Chapter 10: Frost on the Black Stair

The crack widened until the floor groaned.

Black thorns burst up through the stone, each as long as a spear.

Ingrith screamed and rolled off Kaelor's lap.

He caught her around the waist and flung her behind the throne.

"Stay down!"

The thorns shot toward him in a wave.

He raised one hand and the air in front of him turned solid.

Iron broke against it with a sound.

More came.

Through the crack in the stone a voice rolled up, huge and amused.

"Little king. Little king of the dead. You have my bride."

"Hrodmar," Kaelor said, and his voice was flat.

"I want her back. Or the girl's mother freezes."

The thorns multiplied.

Kaelor cut through six with a swipe of his arm.

A seventh slipped past and buried itself in his side.

He staggered.

He did not cry out.

He looked down at the iron sticking from his ribs, then at Ingrith.

"Do not touch it," he said.

"It's the same one."

"It burns you."

"I know."

"Ingrith, no."

She ran to him anyway.

She took the thorn in both hands.

The cold hit her palms, and then the fire, and she screamed through her teeth.

She pulled.

It came free in one long wet slide.

Kaelor went to one knee.

She dropped the thorn and caught him, and the crack in the stone sealed itself with a groan.

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