‘And it goes for the king, too,’ he added, with a fierceness she had not heard in many years.
A terrible lump rose in Greta’s throat as she threw her arms around her father, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Of all the goodbyes, this one was the hardest to bear. ‘I’ll miss you, Papa.’
‘Not as much as I’ll miss you.’
‘Be well,’ she said, a plea in her voice.
‘And you.’ He pulled back, eyes shining. The storm inside them was breaking, and rain was coming. ‘Be careful, Greta.’
‘Always.’
‘And write often.’
‘I will.’
He squeezed her hand in a last goodbye, and she took off at a run before her chest cracked open and she lost the courage his words had given her. She hurried along the pier, where a pair of Gevran soldiers in pristine blue frock coats were waiting to escort her on board. Within minutes, she was on the king’s boat, exchanging greetings with the captain as the crew hoisted the anchor. Greta went to the back of the ship, climbing the railings to look out on the little island that held her whole heart.
As the king’s ship sailed out to the Sunless Sea where the gulls cried to welcome them,Greta waved goodbye to her father. He stood in that same spot on the strand, leaning on his cane as he watched her sail away. The wind whipped up and new snow began to fall but he didn’t move, not until long after the mist came down and swallowed the island, taking him with it.
It was only then that Greta allowed herself to cry, hot tears sliding down her cheeks and falling into the sea. As the ship turned east towards the mainland, and the rising wind punched the mainsail taut as if to hurry it along, it occurred to her that this was the furthest she had ever been from Carrig. And there were hundreds of miles yet to go.
Greta slept in a cabin below deck for most of the voyage, only rising when the ship slowed to pass through the Dead Crevasse, a treacherous all-too-narrow inlet overlooked by the mainland’s jagged ice cliffs. She rushed to the prow, straining to see the bustling shore, where curling smoke and flickering lights feathered the falling dark.
Soon, the cloying stench of brine gave way to the familiar scent of woodsmoke and pine. The ship docked and Greta was escorted past a teeming marketplace along the shore where a wooden wolf-sled bearing the royal crest awaited her. The sled driver was a stern-faced, red-haired soldier dressed in the blue and silver uniform she knew all too well. He offered her a flat smile as she clambered into the bench behind him, settling her rucksack beside her and unfolding one of the fur blankets that had been laid out.
They took off without preamble,the sled pulling away from the shore and thundering into the falling night, where icy hills and frost-ridden roads rose to meet them. The wolves never faltered, the moon guiding their way as they wound deeper into the countryside, where the mountains grew taller and the valleys steeper. The soldier offered little in the way of conversation and Greta welcomed the silence. It allowed her the time to breathe in that familiar scent of woodsmoke and pine while she munched on Kindra’s sweet bread, allowing thoughts of home to settle her nerves.
They rode on and on into the wilderness, until a swathe of clouds swept in from the west and smothered the moon. Darkness fell, and bundled warmly under the fur blanket, Greta’s lids grew heavy. She slept deeply, the world whipping past her in whorls of navy and white. She woke as the sun was rising above the staggering Fovarr Mountains, their icy peaks jutting up as if to skewer it. The wind stirred as they rode through the pass, and she sat stiffly in her seat, sensing movement in the rock. Something breathing. Somethingstirring.But she could see nothing beyond the spill of snow on jagged rock.
How strange.
Then the mountains fell away and the sensation passed, the rugged landscape parting to reveal the glittering facade of Grinstad Palace, a towering fortress of glass and stone.
The rising sun bounced off its glass towers, until Greta had to shield her eyes from the glare. Before her, a pair of huge black gates groaned open, and after a brief inspection from the tower guards, the sled passed through the entryway, the palace growing taller and more foreboding as they trundled towards it.Greta had to crane her neck to take in the full spectacle, her heart leaping into her throat as her gaze snagged on the stone balustrade protruding high above her. For there, in the glaring morning light, stood Alarik Felsing, shirtless and unkempt, wearing a scowl made for war.
For the first time since the nighthawk had come, Greta shrank back in her seat and wondered what on earth she had got herself into. Her father’s voice found her through the fog of her fear.Don’t let anyone in that palace give you hell, little nightingale.
No, she would not. Formidable as it was, the palace was a home like any other and Alarik Felsing was no more ferocious than the ice bears she had wrangled back on Carrig. She straightened her spine and swallowed her anxiety, reminding herself there was nothing to fear here.
Greta Iversen was not afraid of beasts.
Or kings.
CHAPTER 5
Alarik
Alarik woke up in a cold sweat, sure he could hear the steel war drums of Vask pounding in the wind. He leaped out of bed, nearly tripping over Nova as he ran to the balcony, his feet bare on the snow. The sun was rising over the Fovarr Mountains, his servants and soldiers waking to face another day in Grinstad. There were no drums, just the distant howls of his beasts and the unsteady thrum of his own heartbeat.
It was only a dream. But every time he blinked, he saw Queen Regna’s bloodless smile beneath the visor of her crimson helmet, her wild grey hair streaming behind her as she rode to war.
To Gevra.
Perhaps, then, it was a warning. Still scowling, the king turned from his balcony and shut the drapes behind him, welcoming the slick of darkness. He slumped on to his bed, counting his breaths until they settled.
Someone knocked at his bedchamber.
‘GO AWAY!’ Alarik barked, just as his steward, Johan, poked his head around the door, grey eyes wide in his round,pale face. The king huffed. ‘What do you want, Johan?’
