North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 1
COLUMBIA RIVER PUBLISHING
Vancouver, WA 98685
First published in the United States
Copyright © 2023 by Nicola Tyche
All rights reserved.
The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce creative works that enrich our culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and supporting the continued publication of books for every reader.
ISBN: PB: 978-1-959615-01-9; eBook: 978-1-959615-00-2
HC: 978-1-959615-04-0; Audio: 978-1-959615-05-7
Cover design by Saint Jupiter
Edited by Kate Studer
Edited by Hanna Richards
Proofread by Lauren Riebs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and situations either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Shaun. Without you, this story
would have never been told.
Chapter one
Consciousness came like a dream, bending the mind as dreams often do. Her eyelids fluttered under an icy weight, and she struggled to focus her vision against the blur that fell across her face.
Where was she?
She blinked back the cold of snow and drew a sharp breath as she made out the shapes of needled treetops against the sky. How did she get here?
Her pulse quickened as she sat up with a start to find herself in the middle of a winter forest. Trees rocked softly in slips of wind, and dry snowflakes danced through the air.
What was this place? Where was she?
The hair rose along the back of her neck as an icy trickle ran up her spine.
Who was she?
A rush of panic coursed through her veins. She tried to stand but stumbled as a throbbing pain inside her head caught her on the rise, threatening her fragile balance. She pressed her fingers against her temples. What had happened? As she breathed, the ache subsided. Her eyes cleared, but her mind didn’t. Why couldn’t she remember?
She glanced around. The eyes of the aspens stared back at her, watching; the wind swept whispers around her. Fear pushed back the cold. The rush of blood pulsed in her ears. Her body told her to run. But from what? And to where?
No. She couldn’t let panic take over. Her mind would come back—she only needed to give it a moment.
She drew in a deep breath to calm herself as she surveyed the forest around her. Several inches of snow sat on the ground, but only a light dusting covered her. She hadn’t been here long. Frozen tears stippled the corners of her eyes, but she was lost for their cause. She struggled for reason against her clouded mind.
“Calm down,” she told herself. “You’re a grown woman. Pull yourself together.” But telling herself to calm and actually calming were two different things. Still, she managed to keep the second wave of panic at bay.
She brushed her long icy-blonde tresses back from her face and combed the trees as she turned her attention back to her surroundings. The snow held only her own footprints, and they ended abruptly a few steps away. How had she even gotten here? It was as if she’d been dropped from the sky. And she was alone. A pang of fear twisted in her stomach again, but she pushed it down. That wouldn’t help.
Movement startled her, and she jumped to find a winter fox peering out from deeper within the trees.
“Hammel’s hell,” she said breathlessly. “You scared me.”
His white coat blended with the snow, and his black-tipped ears flicked back and forth. A fascinating beauty with an unnatural pull hung about him, and his bright, golden eyes looked back at her with a deep curiosity. For a moment, she forgot about being lost—but only for a moment.
He gave a chitter and trotted off between the trees. How peculiar.
But her mind didn’t stay with the fox for long; she had more pressing matters. She skimmed the trees as her pulse picked back up, and again, she resisted the urge to run. There was nothing to run from, and nowhere to run to, but that settled her only slightly.
She shifted her attention to herself. The cool blue of her dress, layered under a smoky-white cloak, matched the winter world around her. Her sleeves ran long over the backs of her hands. A delicate chain hung from her neck, and she reached up to feel a round pendant at her chest. She ran her fingertips over its braided edge as she looked closely at the raised image at its center: a winterhawk. Surely it meant something, but what?
Turning back to her surroundings, she spotted a break in the woods and headed toward it. When she reached it, she found herself looking out over the rolling hills of an open meadow, where clusters of trees sporadically broke the sea of white. The brightness of winter flashed harsh against her eyes, and she squinted.
She searched for signs of a village or town: a road, tracks in the snow, smoke against the sky—anything. But only winter lay as far as the eye could see.
A chitter sounded behind her, and she turned to see the fox again. He gave a small snort.
“You’re back, are you?”
What did he want? He trotted off into the forest, as if beckoning her deeper into the trees, but then stopped to look back over his shoulder. He twitched his tail, seemingly in agitation.
“What are you doing?” she called. His presence gave a welcome distraction from the threatening panic over her situation. “Can’t you see I have problems of my own?” She sighed, but as she eyed the animal, a small smile came to her lips. “Are you here to help me, little fox?”
He cocked his head at the sound of her voice and then flitted off again, light as the snowflakes around him.
Funny little thing. Did he want her to follow him? She shook her head. That was silly. She ran her eyes along the edge of the forest and then back to the meadow. The meadow seemed her best option; she’d have better visibility and possibly a better sense of direction.
She glanced back to see the fox again. He cocked his head to the side once more and flicked his ears.
“Do you want to come along?” she asked, nodding toward the meadow. “I’d appreciate the company.” Gods knew this furry distraction was the only thing keeping her from losing her last sliver of calm.
He skirted back into an icy thicket at the base of a large tree, peering at her from within.
Talking to a fox was silly. Pretending the fox had a rational mind and understood her was silly. But he was cute, and she supposed she could allow herself a little silliness to help lighten her circumstance.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
He didn’t move from the thicket.
She shrugged. “All right. Well, goodbye, little fox.” She gave him one last smile and then stepped into the open winter.
Now, away from the forest and the shield of the trees, she shivered as the wind bit at her skin. She pulled up the thick hood of her cloak, but it did little to warm her. Her eyes stung, and her fingers ached from the cold.
Her pace slowed in the deeper snow of the open meadow. Twice she stumbled on hidden rocks. Perhaps following the tree line along the forest might have been better.
She couldn’t control her shivering now, and she forced her eyes and mind on only her path ahead. The first cluster of trees wasn’t much farther, and it would be a small reprieve from the gusts of icy air. Her legs burned as she pressed on. She reached the small grouping of trees and huddled against the rough bark, rubbing her arms underneath her cloak to spur some warmth. How had she managed to get herself in the middle of a frozen forest? Where had she come from? Her dress was well made; she seemed properly put together. Surely she hadn’t been out long, which, she hoped, would mean someone would be looking for her and might soon find her.
“You look lost,” a gravelly voice called.
She jumped and turned to see a burly man leaning against a knotted pine. He wore a frayed winter jacket lined in matted fur and a dagger belted around his waist. His unkempt hair fell unevenly over his grimy brow, and he gave a grin of rotting teeth. He rocked his weight off the tree and lumbered toward her.
A shiver ran down her spine. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, trying to hide her unease with a polite smile. Her mind raced for defenses. “I lost my horse on my morning ride, but I know my brothers are looking for me and will be along soon.”
He scratched at the motley hair on his unshaven cheek and slid his gaze down and back up her body. His grin widened. “What a coincidence,” he rasped. The snow crunched under the weight of his footfalls as he stepped closer. “My brothers should be along soon too. And they’d love to meet you.”
Her heart pulsed faster. Escaping would be difficult in the open. She swallowed the panic rising in her throat. She needed to keep her wits about her.
“I’m sure they’re lovely, but I should be on my way.” She backed up slowly, positioning herself to flee, but he lurched forward and grabbed her wrist, stopping her escape.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Get your hands off me!” she demanded, trying to pull away from him.
He gave a grisly chuckle.
She fought his hold, striking out with her free hand, but his thick layers thwarted her defense. He pulled her closer, and the putrid smell of his breath—a vile, rotting stench—filled her nostrils. She whipped her hand up and raked her nails across the exposed skin of his face. He reeled back, growling in pain, and she sank her teeth into the flesh of his fingers. He lost his grip, and she wrenched away.
Everything within her screamed to run—this time with reason.
She sprinted back toward the forest. Her heart raced, coursing energy through her and giving her a burst of speed. His raged curses rang heavily close behind, and she feared she might not make it to the trees. Her lungs stung with each icy inhale; her legs begged her to stop. But she pushed herself harder, coughing for breath as she ran.
His growling huffs grew fainter, and she finally dared to peek back. She had gained a bit of distance from him. He was fast for his size, but she was faster. Her body tired, slowing, but her fear kept her going. She couldn’t feel her feet and worried about falling—she needed to make it to the forest. Almost there, she racked her mind with what to do next. The snow would give her position away. She would have to outrun him. She glanced back again and, to her horror, caught sight of not only her assailant but three more men a little way behind him.
Reaching the tree line, she charged into the wood. As she fled deeper into the forest, it grew quiet behind her. Had he stopped? Was he waiting for his friends? She looked around desperately. Her body couldn’t run anymore, and the high-branched evergreens gave little opportunities to climb and hide. She couldn’t see her pursuers, but the sound of their voices told her they had joined up at the edge of the forest.
She paused as she raced through her options. Suddenly, the small fox appeared again, sitting calmly on a fallen tree.
“You again,” she said, panting as she looked around and tried to rationalize a plan. “Any help would be greatly appreciated,” she added. His ears perked as he watched her.
Stupid, she scolded herself. Now wasn’t the time to be talking to a fox.
She picked up her pace again, fleeing farther into the wood. Lighter snow made her trail less noticeable. She saw a ridge ahead and sprang toward it. A frozen stream lay below, sheltered from the snow by its banks. Her pulse raced as her chances of eluding her pursuers grew marginally better. She slid down onto the ice, trying not to disturb the snowy bank too much, and made her way along the frozen water, but it still didn’t hide her. If they made it to the stream, they’d see her.
She noticed an alcove carved out along the stream’s bank. Although it was small, it would conceal her. If she was lucky, she could wait until they moved on. She crept into the hollow, pulling her skirts tightly around her and trying to quiet her labored breath.
The forest stood quiet. She waited. No one came. She waited longer. Still, she heard nothing, but she knew better than to venture out.
A branch snapped nearby.
Her heart beat heavily in her chest. A wave of fear washed over her, and she cursed her choice to hide. She should have kept running. Now she could only wait and hope they wouldn’t find her.
“Where are you, lovely?” a sickening voice called. “I know you hear me.”
“Alke, we shouldn’t be in here,” a second voice replied. “It’s not worth it. We should just leave her.”
“Shut your face, you coward! I’m not leaving without that wench.”
She bit back a cry rising in her throat.
“There’s much worse than me in this forest,” he called to her. “Be smart, come out.”
His companion snickered.
The air grew quiet again. She strained her ears, but she heard nothing. Still, she waited. She wasn’t foolish enough to think they’d gone. Her legs cramped in the tight confines, but she didn’t dare move.
Suddenly, a hand reached down and grabbed her arm. She let out a scream as he dragged her from her hiding space.
“Gotcha,” the brute wheezed, this time holding her at arm’s length to stave off her defensive attack.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting against him.
His companion, looking just as disheveled, chuckled beside him, but there was no sign of the other two. Where were they?
“We got her!” her captor bellowed over his shoulder, and she realized the others had stayed at the edge of the wood. They gave a few celebratory calls and urged their friends to hurry out as he dragged her back toward them.
“Let me go!” she shouted again as she struggled, desperately fighting against him, but she couldn’t match his strength. He gave a raspy chuckle and pulled her along.
“Alke,” the second man called from behind them, but her captor dragged her on, too enthralled with his catch.
“Alke!” The man’s voice came more urgent now, enough to pull even her attention.
The man that held her looked over his shoulder with a snarling glare. “Shake off, man. Come on.”
But something was wrong. His companion didn’t move.
“Bullo, come on,” her captor snapped, growing impatient.
But the man still didn’t move. His lips trembled.
“Bullo?”
The man pulled a dagger from his belt with shaking hands and brought the blade to his own neck.
She paused in her fight to free herself as a creeping dread snaked through her.
Her captor’s eyes widened. “Bullo, what are you doing?”
Bullo’s face strained, his veins bulging at his temples. “Alke!” he cried to his friend in terror. “Help me—”
But the blade cut off his words as he sliced into his own flesh. She gave a terrified gasp but held back a scream. Bullo sputtered as he choked for air. Blood sprayed down the front of his matted furs, falling to the ground and coloring the surrounding snow. He staggered forward, then collapsed with a gurgle onto the forest floor.
“Bullo!” her captor shouted, and moved toward him. Then he stopped suddenly. He let go of her wrist, but she stood frozen, too terrified to run. He looked back at her as his face twisted, his eyes widening with fear. “Witch!” he snarled.
She stumbled back. He bared his rotting teeth as he pulled his own dagger from his belt. She took another step back, shaking her head. What was happening?
“Witch!” he bellowed.
His fellow men yelled to him from the tree line, their voices urgently calling him to get out of the forest, but they didn’t enter. Why didn’t they come?
He raised his dagger, and terror ran through her. He blamed her, and he was going to kill her.
“No, please!” she cried.
They both let out a scream as he swung the dagger inward on himself and plunged it into his own stomach. He fell to his knees, and she staggered backward.
“Witch!” he screamed, then he pulled the blade from his belly and swung it again, sinking it back into his gut. She covered her mouth and watched in horror as his screams died, and he fell forward onto the forest floor, soaked in his own blood.
“Alke!” the two men bellowed from the tree line. “Alke! Bullo!”
But they still didn’t enter.
Her weeping breaths were uncontrollable now.
The air fell quiet. Had the others fled? The man named Bullo had been afraid—but of what? Whatever had killed these men would surely come for her next. She waited, her tears freezing on her face.
But nothing came. Quiet sat around her, broken only by the sound of her ragged breath.
A faint rustling made her jump, and she turned to see the fox sitting on a stump. He cocked his head.
A terrifying thought hit her. “Did you do that?” she whispered.
No. That was ridiculous. But if he didn’t, what did? The animal flicked his tail, waiting.
She stood, shaking from the cold or from terror. Maybe both. As she stared at the dead men, her fear urged her to flee, but she was on her own, and she needed a weapon. Bullo’s lifeless hand still clutched his bloody dagger. She approached cautiously, almost fearing he’d spring back to life. Sneaking forward, she grabbed the dagger by the blade so as not to touch him, and then scrambled backward in a hasty retreat. It was sticky with his blood, and her stomach turned. She wiped as much as she could on the frozen ground and then looked back at the fox.
“This is madness,” she whispered shakily, “but I’m out of ideas. If you want me to follow, then lead on already. Take me away from here.”
He leapt forward, finally happy at her compliance, and she followed after.
