A Deadly Bite

2 || A King

Many a time, between the shaded bars of my cell, Sarielle would whisper of the seasons. Spring, with its gentle caress and bright colours that sprout in sheets across the plains. Summer in all its glorious sunshine, pulsing with heat. The fade that came with autumn, the fiery colours the trees wore like plumage before dulling into ashen grey.

She told me winter was the beast that arose in the wake of all that beauty. The winding chill of a serpent, constricting tighter as the frosts dug in, icy fangs armed with a bitter bite.

I'm not sure I believed her until now.

My fingers curl into the coarse black fur of the horse as I hunker down, chest pressed into the front of the saddle. Over the twitching tips of the horse's velvety ears, the horizon strikes a fiery line, the sun just kissing the faraway hilltops. As its strength feeds those flames in the sky, it steals that same warmth from the air. The breeze revels in it, darting under the folds of my tunic to nip at my skin.

I used to feel that same joy at the touch of cold air. The instinct is still there: the urge to tilt my head back, to lift as far as I can with my feet tangled in stirrups and let the wind wash any trace of heat from my skin. I used to like being carved of ice. It was natural, easy.

The binds on my wrists scuff the horse's neck. My grip tightens. No longer.

Another gust tears through me, chilling claws scraping deep enough to sink into bone, and an uncontainable shiver wracks my body. Gritting my teeth, I stretch my gaze further. Shadowed by the horizon is the small smudge of a town, rooftops silhouetted in harsh lines against the sky's auburn glow. It isn't far now.

"Are you cold?"

Jolting upright, I twist my head sideways. Walking at the horse's side is Fiesi, the breeze tugging on his grey cloak so that it flutters behind him. Humour doesn't quite succeed in burying the concern that steels his tone.

"I'm fine." The lie stings my tongue with shame. It's so obvious.

He laughs, plodding step keeping perfect time with the horse. "You can soak yourself through with snow unbothered, but a little evening wind is too much?" It trails into a half-smile. "You can borrow my cloak, if you want."

My arms enclose my chest in a futile effort to shield it from the cold. "Really, I'm fine." I'm not helped by the second shiver that shakes the final word.

"You're not." He spins a finger around the cloak's clasp. "Just accept it. This colour doesn't suit me, anyway."

I bunch up a fistful of my tunic. A single layer, as I've always worn, and yet only these past few days has it begun to trouble me. This is the worst I've felt -- bad enough that I can't hide it anymore. Enduring the cold was the one talent I thought I still held. Even that is gradually being leached away, trickling into the bottomless pit. Last night's sighting of death seems to have sapped all energy I had left.

My eyes flit to the town again. It isn't far, but the evening will only worsen. I'll simply have to pray that no-one notices.

Reluctantly, I nod. He grins, whipping off the cloak with a rapid gesture and tossing it over the horse's flank. I fumble to catch it, my numb fingers struggling to fasten it around my neck, but once it is I hug it around myself with fresh relief. "Thanks."

"No problem." He stands taller, chin tilted up, as if the small act makes him some sort of saint. I hide my smile under the cloak's thick pads.

It soon falls as I survey the rest of the soldiers. Even though the wound in my side is nothing more than a jagged scar, Dalton still commands that I ride. I hate that I have no grounds on which to protest; there's no chance I'd be able to walk for as long as they do. And now it seems I can't even master sitting in a saddle without needing extra support. Fiesi's cloak weighs on my shoulders.