Page 225 of Of Iron and Moonlight

The last guard hesitated.

Duncan advanced.

The man lunged in desperation.

Duncan turned the blow aside and finished the fight with a single thrust to the chest.

The man slid from his saddle into the snow.

Kryovarre wrenched his reins and spurred his horse into flight.

Duncan wheeled his horse to give chase. Snow burst beneath hooves in brittle sprays as he gained speed, leveling with Valdir neck and neck, each pounding stride like the tolling of a verdict.

“Don’t do this,” Kryovarre gasped, the wind shredding the words from his mouth. “We can still reach an understanding. I could offer you a place in my court.”

“I don’t want a place in your cursed court,” Duncan replied. His sword gleamed in his hand, raised and ready. “Nor do I want you or your blood anywhere near a throne.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Valdir snapped, desperation creeping in. “Think beyond your pride—”

Duncan tore the helm from his head with his free hand and flung it beneath Valdir’s horse. The animal stumbled violently. At that speed the misstep became disaster. Kryovarre was thrown from the saddle, his body twisting once in the air before slamming into the ground. He skidded to rest in a broken heap, a strangled scream tearing from him as he looked at his leg bent at a grotesque angle.

Duncan hauled his mare to a halt and swung down. They had ridden far from the battle—far enough that the clash of armies had faded to a distant murmur.

“I can be useful to you,” Valdir panted, writhing in the snow. “We could help each other.”

Duncan planted his boot on the shattered leg. “You think I will let you live after today?” he asked calmly as Valdir screamed. “After the slaughter on that field? After years of plotting to seize the throne?” He pressed harder. “After you had my entire family killed.”

“The Empire belongs to House derDobroiov,” Valdir rasped. “We unified the duchies. We created the Empire.” He wagged a finger weakly in the air. “The derVaelclairs stole it from us. For fifty years I have watched them masquerade as its emperors.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “And your family… that was not my doing. Duskmere ordered it. Ernst.”

“If you are so offended by usurpers, explain Kryovarre,” Duncan demanded. Disgust crept into his voice. “Explain why you burned House derVeselkal in their home in the dead of night. Explain why you killed your own brother to wear the mantle.”

Valdir spat blood into the snow. “The derVeselkals were terrible rulers. Weak,” he snarled. “Find me anyone in Kryovarre who would say otherwise.” His lip curled. “And my brother lacked the qualities required to govern. He lacked strength. Kryovarre needed someone prepared to do what others feared.”

Duncan lifted his boot from the leg only to drive it hard into Valdir’s stomach. “You did not do it for Kryovarre. You did it for yourself,” he said quietly. Then quieter still, “And it doesn’t matter who gave the order. The idea began with you. You knew you would never claim the throne while House derWhitte stood behind Wolmer.”

“It would have worked,” Valdir coughed, splattering more crimson, “if you had possessed the good sense to die when you were meant to.” He scowled. “It is almost amusing. It seems even death itself refuses to keep you.” His eyes flickered with cruel satisfaction. “A pity it was you who survived instead of Garriden. He would have made a fine duke.”

A pained sound left Duncan. “For as long as even one soul remains to bear the name derWhitte, whoever that soul is,” he said, lowering the point of his sword to hover just above the hollow of Valdir’s throat, “House derDobroiov will never rule the Empire.”

He drove his blade through Valdir’s throat.

Valdir’s breath caught once, shallow and startled. Then it stopped. His body sagged into the snow as though the land refused to hold him upright.

Duncan withdrew the sword and wiped the blade clean on the man’s cloak.

He stood over him, feeling the world settle into a strange stillness. Whether the quiet belonged to the white plains around him or to his own heart, he could not tell.

Chapter 102

Duncan

“Your Grace!” Griff skidded to a halt beside him, breathless and disheveled, which seemed to be the lad’s usual state. “His Majesty is ready to receive you.”

Duncan looked down and ruffled Griff’s already unruly hair. Griff’s youth, the simple fact of his continued life, eased something small inside him. “Thank you,” he said, nodding toward Gryon. “I will be along in a moment.”

Wolmer had made him wait.

Now Wolmer would grant him the same courtesy.