P. L. Nunn - The Silver Mage 02 - Winter King.pdf - P. L. Nunn - widez2

THE

WINTER

KING

The Silver Mage Series: Book 2

P.L. NUNN

One

Sera was starting to show. Keitlan, the house keeper of

Sta-Veron castle had told her so, even though she’d taken

little note herself. She sat in the brass tub the maids had

lugged up the steps to her room, luxuriating in warm

water and studied the distorted view of her belly through

soap-clouded water.

The swell was there, a pronounced little curve in her

stomach. Slight, for she was slim of frame and Keitlan

promised she might not become heavy till the later

months of the pregnancy, but enough to feel, when she

ran her hands over it.

A two-sided blessing, that blossoming thing that grew

within her. On the one hand, it reminded her of him,

silver haired progenitor of the life growing within her, and

brought on a bone deep hurt that she could not seem to

shake. She didn’t know if she would ever shake it. On

the other, with each passing day, as she spied on the

sleeping center of life with her healing magic, she became

more and more enamored by it. It became more and more

essential to her very being

father could change that.

She climbed out of the tub, fingers and toes wrinkled

from the long soak, donning a thick robe while the maids

emptied the tub and removed it from the room. She sat by

the fire and let her hair dry, warm and comfortable and

drowsy. There were still the faint sounds of celebration

from the hall below.

Captain Kiro and a squadron of his men had

apprehended a band of marauders who had been plaguing

the northernmost villages of Kastel’s province. They had

been feasting since early in the afternoon in celebration of

ending a deadly threat. But then, in the dead of winter,

any reason to celebrate was a good one. Sera had not

joined in, feeling melancholy and just little off her kilter.

Keitlan, who had become very much an ally and friend to

her since her time here, had suggested it was nothing

more than a pregnant woman’s hormones acting up, and

that she should stay in bed and relax.

Sera had no complaint with that advice. It had been

snowing the last few days and the weather was more

bitingly cold than usual. Staying abed on the orders of the

forceful housekeeper was as good an excuse as any to

snuggle up under the blankets before a warm fire.

Keitlan brought her a glass of warmed milk with a

dollop of honey and sat to talk for a while, discussing the

antics of the jovial soldiers down below.

“What will happen to the bandits?” Sera asked. “”Will

they stand trial?”

The housekeeper’s round face screwed into taut lines.

“There’s no trials out here for the likes of them. Their

bodies were buried where they were caught and most

likely it was a kinder fate than that they gave to all the

poor villagers they raided. You’re too soft hearted, Sera.”

“Perhaps,” Sera agreed quietly.

Keitlan patted her hand. “Probably why you’re in the

state you’re in.”

Sera looked away. It had not been a soft heart that had

perpetrated that. She had known exactly what she wanted

deep down. Stupidity maybe, to think loyalty was a virtue

Dante Epherian harbored, but not soft-heartedness.

“Well, it’s late and I’ve a hall to see cleaned, if all those

boisterous men have stumbled off to pass out in their own

bunks. To bed with you.”

Under the covers, dark night, orange fire light casting

shadows that undiluted on the wall. She shut her eyes and

tried to think of simple, innocuous things that would not

lead her into dreams of him. She thought of the baby, and

the things she would teach it. The things they would do

together. The companionship of something so closely

connected with herself.

She drifted off and dreamed of a shining, beautiful little

face with eyes as brilliant as a sky on the clearest of days.

An ageless face, not quite a baby, not quite an adult.

Something ethereal and in-between. The eyes seemed to

bore through her soul. The lips whispered an endearment

and the hands reached out -- not quite at her. Mother.

There was a crack. A shattering of glass and wood.

Cold air washed over her face. With a startled cry she

woke, heart pounding from the sudden wakening. Her

window swung open, half off its hinges. Her window seat

pillows scattered on the floor. She sat up, staring at the

darkness beyond it, clutching her blankets to her breast,

shocked and disoriented.

Then the shadows moved towards her and she thought

of assassins and marauders and bandits and fanatical

priests and screamed. She threw up a frantic shield, and

had it banished as if it were smoke by a power far greater

than hers. She drew breath to scream again and he

brushed past the trailing edges of the bed canopy,

moonlight making a silver halo of his hair. He bore her

back, with a hand over her mouth and half lay atop her to

hiss in her ear.

“Sera. It’s me. Calm yourself.”

She shuddered, knowing very well who it was,

breathing in the scent of his palm, face tickled by the soft

ends of his falling hair, body pressed by the weight of

him, all in soft gray and white leather and suede. No

matter of mere months might make a body forget Dante

Epherian.

Her heart took up a frantic, erratic cadence in her

breast. Her vision began to tunnel. He took his hand

away and she sucked in air she had been denied and

released it in an articulate screech.

“Calm myself?” she cried. “Get off. Get out.”

She flailed her limbs like a wild woman, dislodging

sheets and quilts in efforts to get him off her. “How dare

you come here? How dare you tell me to calm myself,

you unconscionable bastard. Leave me alone.”

He rolled off her, but not off the bed, and she scooted

back to press against the headboard, glaring at him with

hysteria frothing over in her.

“Damnit, Sera, just calm down. I want to talk to you.”

“You want to make me insane,” she cried, and put her

hands over her ears. He hissed in exasperation and

grabbed her wrists, prying them away effortlessly,

holding them prisoned between them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were with child?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an incorrigible

whore who had to run and jump into bed with the first

woman who made eyes at him?”

The last words ended with another high-pitched

screech. She felt the subtle magic of an intrinsic probe

and knew he sought after the life within her. She

wriggled and fought to free herself, sobbing at an

intrusion she could not repel.

“It’s not yours,” she declared the first thing that came to

mind. He gave her much the same look he might a lunatic

child who claimed to have seen tiny little men dancing at

the bottom of her mug.

“Oh, you had an affair with a logger in the forest that I

was unaware of?”

“Oh, shut up. Go away. I hate you.”

“You should have told me.”

“When should I have? One of the few times you were

out of Kheron’s tent? When she was all over you?

Should I have interrupted that to tell you the joyful news,

you -- you liar.” She was going to loose her mind. She

felt the edges of her sanity fraying. Why was he here?

What did he want of her? To torment her further? To

laugh at her pain? Where was Kheron? Would he go

back and tell her how he had tortured gullible, naïve Sera?

P. L. Nunn - The Silver Mage 02 - Winter King.pdf

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