answered the judicar’s pronouncement with sneering defiance and hatred, but the Belladonna Rosh who sagged in her bonds and shivered in the cold was a far cry from the fiend who’d gleefully crowed her delight over killing Khamsin’s child.

Kham stood by Wynter’s side as the White Guard dragged Belladonna to the chains hammered into the mountain, stripped away her outer garments, and chained her to a slab of icy rock.

As Khamsin had learned, the worst offenders were not stripped of their clothes but rather warmly bundled, so as to make their death by exposure last as long as possible. And though the grieving mother in Khamsin wanted Bella to suffer for what she’d done, the lonely girl who’d spent the last months viewing Bella as a friend from home couldn’t bring herself to inflict more torture upon her former maid. She had asked Wynter to grant Bella the quickest death, and he had agreed.

She pulled her hand free of Wynter’s and approached the chained maid. “I wish I could say I forgive you, but I don’t. Not for what you did to me. Not for what you tried to do. May the gods grant you no more mercy than you showed my unborn child.”