Free Destined for a King by Ashlyn Macnamara Page B

it.”
    “Come,” she coaxed, as much to evade the strange light in his eyes as to persuade him to rest.
    Surprisingly enough, he obeyed, their hands joined, following her into the cool darkness of the great hall, quiet at this hour. The servants had finished clearing the midday meal and the trestle tables stood at their places around the walls. At the back of the space, steps arched upward to the higher levels of the keep.
    When they reached the flight, she sensed his hesitation through the grip of her hand.
    “Have you overextended yourself?” she asked.
    “I can climb it. I have to.” Stark words, those, and harshly spoken, as if he might order his recalcitrant muscles into obedience the way he ordered his men. “One step at a time.”
    Maintaining his hold on her, he gripped the stone railing with his other hand. Through the contact, she could feel the grit and determination to succeed, but she could also feel the slight tremor coming from his weakened leg.
    He hauled himself over the first few risers before stopping to stare out a window. Beyond the curved stone mullions, the curtain wall gave way to the towers above the gates. “Do you know what lies beyond the Freeholds?”
    She blinked and blinked again. The question had come out of nowhere. “Wasteland? That is what I’ve always heard.”
    “No.”
    She caught him eyeing the stairs and understanding blossomed. He would make the trek to her chamber under his own power, but he’d use any excuse to stop and rest along the way. Leastways, as long as that fact wasn’t too apparent. So she played along. “What, then?”
    “You’ve never heard of the Pinnacle?”
    She sifted through all the stories her childhood tutor had told her, but nothing matched. “I’m afraid not.”
    He dragged himself up another few stairs before replying. “The Steelsleet family has held that stronghold for centuries.”
    She could only nod politely. None of this meant anything to her.
    “Imagine.” He turned to face her and his expression took on a faraway look. “A castle made entirely out of ice.”
    “That sounds like the stories my nursemaid used to tell me.” Only her nursemaid had come from the same lands as her mother. The Aranya far to the south told tales of blazing deserts haunted by mirages and chimera.
    “This is no tale to beguile children. I’ve seen it.” He moved sideways up the steps. “I lived there. It’s like a vast, shining spike that pierces the clouds.”
    “It cannot truly be made of ice. It would melt, unless the cold is so enduring there. But then you would not have survived.” Even though she had witnessed him sick with fever, she could barely fathom a situation Torch would not withstand. Not when he exuded such intriguing power. Not when strength emanated from his entire being. Survival seemed to be woven into his sinew.
    “It begins as ice. There’s some secret involved that turns it hard as Adamant. Unbreakable. Impregnable even to the heat of the armorer’s forge.” He glanced about, as if trying once more to catch a glimpse of Blackbriar’s walls, but they’d moved past the window. “Such a fortress could never be taken.”
    She shook her head. “Then why hasn’t every lord of a stronghold built himself a similar fortress?”
    “The Pinnacle is ancient, the secret closely guarded,” he muttered almost to himself.
    “More’s the pity. Otherwise you could hire workmen from the Pinnacle to shore up our walls.”
    His forehead furrowed into thoughtfulness. “Yes…That I could.”
    The clump of booted feet in the hall below drew her attention. Men marched across the space, headed for the bailey and the walls. The guard was changing. Others tramped in from outdoors, sweaty with a long day’s labor at the gates. From above, another set of footsteps approached at a rapid clip.
    Rand, one of the Blackbriar guards, emerged from the upper story and pulled up short on the landing, his gaze passing from Torch to Calista and back.