He turned and rummaged through a chest of black wood set against the wall. Peeking over his shoulder, Hweilan could see only more clothes, but when he stood and extended his hands, a long knife in a scabbard rested across both his palms.
"In case we run into trouble before… well, before."
She took it from him and drew the blade. It was single-edged, the point ending in a slight curve. The blade alone was as long as her forearm, and the silver steel was etched in curving designs that seemed to evoke wind and clouds.
"It's beautiful," she said. "Thank you."
"Keep it under the cloak," he said. "No sense in asking for trouble." He reached inside his own jacket and pulled out a small phial. "One more thing."
"Halbdol?"
"You're still in Kunin Gatar's realm, and it's still very cold. You'll want it. Trust me."
"Why don't you need it?"
"A long tale. For another day."
She closed her eyes, and Menduarthis applied a thick coat all around her eyes, painting a sort of mask. But her hair kept falling in the way. Her eyes still closed, she felt him brushing the hair back behind her ear, very gently with the backs of his fingers. His touch lingered a bit too long, and she pulled away.
"Let me do something about my hair," she said. Feeling her face flush, she turned away.
"Here," said Menduarthis. "Try this."
She turned back around. He was holding out a long silk scarf, a dark red, like heart's blood.
"It's lovely," she said. As she took it, the scent of a feminine perfume wafted out from it-fading, but still there. She gave him a wicked smile. "Something tells me I'm not the first lady to enjoy your hospitality."
He grinned back. "So you are enjoying me, then?"
Hweilan took the scarf, swept her hair back off her head, and bound the cloth atop her head.
She held out her hand for the phial. "I can do the rest."
"As you wish," said Menduarthis.
Rather than another death mask, Hweilan smeared the halbdol on one finger and covered most of her face, neck and ears.
"Most fearsome," said Menduarthis. "Let's do this."
He walked over to an open space on the floor between the shuttered windows and motioned toward the floor with one fist. With a rush of air, a door flew up from the floor and banged against the wall.
Remembering the night she'd first met Menduarthis, and being reminded of his powers now, Hweilan asked, "You're a sorcerer?"
"Nothing so droll," he said. "Let's get today over with, then we can get to know each other properly."
Hweilan felt herself blushing again and was grateful for the black paste covering her face.
They stepped outside, into a gust of frigid air and snow. The cold hit like a slap, and Hweilan cried out.
"Hmm," said Menduarthis. "Good thing you painted yourself with the halbdol after all. Looks as if Kunin Gatar's in a mood today."
They stood on the broad ledge of a cliff. How far it ascended over the ledge and fell below, she couldn't tell, for the snow hid everything beyond a few dozen feet. She saw another round door and shuttered window peeking through the snow. Whether they were other dwellings or more of Menduarthis's, it didn't much matter now. Hweilan knew she'd either be dead or gone from this place before the day was done.
Menduarthis led her down more steps-none with rails, and she walked as close as she could to the rock wall-along more paths along cliffside ledges, and across stone bridges where the wind seemed determined to push her over the edge. She clutched at the insides of her cloak to keep it near her body, not just for warmth, for she feared if the wind caught it, it would fill like a sail and throw her into depths where she might fall forever.
Only the halbdol kept her face and eyes from freezing, but her breath came out in great clouds that froze into snow only inches from her face before being swept away by the gale.
Hweilan saw no other living creatures, but she could sense things watching them from the storm. Sometimes with only simple curiosity. But once, as they passed underneath an overhang of black rock, she could feel malice washing over her, like a foul stench, and Menduarthis called over the shriek of the wind, "Best stay close here!"
She didn't ask why, and the feeling soon passed.
They continued on, rounding a bend in the mountain and walking into the face of the wind. Every step brought them closer to the palace. They were walking into the heart of the storm.
By the time they reached the frozen river, the light was beginning its slow fade to evening, and the new snow was up to Hweilan's knees. With no snowshoes, they had to wade through it. But Menduarthis had spoken truly about the clothes he'd given her: even walking into the wind, Hweilan wasn't cold.
Menduarthis kept near the base of the cliff, for out on the snow-covered ice, uldra were racing down the river in sleds affixed with large sails. They moved incredibly fast, and although Hweilan caught only glimpses of them through the snow, she thought by the snatches of laughter she heard that most of the sailors were children.
As they neared the section of the cliff, on the other side of which lay the main gate, two uldra passed them riding on the back of a great swiftstag. Menduarthis spoke to them in their language-Hweilan tense and looking elsewhere the whole time-then they rode off. She watched them go until the great beast was lost to the storm.
"I thought they rode tigers," Hweilan said to Menduarthis.
"Only the Ujaiyen," he said, "the queen's scouts. Other uldra ride swiftstags, wolves, rams. I've heard rumors there's one old fellow a ways upriver who has tamed a bear. But on the rivers and fields, they love their sailsleds. Not much good up in the mountains and woods, though."
Another sailsled raced by, just a swift shadow passed through the swirling snow. The sound of laughter lingered after the sled was lost to sight.
"Who said there are no benefits to a queen's wrath?" said Menduarthis
He led Hweilan to the cliffside. Under the snow, Hweilan could feel her boots cracking on something that felt like dry branches-many of them too thick to break and simply threatening to trip her.
She knelt in the snow and rummaged under it until her glove brushed up against one of the branches. She grabbed it and pulled it out. It wasn't a branch. It was a bone. A leg bone by the looks of it. She was no expert on such things, but its narrow length looked very much like a human leg bone. She tossed it aside, then found another. Definitely a rib. When her other hand brushed up against something more round, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, fearing what it was. Her fears proved true. Her hand emerged from the snow with the upper half of a human skull.
She looked up at Menduarthis. "What is this?"
He pointed up. "We're here."
Hweilan looked up. The falling snow obscured everything above a few dozen feet. But she could just make out where the wall of the cliff began to lean out a little.
"We're where?" she asked.
"You said you wanted your things back."
"Roakh lives here?" Hweilan looked back down at the skull in her hand and remembered her meeting with Roakh in the palace. Memory of the old nightmare came to her again, of ravens on the battlefield, their dead, black eyes eager for hers.
"For the moment," said Menduarthis, and it took Hweilan a moment to catch his meaning.
She reached behind her back and drew the knife that Menduarthis had given her. "I'm ready," she said.
Menduarthis extended his hand. "Very well," he said. "Come here."
Hweilan walked to him, the knife held loosely at her side, and stopped just shy of his hand.
"Don't you trust me?" said Menduarthis.
"I'm here, am I not?"
"That's not what I meant. Roakh's up there." He pointed to the cliff wall above them. "I can get us there, but not like this. You must suffer my embrace for a few moments."