Rowena Daniells - The uncrowned King

Once his hands were free, the beast moved to his legs, performing the same service on those leather straps. Its razor-sharp teeth chewed through the bindings in a heartbeat.

Byren tried to sit up, but couldn't. Tried to roll to one side and fell off the sled onto the snow. He huddled there, panting. So thirsty. He scooped snow into his mouth and sucked on it, knowing it was the wrong thing to do. He was already losing too much body heat.

The ulfr nuzzled him again.

With great effort, he lifted his head, coming as far as his knees. 'I don't know why you're doing this, or even how you know to do it…' His vision blurred. He'd lost too much blood. 'But I'm spent. I can't go on.'

The ulfr didn't believe him. Its solid shoulders nudged him. He fell into the snow on his hands and knees. Another beast nudged him from the other side. Like dogs herding sheep, the ulfr drove him to crawl.

When he paused to gain his breath they waited. If he took too long, they nipped him, not enough to damage, but enough to sting.

At first he was so amazed he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Orrade would never believe this.

Then exhaustion made everything dull and grey. What was the point? Without a healer he'd die.

All he could do was move in the direction the ulfrs drove him. Hands numb, knees numb, blinded by pain.

When he fell over the lip of a rise, into a dip, tumbling down through the drift of deep snow, he didn't try to save himself. He went with the fall.

This was it. He could go no further. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Bleeding in the snow.

Even now, some mad part of his mind refused to give in. And he tunnelled down into the snow drift, trying to make a rudimentary snow-cave. But before he could, he felt the silky-shaggy heat of an ulfr at his back, then another at his side, then another and another, until he was surrounded by the pack.

And they started that whining vibration, with each breath, the same song they had used when the bitch whelped. He wasn't cold any more. Soon he wasn't in pain. Soon he drifted, soothed and sated.

If only he'd had time to tell Orrade how much he regretted that crack about Lence. How could he compare Orrie, who'd never done anything but protect his back and stand at his side, with his belligerent twin brother?

Byren dozed, feeling warm and safe, even as his lifeblood seeped away.

He found himself walking the corridors of New Dovecote House, looking for Elina. In the great hall, he saw the fierce Old Dove himself, feeding his prize doves. Odd, the creatures weren't caged. They flew around the hall, each bird a work of art, all frothy feathers and soft cooing.

Of course — realisation came to Byren with a surge of wonder and joy — this was Halcyon's Sacred Heart, where the righteous waited in peace for their loved ones to join them. He must be close to death, to find himself here.

'Where's Elina?' Byren asked.

Lord Dovecote indicated the far door. He seemed to have forgotten that he'd cursed Byren and banned him from setting foot on his estate. Since Byren was innocent of the crime he'd been accused of, this was only fair, and he silently thanked Halcyon.

Byren found Elina in the library, of course, legs tucked under her as she read a history of Rolencia. No, it was a book on law.

She looked up at him. 'You know, Father could have named me his heir, even though he had another son in Garzik.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Not that it matters, now I'm dead.'

He wanted to deny the harsh truth. She was just as he remembered, slightly astringent, sharp-eyed with a dash of wry humour. How could he go on living without her?

He wouldn't have to.

Dropping to his knees, Byren knelt by her chair and took the book from her. 'I left it too late. I knew Lence was flawed, but I didn't want to admit it. His boasting, his need for praise, the way he used the girls who threw themselves at us. The way he spoke of you…' He touched Elina's cheek. Her features were the female version of Orrade's, softer and riper. Illuminated by her love for him, she glowed with an inner beauty.

When he leant close to kiss her, she let him. Her lips were warm and soft on his. Inviting.

'I'm dying,' he whispered. 'We'll be together soon. Halcyon will see to that.'

'No.' She pushed him away. 'You still have things to do. You can't let Palatyne win. Think of Rolencia, think of your duty!'

Duty? He was so tired. 'How much blood do I have to shed before Rolencia lets me rest?'

But she only shook her head, fixing him with fine imperious eyes. For a moment it seemed she wasn't Elina at all, but something grander and more formidable.

And he recalled his bargain with the goddess Halcyon. He'd pleaded with her to let him reach his family in time to warn them, promising to dedicate his life to her service. But she hadn't. His family were all dead. And this…

Was nothing but the illusion of dying delirium. The revelation hit him with a certainty that went bone-deep. He'd never given much thought to the gods and goddesses, preferring to let the monks and nuns court them instead.

Now it came to him that Affinity was just a tool like fire or steel, turned to good or evil depending on the user. Suddenly, his world was a much harsher place without the buffer of Halcyon's benevolence.

He focused on Elina's face. 'There is no goddess. Life is all we have…'

'Then live it,' she told him. 'Go.'

A roaring like a great wind filled his ears as he was sucked out of the chamber, out of New Dovecote House, to hover high over the Rolencian valley.

And there he drifted, watching starlight bathe the snowy fields and frozen lakes. It was so beautiful and it was his home, even without his family.

Forget the goddess, Elina was right. He owed this land his service.

Pity he was going to bleed to death in the snow, failing Rolencia and himself.

Byren woke to find Orrade kneeling over him. Mid-morning sunlight filled the hollow, amplified by the brilliant white snow, so that they were bathed in a glare almost too bright to bear. Other than Orrade, he was alone. The ulfr pack must have moved on, as they had the last time. Either that or he was hallucinating that he'd passed over into Halcyon's Sacred Heart and it was his fate to hunt the high country until all those he loved had died and joined him.

'What, you dead too?' Byren croaked, throat so dry it felt cracked.

'Idiot,' Orrade told him fondly.

Byren frowned. 'You're here, really here? I'm not hallucinating? How did you find me?'

'Another of those damned visions. I've been travelling non-stop for three days, praying to Halcyon I wouldn't be too late.' He blinked back tears. 'Sylion's luck, Byren. When I found you, I thought you were dead, you lay so still.'

'I am dying. Stomach wound.' As he moved his hand from the wound, he heard his friend hiss in consternation.

'So much blood.'

When Byren tried to focus on Orrade's face, the glare defeated him. But Byren didn't need to see him to sense his friend's fiercely protective nature.

What would it have cost him to acknowledge Orrade's unwanted love? He'd been furious because it complicated their friendship. He'd been selfish. This was his last chance. 'I'm sorry, Orrie. I didn't deserve you. Kiss me before I go.'

'Kiss you?' His friend snorted. 'Not when you stink like a day-old ulfr carcass.' Then he denied his own words, pressing his lips to Byren's. His were hot, as were his tears and the puff of his breath on Byren's face.

It was a kiss of love that demanded nothing and gave everything. Orrade pulled back. 'Now, let's get you out of this stinking seep.'

'Seep?' Byren blinked.

But Orrade had already sprung to his feet. 'Florin, over here!'

'Florin?' A protest died on his lips. He'd thought they were alone. 'Florin's here?' The daughter of Old Man Narrows, from Narrowneck tradepost, she'd helped them kill the manticore pack. Last time he'd seen her, she'd come to Rolenhold to report the Merofynian invasion. Cobalt had denied her. Byren tried to sit up and failed.