"Milady, you must go rest!"

Illian scowled as she strode down the back hallway in search of more herbs, Fania scuttling behind.

"Milady!"

"They cannot rest," Illian said, pausing to motion at the patients filling yet another room—her new quarters, this time. "Until they do, I will not."

"But if you do not rest, you will become ill yourself—" Fania puffed behind as Illian moved on toward the main hall. "Then how will you aid them, lic ehel?"

Illian stopped and turned. "Fania, you are wasting much-needed energy running after me." She removed a packet of dried, crumpled herbs from her apron. "Dissolve this in water and make sure Alsef drinks all of it. Use honey if you have to."

"But milady—"

Illian raised an eyebrow and Fania sighed, taking the packet and scurrying off toward Illian's old quarters.

The dear woman meant well, but Illian could not excuse sleeping when there were still so many suffering and on the brink. Helena was the worst—her elder son recovered quickly, thanks be to Elshidaa, but the young mother still hovered between life and death.

"Milady." Illian turned as a haggard old man limped toward her. "Queen Illian. My grandson is ill and I have not the strength to move him."

He bit a lip that had begun quiver. "You must help him, milady. He's a fine lad."

"Where is he?" Illian leaned against the wall, setting down the rags she carried.

"Next door to Bin the miller's house, milady."

She sighed. Right by the city barricade—about as far as you could get from the main hall. "All right, I'll go fetch him. Go to the kitchen and find something warm to eat."

The old man frowned. "Shall I go with you and show the way?"

"I'll manage." Illian laid a hand on the old man's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll find him. I know the way."

Eomund could not even find heart to cheer as finally the dark bulk of Edoras' fortifications rose up before them in the snow-filled night. Only a slight murmur rose from his men behind him.

"Almost there," he said, turning in the saddle to look at his riders.

"Almost to your lovely wife, milord."

Eomund grimaced as he looked back to Edoras. Adin's jest had a hollow, pain-filled edge.

Driten's misty breaths had changed to a wheeze by the time they began scaling the hill leading up to the main gates. Eomund leaned his head back, forcing his summoning shout to be heard above the howling winds.

No voice replied, nor even the chink of the guards' armor. The silence of the snow pressed down on them again. Eomund repeated the summons, a hard knot of fear curling in his stomach as once again there was no response.

Everything was too quiet, the night too dark. Not even a watchman's lantern broke the darkness hanging over the town.

Eomund slid off Driten, flinching as his frost-bitten feet struck the ground. He stumbled over to the gate, leaning against it as he pulled out his sword and wedged it in the crack between the cold-shrunk wooden gates. He twisted its edge, knocking up the thick door braces and wedging back the sliding bars.

Driten pushed up beside him, shoving the gates with his shoulder—he had food and his stable on the mind. Eomund twisted his gloved fingers in the horse's mane, letting the animal pull him through the small opening he created to the main street beyond.

Eomund's knees weakened; it was empty. Not a light showed, not a sound reached his ears from the cluster of huts stretching up the hill toward the Golden Hall.

A dog barked and his hand flew to his sword.

Illian hurried through the frozen, quiet streets of the town. By now nearly all the residents were huddled throughout the great hall.

She blinked away the snowflakes stinging her cheeks and filtering through her lashes. Illian slipped on the snow-packed road and thrust out a hand to catch herself. Shivering, she trudged on.

Finally she saw the miller's house, crouched up against the city wall. Illian opened the door to the nearest hut, its hinges shrieking. It was empty.

She searched the next house, and the next one. Both had been abandoned by their sick or freezing occupants. Where could the child be?

Illian moved on to the next hut, kicking away the snow piled against the door. She yanked on its handle and it gave a few inches. There must be something else blocking it. She shoved away the remainder of the snow, pulling on the door until it slid a few more inches.

That would have to do—if the boy was not in here, she could not afford to take much more time. Illian stumbled into the darkened interior, feeling around the turf-insulated walls. A shelf with a bowl and a chipped plate. Hooks for clothes, though there were none. Her fingers finally found the door again.

Had she missed him? Could she waste time searching again? Illian dropped to her knees and crawled along the edges of the small interior.

There! Her numb fingers found the corner of a pallet and a blanket-covered figure. Illian shook it. "Hello?"

The bundle moaned and her heart leapt. "Hang on, lic ehel."

Illian eased the boy off the pallet and slid him as gently as possible toward the door. There was no way they would both fit. She slipped through the narrow opening, then took hold of the boy's legs and pulled him after her.

She winced at his groan.

"It's all right," she said, sliding her arms beneath his legs and shoulders. Illian stumbled to her feet, her knees trembling. "Okay."

She could not fall now. This little boy needed her. Illian forced herself to begin climbing back up the frozen, rutted hill toward the Golden Hall.

Not far now…

Illian tripped and her legs collapsed beneath her; she and her burden crumpled to the ground.

"No," she murmured, resting her forehead against the boy's chilly skin. "No, no…"