Page 7 of Winter's Fate

Whether the chickens were meant to accompany them on the journey, or for some other purpose, Callum didn’t know. The kid’s boot caught on an uneven cobblestone and the cage went flying out of his arms.

Callum lurched forward, catching the cage before it could smash into the cobblestones. He didn’t relish the idea of chasing poultry through the palace all morning. His head was throbbing in earnest now, but it didn’t stop him from snatching the cage—barely—and easing it gently to the ground.

When he turned, the kid was staring at him in horror. He was already pale as a moonstone, but now his skin was practicallytranslucent, his freckles popping out like they intended to secede from his face to join a calmer human.

“What’s your name, kid?” Callum asked.

The kid swallowed hard. “Godfrey. Sir.”

The men who’d first trained Callum to fight would’ve cuffed the kid for the chicken disaster. And it would’ve been a disaster, because they wouldn’t have caught the cage; they’d have taken joy in letting it drop. And letting the kid face the consequences. They’d probably have banned him from the expedition, or set him to cleaning out the coops for months.

Godfrey clearly expected something along those lines. But he drew his spine up tall, and his lip was barely quivering. He seemed far too young to be serving in the guard. What was he, fifteen? Sixteen? Had he lied about his age so he could join?

“May I give you a word of advice?” Callum asked.

Godfrey hesitated, like he expected Callum to offer the advice without permission. When Callum didn’t, he nodded. “Yes, sir?”

Callum set a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder and squeezed. “Calm. The fuck. Down.”

The kid let out a startled gurgle that might’ve been a laugh. “Yes, sir. Are you… are you coming with us to Etra, sir?”

Godfrey had no way to know it was the wrong thing to ask, and Callum was not in the habit of punishing young soldiers for their ignorance. He opened his mouth to say no, ready to keep walking to his quarters and fall into his bed for a days-long sleep. That was assuming Hawk hadn’t had his things thrown into the street last night while he drank himself into a stupor.

But the soldiers were all ready to go. The horses were saddled, the flag at the ready. And, best of all, Landon Moore was nowhere in sight.

Callum gave Godfrey’s shoulder another squeeze before letting go with a grin that actually felt real. “Yes,” he said. “In fact, I’m leading the party. And we’re leaving now.”

CHAPTER 3

Laena woke the next morning to a sharp pain in her ear.

She sat up, rubbing at it and looking around until Brin came scurrying out of her hair and down the blankets, chirping madly. Laena stared at her in bleary confusion. The little shimmerling had never made such a sound before, had never madeanysound, and she’d certainly never made her way into the house, preferring to wait for Laena outside. She would have expected the lizard to have done so long ago, if she had any inclination.

“Crazy thing. Did you find a mouse hole to sneak through?” Laena reached out a finger to stroke Brin’s back, but Brin skittered away from her touch. Trust her to choose this morning to act strangely. Laena had spent the night tossing and turning, fuming over Katrina’s visit and thinking of all the things she wished she’d said. The accusations she should have leveled, the defenses she should have made, the speeches she should have given.

Each of which the Kat of her imagination countered easily. Because even the Kat of her imagination was superior in every way.

Now, her eyes were sandy with lack of sleep, and Brin was here to wake her, as if Laena had slept past her usual waking time. But she wasn’t late to her chores. Brin ran down the blanket and spiraled her way down the bedpost, her long tail shining in the blue pre-dawn light. If anything, it was earlier than usual.

Brin paused at the door, skipping back and forth until Laena set her feet on the floor.

“All right, I’m coming. But I can hardly go out there undressed, can I? The villagers already have enough to say about me.”

Though it was amusing to imagine the look on old Mrs. Corrigan’s face, should she pass by to find Laena working in nothing but her shift. The thought made her chuckle as she tugged on her sturdiest woolen dress. The woman would hurry off to the market with the best gossip of the week. Of the year, even.

When she reached the front porch, though, the laughter died on her lips.

The stench hit her first, so potent that she couldn’t fathom why it hadn’t leaked into her bedroom. The death and rot was thick enough that every neighbor in the village should be lined up on her street demanding to know what she was doing, and why.

But it wasn’t the pungent air that made her choke in a gasp of disbelief as she stared at the yard that had once housed her garden.

The garden was gone. In its place was a stinking mess of rotten mud, with nothing but a few stick-like stalks left to suggest it had ever been anything but a putrid swamp. The few remaining leaves had shriveled, like love letters tossed in a fire. Not a hint of green in the whole place.

Every vegetable she’d spent the spring and summer cultivating was gone. Every zucchini, carrot, tomato, and pumpkin.Only yesterday, the berry bushes at the far end of the garden had been bursting with green, promising a winter full of jams. Today, they were lumpy husks.

And it was not merely the bushes and the vegetables. The trees that lined the side of her property were peppered with ink-black moss, their leaves beginning to show spots of decay. What would happen if it inched toward the house? Would it stain the walls? Kill everything inside?

Laena pressed her lips together. Queen or commoner, there was one truth life held firm: that standing around would give her no answers or solutions.

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