“Hey. Wake up.”

Sander’s eyes snapped open. Leander’s face swam into view, illuminated by the flicker of light from the pocket stove. Everything else was dark. Cold.

Unbearably cold.

“What? What is it?” Sander asked. His voice felt rough in his throat.

“You need to put this under the Mylar blanket. It’s the last one,” Leander said, stuffing a newly activated heat pack against Sander’s chest.

“You need it, too,” Sander said, pushing it back at Leander.

“My teeth aren’t chattering and I’m not groaning in my sleep. You need more meds, too. Sit up after you put that heat pack in and take these.” Leander shook two tablets from a small packet. “I’ve got water boiling for coffee. Should help.”

Sander pushed himself into a sitting position. “You’re wrong,” he said, meeting Leander’s eyes. “Your teeth are chattering. Keep the heat pack.”

Leander seemed surprised.

“Maybe you’re coming down with what I’ve got. You should take the pills, try and ward it off before it gets too bad.” Sander didn’t take the medication.

“I’m cold, yes, because it’s colder than the Arctic out there. But I’m not sick. So take these or I’ll wrestle you down and make you take them.” Leander gestured impatiently with the hand holding the pills. The message was clear: take these right now.

Sander understood that Leander would give him the medication no matter what. Saving the king, and all that. Leander sometimes forgot that Sander could be just as stubborn about saving lives. Of his brothers, friends, citizens of the kingdom. If Leander was just cold, however, and not sick, then the meds would be wasted on him.

“Why don’t we save the meds? Use them if I take another bad turn, or if you come down with it,” Sander said, fishing out his canteen for a sip of water.

“This is the time to try and kill it. One or two doses of antibiotics won’t be enough. You need to take four or five days, at least. I’ve got more meds, don’t worry about that.” Leander shoved the pills into Sander’s hand.

Sander popped the medication onto his tongue and swallowed it down. Leander’s particular phrasing proved that he might not be worried about the pills, but he was worried about something.

After capping the canteen, Sander unlooped the strap from around his neck and set it aside. He met Leander’s eyes in the dimly lit tent. For a moment, Sander was struck by his friend’s condition. A thick but short beard covered Leander’s jaw and chin, his hair curling wildly past the edges of his hood. His cheeks appeared ruddy, as if he’d been sunburned or windburned, and hollowness existed around his eyes. Leander resembled a man in a fight for his life, exposed to the harsh elements of Mother Nature, and it sure as hell looked like Mother Nature was winning.

“Here.” Leander broke the spell by handing a steaming mug across to Sander.

“Thanks.” He lifted the coffee to his lips for a scalding sip. He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking so bad until he balanced the cup against his mouth. His extremities felt somewhat numb, muscles achy and sore. The longer he was awake, the more it seemed as if they were sitting inside a freezer. Except this freezer happened to be somewhere in the neighborhood of minus sixty degrees.

It dawned on him minutes later, midsip of his coffee, that Leander hadn’t woken him just to take the meds. Leander had woken him to make sure he didn’t die in his sleep.

Sitting for a time in silence, Sander finished the coffee and set the mug aside. Mylar crinkled with every movement. “So what’s the plan of attack?” he asked.

Leander doused the small flame on the fuel tab, clearly saving energy. “We wait another two or three hours, closer to daybreak, and hope that the blizzard passes. Then we keep going.”

“Good plan. We sure as hell can’t stay here much longer,” Sander said. We’ll freeze to death. “And if the blizzard’s still raging?”

“We go anyway. We have to.” Leander pulled his Mylar blanket tighter around him.

Sander had never seen him look so miserable. He looks like I feel. “I agree. We have to.” He closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

“Hey. Wake up. No sleeping,” Leander said, shaking Sander’s shoulder.

Startled into awareness, Sander realized he’d dozed off. “I feel like I could sleep for a year.”

“That’s death trying to creep in. Don’t let it,” Leander said.

“It’ll take more than that for death to claim me,” Sander retorted, temporarily full of defiance.

Leander grunted.

Sander wrapped the Mylar tighter around his body.

“I swear it must be minus seventy out there,” Leander said. “Ridiculously cold.”

“Colder than anything I’ve ever felt in Latvala,” Sander agreed. He caught himself with his eyes closed and popped them open again. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. Glancing over, he noticed Leander fighting to keep his eyes open, too. A prickle of danger caused goose bumps to spread over Sander’s skin. They couldn’t go to sleep. He cleared his throat and huddled into himself, listening to the wind attempt to rip the small tent apart. Sleet pinged off the material, seeking entry. Thankful for the heat pack, which kept some of the worst of the chill at bay, he hunched his shoulders and stared at the gloomy reflections in the Mylar. It gave him something to focus on besides his misery.

Jerking awake, a plume of frigid air pulsing past his lips, Sander’s first thought was: dammit, we fell asleep. The interior of the tent seemed unusually light, not as if from daylight but moonlight, the eerie glow outlining the shape of the pocket stove, the carafe, and . . . Leander. His friend lay on his back, supine, Mylar curled around his body like a funeral shroud.

I don’t see his breath. There isn’t a stream of white from his mouth like there is from mine.

Leander’s lips were purplish-blue, skin so white it looked translucent.

Panic took hold. Rolling onto his knees, Sander yanked a glove from his hand.

“Leander! Wake up!” Sander shouted, thrusting his fingers down to feel for a pulse against Leander’s throat. Leander’s skin felt as cold as a block of ice.

Wheezing a breath, Sander tugged off the other glove and started chest compressions. “Don’t die on me. Leander! Wake up.”

But he knew. Sander knew by the rigid feel of Leander’s body that it was too late. Far too late.

Chest compressions wouldn’t save him now.

The cold had won. Winter had claimed another victim.

“Sander! Stop throwing your fists around!”

Bolting upright and breathing hard, Sander grappled against restraining arms. Eyes wild, darting frantic glances around the tent, his focus landed back on Leander.

“You’re having a nightmare, old man. Wake the hell up.” Leander shook Sander by the shoulders.

“What?” Sander rasped. A nightmare? Leander was alive, breathing. Sander registered the truth and slumped, the fight going out of his limbs.

“You probably saved our lives, you bastard,” Leander said, sitting back. Out of breath, he snatched the Mylar closer around his body. “You were thrashing and hit me, which woke me up. We both fell asleep.”

Sander rattled off a few distinct curses. “I dreamed you died. I woke up and you were stone cold.”

“I might have been had you not gone batshit crazy.” Leander did not sound happy that he’d fallen asleep.

“We’ve got to get ourselves to shelter,” Sander said. “In another hour, two at most, we’re moving out.” Only after the immediate panic had worn off could Sander take stock of his own health: a low-grade fever simmered under his skin and he felt like he’d been run over a few times by a truck. But he was alive, heart pounding in his chest, the burst of adrenaline giving him a surge of energy and determination.

“Yeah. I’m with you, brother. I’m with you,” Leander said, unfurling from the Mylar long enough to light the fuel tab and start a new pot of water. His teeth chattered and his fingers shook.

Sander stared balefully at the small flame on the fuel tab, ridding himself of the nightmare by thinking about Chey. About his kids.

No matter how hard the journey, he would make it home.

“Come on, Mom! I’ll lead the way,” Elias said, barging forward bravely into the snowstorm.

Holding Emily and Erick by the hand, Chey took five steps away from the gate and stopped. “Elias, wait.”

The little boy, so like his father in looks and demeanor, paused to look back. He squinted against the snow and sleet.

Chey huddled closer to Elias, bringing Emily and Erick with her. Why did it have to be so cold? “Listen. We’re not going to the docks. We have to—”

“But Granmama said—”

“She’s not your grandmother, Elias. She is not related to you by blood, and she does not have our best interests at heart. We can’t make the trip to the docks, not in this weather, not with me this pregnant. Besides, we have to retake the castle. It’s our home. It’s your birthright. She had no right to make us leave. Do you understand, son?”

The boy was unusually astute for his age and already protective of the kingdom. Of his role as heir. Sander had worked long hours teaching and instilling a sense of duty and responsibility into his first born, preparing him for what was to come.

Chey saw the moment that Elias grasped the situation. His little brow furrowed and his eyes grew more serious. He might not have understood each and every nuance of the conflict, but he clearly saw the bigger picture.

“I understand, Mom,” Elias said. He always used ‘Mom’ during his more serious conversations, when he was concerned or scared.

“Good. Here’s the plan. We’re going to circle around the wall of the castle on the seaward side, where no one can see us.” Chey wasn’t sure anyone could see them regardless through the blinding whiteout. In this particular case, the weather worked with them, instead of against them.

“The secret entrance!” Elias said, excitement lighting his eyes.

Pleased that Elias came to the right conclusion on his own, Chey smiled. “Exactly. I’ll need you to lead the way, Elias. Clear us a path. The wind is blowing from the other side of the castle, so the drifts on the seaward side should be minimal.”

“I’ll help, Momma!” Emily said.

“Good girl. Let’s go. Remember, don’t rush too far ahead or move too far from the wall. Use your hand on the stone as a guide. We can lose our way quickly in the whiteout.” Chey knew she had to limit their time in the cold, despite their youthful energy. Already she could feel the chill creeping in around the edges of her clothing.

Elias took the lead, staying close to the high castle wall, marching determinedly toward the corner of the seaward side. His little legs lifted high to clear the drifts and stomped down again. Emily followed in the haphazard path Elias made, bracing herself against a gust of wind. Erick fell into step behind Emily, plodding in her wake.

Relieved that she didn’t have to carry Erick at the moment, Chey pulled the coat closer around her shoulders and brought up the rear. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to brave the elements in this manner while pregnant. If she took it slow and used caution, she felt sure she could reach safety without a serious mishap.

Elias proved to be an excellent snow-mover; he cleared a distinct path, using his legs to plow through the powdery drifts.

Thankful that the recent storm had blown in from the other direction, leaving knee-high drifts rather than hip-deep hills, Chey kept each of her children in sight as they followed the wall toward the secret entrance. Kings of old always wanted escape routes or secretive entrances, just like they wanted hidden tunnels. Some long lost Ahtissari sovereign had built just such a feature into Kallaster, hiding the passage and doorway cleverly into the design of the castle wall. Unless one knew it was there, it was impossible to see from any direction.

Elias made it to the separation in the wall and followed the corridor into the gloom. He turned left, as did Chey and the other children, feeling their way toward a heavy door located a few yards ahead. There were two ways in: a numbered keypad and a hidden key that was disguised in the iron scrollwork. Chey couldn’t see the keypad at all, but Elias had already located the iron key and pulled it from its hiding spot.

“I got it!” he said.

Out of breath, Chey pressed a palm against a mild cramp in her belly and huddled Erick and Emily close to her body. “Good. Open the door, baby,” she said.

Elias unlocked the heavy bolt, put the key back in its place, and struggled to pull the massive wooden door open.

Chey herded the children inside and pushed the door closed. Light flashed into the dark tunnel. Startled, Chey turned to see Elias wielding a small flashlight. Her son had thought to bring it, just in case.

“Smart thinking,” she praised.

“And I got food, too.” He switched the light from one hand to the other, then pulled the zipper on his coat down a few inches. He reached inside and pulled out a handful of trail mix bags. “Plus jerky. It was lighter and easier to carry.”

Chey wanted to hug Elias tight. Hug the proverbial stuffing out of him. “Very smart thinking,” she said. “How did you get it past the guards in the storeroom?”

“I stashed it before there were guards. And when I asked Chef for jerky, I hid it away. She always sneaked me pieces,” Elias replied proudly.

Her son, the hoarder. Chey hugged Elias despite his brief protest of, “Mom. I’m the man of the house. Papa said so before he left.”

“And you’re doing a fabulous job. Wait until I tell Papa what you’ve done.” Chey released Elias and gestured for him to take the lead through the tunnels. He knew the way well enough.

“I did good, too, Momma!” Emily stated. “I didn’t even complain at the cold!”

“You all did very good. Let’s go,” Chey said. Now that they were inside, she needed to think hard about her plan of attack. She had one shot to execute the perfect battle strategy. If she lost the element of surprise too early, or if the guards overpowered her too soon, all her efforts would be wasted.

Lives hung in the balance. Hers, and her children’s.

She had to make it work.