Chapter 30 Freed from Hate

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"Snow," Wessel calls to me in the darkness. He rubs my arm, stirring me from deep sleep. I manage to open my eyes, though they are so heavy. The fire is smoldering now. I release a heavy breath and draw in the frigid air through my nose. My eyes drift shut, the need to sleep overwhelming me.

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The black abyss shifts and moves. My eyes flutter a few times, a hulking figure crouching before me with his back to me.

"Give me your arms," Wessel says, reaching behind him with his empty, gloved hands.

A moan escapes my sore throat, but I manage to lift my heavy arms enough to drop my hands in his. My eyes widen, seeing the big wads of linen binding my hands! No wonder I can't move my fingers! Wessel works his fingers down my hands to my wrists and gingerly pulls my arms over his shoulders...as if he knows my right shoulder is injured.

"Hold on tight," he says as he grabs the backs of my knees.

"I'll try," I croak, my throat hurting more with those two little words. With what strength I have, I manage to wind my arms about his throat. My shoulder aches, but it doesn't feel like fire anymore.

"Here we go!" Wessel springs to his feet! My stomach drops. A small squeal escapes me. My stomach settles quickly. Laughter parts my mouth, though it's hoarse. Fond memories rush back to me. I remember how Wessel would lift me onto his back and trot around with me like a knight upon his trusty steed.

Wessel's laughter joins mine. "You remember this?" he asks me.

My laughter croaks and dies, but my smile stays. "I do."

His laughter ebbs as he starts walking, crunching the snow beneath his steps. "Try to rest now. I'll need you to walk once we reach the valley."

I drop my head on his back and let my eyes fall shut.

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I stir as Wessel sets me down. I look up at the night sky, feeling more renewed than I have since...God, since this past week! What day is this? Day...twenty-five? Twenty-six? The clanking of wood draws my eyes down to Wessel.

"Ah, you're up!" he says with a grin as he assembles broken branches and chopped logs for a fire.

I nod. "Yes, I'm feeling better. I'm still tired enough that I can probably sleep for a week once we reach Vilgard."

We both laugh. Good, hearty laughter. Laughter I haven't heard in fifteen, sixteen long years. That warms my heart. Our laughter soon ebbs as Wessel gets a fire started and settles himself before it. He unties his sword from his belt and lies it before the fire in its sheath. My eyes go to the flames. He feeds a branch into the fire. The fire licks at the peeling bark, turning the peels of bark black until they start smoldering at their ends. A stronger wind blows, peeling off the bits of smoldering bark and carrying them away from us into the night. The flames crackle louder. I scoot closer to the fire to steal more of its precious warmth.

"Try not to warm yourself too much," Wessel says.

I look at him and frown. "Why?"

He sighs. "Torrance said that it's dangerous to warm frozen flesh and let it freeze again. We should only try to rewarm you once we reach Vilgard."

I look down at my bound hands. They are still numb and heavy. I can barely move them. I scoff and laugh once. "I haven't met Torrance yet and already he's telling me what to do. Healer's orders, I suppose." My smirk leaves me. "I would like to keep my fingers, if that's even possible now."

In my demented state, I had stripped off almost all my clothes and left them behind in the frozen wasteland. All I had on were my cut dresses and my stockings. Wessel sacrificed some of his clothing to dress me while I was comatose. He leant me his spare trousers and secured them to my starved body with a large sash of linen that he had torn from one of his shirts. He used the other parts of his shirt to wrap my hands and my feet.

"Torrance is a remarkable healer," Wessel says. I look up at him. "He's seen all types of wounds and injuries on the battlefield. He's saved lives and limbs, limbs that would have been otherwise cut off. He's cured illnesses that many have called incurable. He's also the greatest herbalist and alchemist of the century, renowned across the continent for his concoctions, especially for his painkillers."

I laugh and raise my brows at him. "Really? I'm sure there are other herbalists and alchemists out there who are just as good as this Torrance. They just don't have his renown."

A proud grin spreads Wessel's mouth. "Perhaps, but he has some bizarre stories."

"Huh?" My smile grows. "Tell me one."

"Hmm." Wessel lifts his eyes skyward and taps his chin. I can't help but laugh at his silly display. "Yes!" He drops his gaze to me. "Once, he went before King Adonijah of the Second Vapra Kingdom promising to turn his most mundane plants into silver and gold pieces. Torrance turned all the plants the King's servants brought to him into crushed bits of silver and gold in his mortar and pestle. Now, I swear, Torrance did not know this bit."

"What bit?" I ask, intrigued.

Wessel's grin grows even more. "You know they say never to spite your wife."

I snort, my smile still plastered to my face. "This better be good," I warn him playfully, my numb hands being pushed further back in my mind.

"That's for you to decide." His smile falls some as he picks up a wood cup and that large skin filled with milk. "I must warn you beforehand. This next part is indecent," he says as he pours more of the spiced milk into his cup and offers it to me.

A tender smile pushes into my cheeks. I lift my bound hands and carefully wrap them about the cup. "Thank you," I tell him. I manage to balance the cup between the wads of linen serving as my hands for now. Wessel smiles as I bring the cup to my mouth and slowly sip the milk, the white drink frothy and fragrant. I swish it about my mouth a few times, savoring its vanilla and cinnamon spices. I swallow the drink and relish in the warm path it trails from my mouth to my stomach. "Please go on," I tell him, eager for the distraction. The story is entertaining enough anyways.

"Alright," Wessel says, a bit reluctant. "The King's wife sent one of her servants to Torrance to bring him the King's beloved clover plant and a simple note from her."

"What did the note say?" I ask, my interest thoroughly piqued now.

Wessel raises his brows at me. "I'll get to that soon enough. Anyways, when the King saw his beloved clover plant being set on the table, he failed to notice Torrance slipping the note into his belt. Torrance knew who it was from and intended to read it later. For now, he had to deal with the King. Oh, the King was incensed that his beloved clover plant would be crushed and turned to gold!" Wessel beams bigger. "But Torrance can have a bit of a silvertongue at times. He went right up to the King, right in the middle of his furious rant, slipping between the two guards stationed before his throne! The King, in his rage, ordered his guards to kill Torrance—"

"Oh no!" I snap my mouth shut, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. "Sorry."

Wessel laughs and shakes his head. "You did nothing wrong! I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Anyways, just as the guards were about to run Torrance through, he leaned close to the King and told him he could increase the clover's potency by tenfold."

"Clover brings luck, right?" I ask, my brows furrowing. I rest my elbows on my knees and hunch over the warm cup of milk, savoring its aroma at my nose.

Wessel bobs his head. "Taboran clover brings luck, yes, but this was a different kind of clover. It's extremely rare. It's known for really opening up the veins and arteries to let the blood flow more," he says as he holds his gloved hands out and shakes them in emphasis.

"Sounds detrimental," I say.

He smirks and grabs his knees, straightening his back. "Torrance knew how to play the King. The King was…" He bobs his head, pondering. "Let's say he enjoyed women a bit too much. His wife caught him in her bed with one of her servant girls."

"How awful!" The poor wife. To walk in and find her husband, her King, having betrayed her like that.

Wessel shrugs. "She wasn't upset that the King was with her servant girl. She was upset that he and her servant girl were in her bed. That's what spited her and caused her to scheme. She wanted to embarrass the King. When she saw Torrance enter into court and heard him speak, she seized her opportunity. The King was infamous for all the women he took to bed, yes, but only his wife knew about his curse."

My brows raise, my mouth parting. "He had a curse? Is that why he had that clover plant?"

Wessel grins wider and nods. "Correct."

I watch Wessel, waiting for him to continue. He only looks back at me, a snicker starting to break his smile. The little patience I had snaps. "Would you care to tell me what his curse was!?"

His snicker vanishes, his cheeks noticeably redder. "It's a rather embarrassing curse. I don't think it's fit for your ears. I will say that it can be a man's worst nightmare."

"Oh Wessel!" I groan and roll my eyes at him, earning his hesitant laughter. "Look at me!" I nod down at myself. "I'm not a little girl anymore! I know about men's bodies." Eric enters my mind, stirring all the wrong feelings in me. I shake my head, trying to push him out of my mind. "There's no need to shield me from such things. I've heard far worse, I can assure you."

Wessel frowns, worry and something else filling his eyes. "From who?"

Finn and those wicked men enter my mind. I quickly welcome Eric back into my head to bury the terrible memories where they belong. "Eric has said some things."

His eyes widen. "What!? To you!?"

Oh no, that came out wrong! "Wessel, I'm not a little girl anymore! I was curious, so I asked him and he answered." I bite the inside of my lip, my heart stinging. Yet another lie, but there's some sinful truth there. "He answered every question in ways that preserved my innocence, but still made me aware. Now please, what curse did the King have?" I can't fault Wessel for wanting to protect me. I'm grateful for it, but I'm more than ready to move on and forget how I ever learned about men's bodies.

Wessel sighs and shakes his head, reluctant to continue, but he says, "As delicately as I can put this, the King suffered from…," the word catches on his tongue. "Impotence," he spits out the curse like it's rotten vinegar.

My brows shoot far up my forehead, my cheeks starting to burn. "Oh," I say. Eric enters my mind again. His bear-like stature, his fair face, his deep voice, his rough, hardy hands, his strong chest, those muscular thighs—None of that is lacking, so perhaps what I haven't seen is not lacking either. Oh Maker, why am I entertaining this!? My face is blazing. My heart is pounding, pumping hot blood to that sinful spot between my legs, making me throb and ache. I clear my throat and try to push Eric from my mind for his sake, but terrible thoughts push at the edges of my consciousness.

"That's horrible," I spit out. Though his lips were only on my cheek and my mouth, I can't help the thought of his mouth traveling down my chest and my stomach despite the repulsive feel and sight of my skin over my bones.

"Some would call it ironic," Wessel says and shrugs. "I hardly feel sorry for the King."

"Same here," I say quickly, my mind wandering off with Eric's lips traveling down my stomach and trailing up the insides of my thighs. Damn it, I can't get these thoughts out of my head!

Wessel smirks. "The clover the King took helped him with his impotence. You can imagine how Torrance played the King by promising to make the clover tenfold stronger."

I can't seem to get my brows down from my forehead, my mind splitting itself between Wessel's story and more sinful imaginings of Eric. "So what did Torrance do?"

"He did exactly as he promised to do. He made the clover tenfold stronger by feeding its soil with certain herbs. He sprinkled some gold flakes on the leaves for an added touch. Like this." Wessel pulls off his glove and wiggles his thumb and two fingers about like one spreads spice into their cooking pot.

I snort. "Oh God."

Wessel laughs and pulls his glove back on. "That same night, King Adonijah consumed several clovers and called his wife's servant girl to his bedchamber...while Torrance followed the instructions on the wife's note and paid her a little visit in her bed."

My jaws drops. "The lecher!" I burst out laughing and shake my head. "Torrance and the King's wife!? Really!?"

A suppressed grin appears on Wessel's mouth as he laughs hard behind sealed lips, his shoulders shaking. "Yes. That's correct. So—" he stops and tries to compose himself. He puffs out a laugh and composes himself. Mostly. "As Torrance put it, he showed the King's wife the best night of her life, while the King was having the worst night of his."

I take a quick sip of my milk and swallow, the liquid a bit cooler to my tongue. "How so? Did he get too big?"

Wessel's eyes pop open. "Milady!" he scolds me with a faint smile, creating contradicting reactions of both reproach and amusement.

"What?" I shrug my left shoulder and take a lingering sip from the cup, trying to look as innocent as possible. I should try to rest my injured shoulder every chance I get.

Wessel looks at me for a moment. He shakes his head and sighs in exasperation, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "If you must know, his bollocks swelled and swallowed his pride and joy whole"—I choke on the milk. I cough and spit the milk back into my cup.

"Are you alright!?" Wessel comes to my side and pats my back.

"I'm fine," I splutter, the back of my nose burning. I sniffle and rub my nose on the back of my dress sleeve.

Wessel sighs and rests his hand on my back. "Like I said, he was having the worst night of his life."

"Oh my God," I cough a few more times and clear my throat, trying to get the burning milk out of my nose! "What about Torrance!?" I manage to look at Wessel.

A smug look crosses his face. Such a strange look for such a humble man. "By the time the King and his guards barged into his wife's bedchamber, Torrance was long gone. The King sent out his best hunting parties, I'm sure, but he never found us. Eric did a fine job of covering our tracks."

My eyes widen, the burning milk slowly draining into the back of my mouth. Somewhat annoying, but at least the burning is going away. "Eric and you were there!?" I ask, sounding stuffy.

Wessel nods, beaming as proud as can be. "I was more of a bystander. Eric worked behind the stage. Torrance was the showman." He takes his hand from my back and clasps his hands in his lap.

I shake my head, my brows finally coming down from my forehead. "And what did you three hope to achieve with this...show of Torrance's?"

Wessel laughs and shrugs. "A good time," he answers, so nonchalant about it!

"You angered a bloodthirsty King, Wessel! You, Eric, and Torrance! All for a good time!?"

He shrugs again, looking so innocent. "What can I say? We were an unruly bunch. Locke and Jerome were with us, too. Torrance, Eric, and I wanted to return, but Locke and Jerome convinced us not to. At least two of us had some sense then."

My eyes widen. "You wanted to return!?" I can hardly believe this. "Unruly bunch," I scoff. "More like a moronic bunch. And Eric, he," my shoulders slump suddenly, the realization landing on me, "I have a feeling he had the best time out of the five of you." I remember how he was holding his arms out taunting the tavern keeper in Hymark. He may have been drunk, but drunkenness removes our inhibitions. It lets out who we truly are in our hearts.

Wessel nods, his smile unwavering. "You know Eric."

I nod. "I'm getting to know him better with each passing day. Even now despite the distance between us."

Something shifts in Wessel's face, his smile faltering. "Right. You should finish your dinner and try to sleep. We should be nearing Vilgard by midday tomorrow." The last of his smile leaves him, his face turning grave. "Do you think you'll be able to walk tomorrow when we reach the valley? The climb down is too steep for me to carry you."

I frown. I look down at my feet. Wessel wrapped the frozen stumps with generous layers of linen, but the damage has already been done. I swallow, memories of that cruel winter from two years ago flashing across my mind. "Wessel, I...I lost three toes during that brutal winter two years ago."

"What!?" he asks softly.

I release a breath, my chest and shoulders sinking. "I know what it feels like when your toes are frozen beyond saving. I feel that now in my feet. It's the same exact pain, numbness, and heaviness as before. Ha!" I scoff. "I should probably be crying, but if I have to give up my toes to save Eric, then I'll gladly pay that price." God and I know I paid a steeper price than just my toes to keep him alive. Just so long as Eric lives, I'd pay with the rest of my life.

"I will be able to walk once we reach the valley," I finally answer. "I just need to rest tonight and gather my strength for the morn." I take another lingering sip from my milk, the burning milk almost gone from my nose. Hell, I'd give the remainder of my days just to see Eric once more living, breathing, standing, and laughing. That price would be the most acceptable of all.

"Torrance is the best healer on this continent. He might be able to save your toes. Otherwise, how will you walk?"

I lower my cup from my mouth. "I had to learn before in my cell. I just had to learn how to rebalance myself. I'll do it again." I glance at Wessel. The concern in his eyes softens my heart for him. There's the big brother I have missed so much. For fourteen long years, I have missed him. "I'll be fine, Wessel. I'm in good hands." I set my cup down and place my bound hand on Wessel's gloved one.

He glances down at my bound hand and looks back up at me, his concern still burning in his eyes. "Let's wait and see what Torrance says."

I nod and take my hand from his. "That's fair."

Wessel gestures to my cup and drags his rucksack to his side. "Try to finish your dinner and sleep, milady. I'll make you snowshoes for the climb down into the valley. Be gentle with your shoulder. Torrance can make a good sling for it once we reach Vilgard." He nods to my right shoulder. So, Eric did tell him about my injury. That fact softens my heart even more for the hunter.

"Snow," I remind Wessel gently. I pick up my cup of milk, carefully balancing it between the wads of linen about my hands.

"Forgive me," he says.

I shake my head at him. He's always been a man of tradition and honor. I never thought him capable of breaking the rules. Even now, after learning the truth of why he deserted my father's banner, having him call me by my name cuts against the grain of his character. I almost feel bad for making him call me Snow. Almost. I smile into my cup, watching Wessel as he bends a flexible piece of wood and weaves strips of leather about it. How I could have ever thought of him as a traitor...I can't believe I cursed him at one point. Perhaps even hated him. My smile falls some. Yes, at one point, I think I hated him.

Thank God there is no more hate in my heart for him. Even if God never existed, I have to thank someone for it. Part of me has been set free. Even though I have only three-hundred sixty days left to live, I do not hate Wessel anymore. God, not just that, but my memories of the bow Wessel taught me to draw…I can look back on them all now with fondness. There's that, at least. Eric, though...I never had him. I never can. I love him. I cannot do that to him. I do not want him mourning me when I die. I want him to carry on with his life with renewed hope and purpose. That's all I want for him. I must keep telling myself that even though my heart yearns for so much more. I have been selfish long enough.