Page 3 of Heart of Winter
“Yes, yes, we’re coming.” He took his cousin’s elbow. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head, and swallowed with difficulty. Forced a smile. “There’s nothing for it, is there?”
“No, darling.” He smiled back, and hoped she could take at least some measure of comfort from it. “There’s not.”
She looped her arm through his, and together they walked up to the makeshift gangplank the crew had fashioned of a few loose boards. They were slick and shiny with ice, as was the dock beyond, but the porters who’d come to collect their trunks didn’t seem to be troubled by this – probably thanks to the metal cleats Oliver glimpsed strapped over their boots.
He and Tessa, though, despite the heavy wool and fur cloaks they’d purchased before their trip, wore boots with soft, leather soles.Please don’t let us fall, he prayed, and took the first step.
He managed all five steps across the plank, Tessa clutching at him the whole time. Then they hit the dock, and a patch of invisible ice, and Oliver’s right foot slipped out from under him.
“Oh, bollocks–”
A hand grabbed his free arm. A large hand – a strong one. Somehow, miraculously, he didn’t fall and drag his poor cousin down with him. He was picked up, and set back on his feet, and a deep voice with an unfamiliar accent said, “You all right there, lad?”
He glanced up, startled, a little afraid, he could admit, and laid eyes on the largest man he’d ever seen. Tall, and broad-shouldered, and draped in layers of fur that made him look more bear than man, his hair a long, wild tangle, save for where it was braided down the sides, and, at his temples, shaved in long, thin lines.
“Shit,” Oliver said, before he could think better of it.
The man grinned, revealing one gold canine tooth. “Well. There’s a welcome.”
“Oh, no, no, I didn’t–”
“Are you from Drakewell? The Drakes?”
“I…”
“I am Tessa Drake,” Tessa said. “Lord William’s daughter. And this is my cousin, Oliver.”
Other long-haired, fur-clad men waited behind the giant holding Oliver, he saw. All with braids, and beards, and heavy, embroidered cloaks. All of them watching with amusement – as the big man himself turned an appraising eye on Tessa.
His grin widened. “Aye. You’ll do nicely, lassie.”
Oliver spluttered, and managed to brace his feet and jerk his arm free. “I beg your pardon?”
The man laughed, and his hand finally withdrew. “Oh, you’re polite.” He laughed again. “See how far that gets you.” He stepped back, before Oliver could offer another protest. “Welcome to Aeretoll, my lord, my lady. This is the home of King Erik. He has sent us to retrieve you.”
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The man-who-looked-like-a-bear introduced himself as Bjorn, which was fitting. He explained, in quite cheerful tones, one massive hand still at Oliver’s elbow to keep him from almost falling again, that he was a childhood friend of the king’s, and now the captain of his guard, a contingent of which he’d brought along with him to the docks to greet them. They escorted Oliver and Tessa to a series of reindeer-drawn sleighs.
“Oh,” Tessa breathed, when she saw the deer, with their velvet antlers, and their red-dyed harnesses, stamping in the snow. “Aren’t they lovely?”
Oliver hoped they could carry them swiftly to somewhere warmer.
Bjorn climbed in with them, all but crowding Tessa into Oliver’s lap, and took up the reins. “It’s only a short trip, don’t you Southerners worry,” he said, laughing.
The lead sleigh took off, and theirs lurched forward in its wake, and then it was a cold, stinging wind against their faces as they traversed a white landscape. Through the bustle of Aeres proper, past shops, and market stalls, and houses, from whose yards fur-wrapped citizens lifted hands in greeting toward the sleigh caravan. Bjorn shouted back greetings, his laughter booming off the house fronts.
Humanity thinned; gave way to a vast, snow-covered landscape of rolling, low hills. The bells on the reindeer harnesses jingled softly; the traces creaked. They passed frozen streams that gleamed in the dull sunlight like satin ribbons.
Despite the cold, and his nerves, Oliver found himself sitting forward, the lap blanket hastily thrown across him slipping down, as he admired the crystal-wrapped trees and the white mist rising off the glittering lakes.
It was…beautiful. Like a painting.
“Gods,” Oliver murmured, staring at twisted black branches stamped against a white-mist sky.
“Aye,” Bjorn said, chuckling. “That’s nothing, though.”
