Pain struck his arm as one of the remaining two managed to stab him, but the pain was nothing compared to his fury. He howled at the man like a wolf and went after him, bashing away his defenses before ending his life abruptly. That left only one, one man who was running and slipping in the snow and ice to escape. Alensson turned the blade upside-down, closed his fingers around the hilt, and then lifted it and hurled the sword at the fleeing man like a spear.
He had never done that in a battle before. The blade’s magic had planted the thought in him, and it had worked—he watched as the blade pierced the man from behind and sent him into a snowdrift.
Alensson rushed over to where Genette was.
Kneeling in the snow beside her, he hurriedly removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Genette! Genette!” he called urgently, shaking her shoulders.
“Gentle duke,” she murmured, swayed, and collapsed against him. He hugged her close, but her half-frozen body was rigid against him.
“I’m going to get you off this mountain,” he said. “I’ll carry you the whole way if I must.”
“The key. The one with . . . the badge. Has the key.”
Alensson hurried to the corpses and found the one with the badge. After a quick search, he discovered the key ring and hurried over. His hands were shaking, his fingers clumsy as he tried to force the key into the lock. It was difficult to twist the cold metal, but he finally managed to free the bar that locked the cuffs together. His eyes fell to the frozen blood on her wrists.
“It’s not painful,” she said, shaking her head. She looked like a child who was half-awake, groggy at the first rise. Alensson put his arm around her and then lifted her up and carried her to the brazier. The tongues of flames were lashing violently in the wind. He set her down in front of it and then unfastened one of the soldier’s cloaks to wrap it around himself.
The sound of her teeth chattering reminded him they were still in danger. “I was waiting for you at the cave,” he said. “I should have waited here. I . . . I had a feeling.”
“No,” she responded. “I asked you to wait for me there. You did the right thing.”
“If I’d come sooner—”
“Shhhh,” she soothed. “If you’d come sooner, you would have been killed, Alensson. I didn’t want that.”
He stared at her in wonderment. “What do you mean?”
She sighed. “I must fulfill the mission the Fountain gave me. I chose this, Gentle Duke. I knew I would die here . . . tonight . . . on this lonely mountain.”
“You are not going to die!” he snarled furiously.
“And I knew you would be here with me. Holding vigil until the last. I knew that when I first saw you. When we first met.” A shy smile came over her mouth. “I have done what the Fountain bade me to do. You have always been there for me, Alensson. Giving me strength. Having you near me has made the burden easier.”
“Why are you talking like this?” Alensson said in frustration. “I’ve rescued you. I’m going to take you down from this mountain. I will get you back to Occitania. You must come with me, Genette, or my child will die!”
A look of sadness passed over her. “I know, Alensson. I know he will.” She let out a trembling sigh. “He will be stillborn. Do you remember what I told you?”
“You said you knew the word. You said there was a word of power that could revive him.”
She nodded. “Not your son, Gentle Duke. The heir. Your time as Duke of La Marche is over.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was very gentle. “You will have no children. You never will. There is another the Fountain will put in your place. It has always been so. A future duke. A babe stillborn. He is the one I saw in my vision. The babe will come when you are about to die. You must know this, Gentle Duke. Your pain, our suffering”—she reached out and squeezed his hand—“has saved the lives of countless of our countrymen. They will never know what we did for them. They will never say thank you. They will, eventually, forget your name. But I will not forget you. You were the one who gave me courage to carry my burden. Remember this, Gentle Duke. Remember this when you are trapped in the king’s palace in Pree.” She reached up and touched his face. “One night, a poisoner will come to you. She will not come to kill you. You will tell her our story so that she can save the heir’s life. Our story will give her courage to do what must be done.” She squeezed his hand and then leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
He was startled by all she had said and found it impossible to react to the news with words. Grief, sadness, resentment, despair all buffeted inside him. He wanted to shake his fist at the sky; he wanted to lament the cruelty of his life. Then he felt her lips brush against the edge of his eyebrow. “Tardemaw,” she whispered. It was a word of power.