“It won’t start. We’re stranded,” Gunnar said through chattering teeth.

“Try again.” Sander glanced up from the list of supplies attached to his clipboard. To his right sat a large military convoy vehicle, the kind with a tarpaulin-covered bed used to transport firearms, personnel or, in their case, foodstuffs. He met his youngest brother’s eyes; Gunnar looked miserable, cold.

“We did. Six, seven, eight times now. It needs a garage and the right tools. Tools we don’t have out here,” Gunnar said, gesturing to the barren winter landscape. White stretched as far as the eye could see. Flurries swirled faster, growing thicker, threatening to become something more than a mild snowstorm.

Sander stood with his back to the howling wind, ignoring the chill creeping under the edges of his white and gray camouflage clothing. He didn’t think he could get any colder than he already was. “What does Leander say?”

Leander slammed the hood of the truck shut with enough force to blow a thick layer of snow off the wheel wells. He leaned around the vehicle, met Sander’s eyes, and said, “Gunnar’s right. We’re not going anywhere. The whole engine is seized, rendering this beast all but useless.”

Leander had been a friend for more years than Sander could count. If Leander couldn’t fix the truck under these conditions, no one could. Opening the back passenger door, Sander tossed the clipboard onto the seat and tucked the pen into his pocket. He raised his voice to be heard above the wind. “We’ll have to set up camp right here and see if we can raise someone on the satellite phone in the morning.”

“It looks like another storm is coming in. If it turns into a blizzard like the last two, it’ll be too risky to stay exposed overnight,” Leander said. “We’re going to have to walk back to the last farmer’s house and take shelter there until it passes.”

“We can’t abandon the truck. I counted at least two weeks’ worth of supplies in the back. I’m not leaving it here to rot when there are people starving a few miles up the road,” Sander said.

In the beginning, their group had started out with three trucks and eighteen men. The first truck to go down had slipped off the road and had become wedged in a ditch. All attempts to pull the truck free had failed. The second vehicle, carrying supplies and personnel from the first, lost a tire and, subsequently, the two extra spares. After replacing the tire with one of their own spares, Sander had been forced to send more than half his team back to the nearest small town to wait out the storm. They’d sent a good deal of supplies with the men in hopes the food would last long enough to stave off starvation.

That was what this whole mission was about: saving as many people as they possibly could. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Latvala citizens had already perished in the brutal winter. Sander didn’t want to lose more. The unprecedented blizzards had stacked one upon the other, turning the entire region into a frozen mass that was nearly impossible to navigate. Sander and his men had departed weeks ago from the coast to deliver foodstuffs to starving, snowbound residents.

Now their last vehicle had broken down in the hinterlands, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere. Even the smallest villages were miles and miles from where they currently stood. Out here lived rural farmers and other citizens who preferred a more solitary existence. Each and every life was important to Sander, important enough to risk sleeping in the open if it meant they could continue. Haunted by the thought of children crying to their parents for food, by images of emaciated, skeletal families on the verge of death, he pressed ever onward.

“We’ve got maybe an hour until nightfall,” Mattias said, appearing at Sander’s side. The fifth in line to the throne and Sander’s middle brother, Mattias Ahtissari had worked as tirelessly as everyone else to save lives. “The temperature has already dropped into the single digits. I’m guessing we’ll hit subzero levels before midnight. Forget trying to wander off and find the farmer. We need to activate the emergency beacon and take shelter here until a rescue helicopter arrives.”

“Not yet.” Sander shook his head. “We’ve still got three hundred pounds of beans, rice and—”

“None of which will do any good if we’re not alive to deliver it,” Mattias said, dark eyes serious and sober. He clamped a hand on Sander’s shoulder. “We’ve done what we can, brother. We’ve saved those we can save. It’s time to go home.”

“No.” Sander turned glaring into the sideways-blowing snow. Why wouldn’t it stop? What was wrong with the world that the weather had taken such a drastic turn? He’d known before setting out that the winter would be a bad one—but this? This was beyond anything Latvala had ever experienced, beyond anyone’s imagination. He didn’t know if neighboring countries were still sending aid or if the Latvala coastline and Pallan Island had been closed off to outside help. It was possible that the entire region and all the countries in it were suffering the same fate.

A shudder shook his spine. His pregnant wife was still on the island, running day-to-day operations in his absence. Holed up in Kallaster Castle was undoubtedly a better place to be than out here exposed to the elements.

Still.

At some point, the food would run out. If deliveries hadn’t gotten through, if the weather hadn’t permitted air drops or shipments or overland trucks, the reserves would only feed a castle full of people for so long.

Movement near the back of the truck drew his gaze. Four guards dressed similarly in white and gray camouflage took up new positions flanking the vehicle, men chosen for their trustworthiness and loyalty to the king. Although the weather approached whiteout conditions, the guards remained alert and attentive to the surroundings. Sander reminded himself that he had a duty to these men, too, as well as his brothers and Leander. For their selfless sacrifices, he couldn’t make decisions that would put their lives in peril.

“I know it’s hard,” Mattias said, stepping into view. “I know you want to press on, to spread the food as far and wide as you can. But we have to be careful that we don’t endanger the lives of those around us. These men will follow you until they drop. It’s up to you, and only you, to call a halt to the mission.”

Sander knew Mattias was right. He knew they were at the end of their proverbial road, that the storm could turn into another blizzard that might last days instead of hours. Even now he couldn’t see more than fifty yards in any direction, as if a great white blanket was slowly being pressed closer and closer around them.

Soon, Sander knew, he wouldn’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face.

He loathed giving up. Giving in.

“All right. Activate the emergency beacon. But we’re going to light the flares along that low ridge before we leave in the morning—if the storm passes quickly—so that anyone who comes looking will find the food.” After a moment, he added, “We’ll take shelter inside the truck instead of erecting the tents. We’ll be safer, warmer, even if we can’t stretch out.”

Mattias squinted against a fresh gust of wind and snow, and nodded. “I’ll tell the others while Leander activates the beacon. You should get inside. Your nose looks like it’s seconds away from frostbite.”

Sander couldn’t disagree. He’d lost all feeling in his nose and chin hours ago.

Hauling himself into the backseat after moving the clipboard, he shed his damp coat in favor of a dry one. They had packed extra clothing under the cushions for emergencies, knowing in advance what kind of hazards they would be facing in the back country.

An eerie silence existed inside the cabin, the kind of silence that seemed out of place with a violent storm whipping up beyond the windows. Sander huddled into the snow jacket and stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets, desperate for extra warmth. He watched Mattias send the guards into the rear of the truck to sit with the supplies; at least the men would be able to stretch their legs. Thick canvas covered the entire back of the vehicle, providing adequate protection from the wind and cold.

Changing his mind, Sander withdrew his hands and pulled the damp gloves from his fingers. He created a cup-shaped barrier in front of his face and blew warm air into his palms so it bounced back against his frigid skin. It stung his cheeks and chin. Nothing happened with his nose—no sensation, no sting—and if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn his sniffer had fallen off some time ago.

Mattias trudged past the window with Gunnar at his side. Leander brought up the rear, carrying a small black box tucked under his arm. Sander tracked the group with his eyes until the trio stopped near the hood of the vehicle and all stared down at the beacon Leander shifted into his hands. Undoubtedly, they were activating the device so that rescuers could find them once weather conditions improved. It was a crude method of communication, but effective when everything else failed.

Disgusted with the situation and distressed that the remaining food wouldn’t make it to the next house, Sander yanked the hood of the coat down and raked his hands through his hair. Catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, he discovered a gaunt looking man with bright red cheeks, a purplish-red nose and whiskers that had grown into a somewhat scraggly beard. His eyes looked as jaded as he felt, the vivid blue worn down to a dull color that reminded him of washed-out denim.

The weeks of struggle had taken more of a toll than he realized. Sander estimated that he’d lost twenty pounds or so, judging by the loose fit of his pants. He’d simply applied a belt and tightened accordingly along the way. No amount of goading or cajoling had prompted him to double his rations. He had his share—no more, no less.

Once, when he’d caught Leander sneakily adding dried beef to his portion, Sander firmly placed the exact amount back on Leander’s plate. A heated debate had ensued over the willful giving of food versus the stern decline of special treatment. Arguments of you’re the king, it’s my job to protect you had fallen on deaf ears. If nothing else, the two of them had generated enough adrenaline to warm their bodies through and through. And that was much appreciated—if silently—in the aftermath.

Finding a new pair of dry gloves under the seat, Sander slid them on over his tingling fingers. Although the interior of the truck blocked the wind, it was colder inside than he’d expected it to be. He reached down between his snow-caked boots to pull a few Mylar survival blankets free and set them on the seat, ready to be used once they were settled for the night.

Sander glanced out the window, wondering what was taking Mattias, Gunnar, and Leander so long. All they had to do was flip one switch. Yet the three men were huddled together, heads bent, as if stymied by what to do next.

“Maybe I should get out and see if I can help.” Silencing his grumpy muttering, Sander slouched in the seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

Five minutes later, the men still hadn’t returned to the vehicle.

“What the hell?” Sander couldn’t fathom what the problem might be. The snow fell faster, reducing visibility to less than ten feet. He could barely see past the hood, barely make out the shapes of his brothers and Leander. Just when he reached for the door handle, prepared to get out and hurry the process along, the men appeared past the windows and climbed inside. Leander sat behind the wheel, Mattias in the front passenger’s seat, and Gunnar in the back with him. Once the doors were closed, a heavy silence fell over the cabin.

Leander shoved his hood back and tossed the black box onto the dashboard.

Mattias twisted around in his seat and met Sander’s eyes.

Sander knew before Mattias said a thing that something was wrong with the beacon.

“We can’t get the box to work. The signal won’t activate. We tried everything,” Mattias said.

“Someone must have dropped it or jarred the wires loose,” Gunnar added. He unzipped his coat with a frustrated yank. “Or it was faulty from the beginning.”

“I tested all three beacons before we departed weeks ago,” Leander said. “The last one that we left with the other crew worked fine. Maybe it’s too damned cold. Maybe the entire unit froze up, even though these things are supposed to be made for extreme conditions.” Wearing a disgusted expression, Leander stripped the jacket from his shoulders. Ice pellets tick-ticked off the dash and the seats.

“We’ll try again in the morning.” Sander knew the device was out of order for good. If it didn’t work now, it wouldn’t work tomorrow. The silence that met his reply proved the other men knew it, too. The satellite phone hadn’t been able to pick up a signal in days, and it wouldn’t pick up one now with a blizzard blowing in.

“Here. I got the thermal blankets out,” Sander said. “We’ll probably need them tonight.”

“Thanks. I sweated so much working on the engine that I feel like I’ve got a sheet of ice for skin under all these clothes,” Leander said, reaching back for a fresh jacket and one of the Mylar squares.

Sander helped the men get organized. Once everyone had shed wet for dry, he passed around a canteen of water and slouched against the door. While his body demanded rest, his mind ran a hundred miles an hour. He couldn’t shut down his thoughts.

If Leander couldn’t summon an emergency extraction team, they would have to set out on foot and hope the weather would clear long enough to find the next homestead. Cell phones couldn’t get signals this far out in the hinterlands, and with power outages reported long before their departure, Sander held little hope he and his team would find a working landline.

It might be days—weeks—before they made contact with the military or their loved ones, a thought that didn’t please him at all. He needed updates on his children and Chey, needed to reassure himself that they were okay. Kallaster Castle had been well stocked with supplies when he left, but that didn’t mean the occupants weren’t suffering ill consequences from the weather.

Sander caught Leander’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He’d known Leander long enough to translate their silent exchange: We may be in trouble, but we’ll find a way out. We always do.

“I can’t be sure, Chey, but I think someone’s stealing food,” Wynn whispered.

“What? Why would someone steal food? I thought the rationing was going well.” Chey paused halfway up the stairs to the second floor. She glanced ahead and behind to make sure no one was eavesdropping on the conversation. Then she directed all her attention to Wynn, best friend extraordinaire. A short bob of dark hair framed Wynn’s face, accentuating the concern in her expressive eyes.

“It is. I mean, the rationing is going as well as can be expected considering the extra people that arrived last week. But this morning when I went into the storeroom, I noticed that someone had rearranged all the bags of beans, rice, and flour. They weren’t in their usual rows. I’m having one of the kitchen aides put everything back like it was, then I plan to do a recount. It seems—and maybe it’s because the bags are out of place—like some are missing.” Wynn chewed her lip and tucked a length of dark hair behind an ear.

“I really hope that’s not the case.” Chey leaned against the banister and ran a palm distractedly over the swell of her stomach. She wasn’t so far along in her pregnancy that stairs were a problem, but a persistent twinge encouraged her to take a few seconds to rest. “We haven’t put a watch on the storeroom because I didn’t think we needed it. If your counts come back short, then we’ll have to start guarding the food.”

“It might be best. Maybe even if the count comes back okay. I think it’s time we started looking ahead a few weeks. We had enough food for the original amount of people in the castle, but we’ve taken on two boatloads of citizens from the mainland and that’s an extra hundred and sixty-five mouths we didn’t expect to feed. Every day we think the weather will change, that spring will finally arrive and the ice will melt. We need to prepare in case we get more snow instead of less. There’s another storm brewing and it looks like it might be as bad—or worse—than the last.” The corner of Wynn’s mouth quirked after she delivered the news, as if she loathed passing on the information.

Chey glanced down at the foyer on the main level, toward the tall windows flanking the heavy doorway. She couldn’t see much past the panes from this angle, only the same white glow that had been there for the past several months. No less than five feet of snow had accumulated just outside the castle doors from the constant shoveling to keep the pathway clear. She didn’t know if the castle could handle another severe storm. Not the castle itself, but the people trapped within. Several fights had broken out among the citizens who had arrived without notice, refugees who had risked life and limb to cross a volatile—if small—stretch of ocean to the island. In whiteout conditions, all manner of travel had become hazardous. As queen of Latvala and Sander’s wife, Chey simply could not turn them away. Kallaster Castle had the best means to house and protect those seeking shelter, so she’d absorbed the new additions with as much aplomb as possible.

“I think you’re right. Let’s reduce the adult portions by fifteen percent, but leave the children’s portions where they are. They need the food more than we do. Take a few of the most trusted guards aside and ask them to pay closer attention to who comes and goes from the kitchens—” Chey stopped speaking when a sudden chorus of shouts echoed up the stairwell. She exchanged a knowing glance with Wynn then hurried down the stairs, careful not to trip over her own feet.

“I bet it’s that man again. Burl. The one who started the last fight,” Wynn said, following in Chey’s wake.

“It better not be.” Chey couldn’t have these altercations breaking out in the castle. It threatened the tenuous harmony among everyone taking shelter at Kallaster. Chey recalled the reason for the last fight Burl started: he’d wanted access to the guards’ weapons cache, insisting that every man should be armed against intruders. She’d wanted to tell Burl that most residents were housebound, that the likelihood of invasion or an attack from an adversary would be almost zero in these snowstorms. He’d been lucky that his boat—and everyone on it—hadn’t gone down during their treacherous journey to the island.

Coming upon a thick circle of people gathered in the great hall, Chey maneuvered her way through until she emerged into a clearing where five men faced off against each other. A collective hush fell over the room when it became known that the queen had arrived. Chey ignored the bows and curtsies and strode forward.

“What’s going on?” Chey asked with just the right amount of disapproval in her voice. She’d learned over the years to temper her judgment, to speak carefully until she knew all the facts. She deduced immediately that two of the men were castle guards. The remaining three were some of the new ‘guests,’ including Burl. He stood across from the guards, red faced and furious, with fists clenched.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Burl said through clenched teeth. “These boys here think they can herd us around like cattle. I’m tired of sleeping on a pallet on the floor. There’s got to be two hundred bedrooms in this thing”—Burl flipped a hand to indicate the castle in general—“and it’s high time we all got an equal share.”

“What you’re going to do first is stand down,” Chey said, brooking no argument. She stepped between the guards and Burl, unfazed by the man’s impressive height or breadth. He reminded her of a lumberjack, replete with unkempt beard and big muscles.

Burl switched his glare from the guards to Chey. His left cheek twitched in agitation. “I’ll stand down when we’re treated better than animals.”

“You needn’t sink to juvenile accusations. We all know you’re being treated far better than animals. All the rooms and suites are currently accounted for, so you’ll have to make do with what accommodations we provide.” Chey struggled to contain her ire. This man wasn’t a Latvala native, that much she could tell from his accent. Where exactly he hailed from was a mystery, and while he deserved saving as much as the next person, his entitled attitude irked her. She cautioned herself against showing too much emotion and managed, somehow, to keep her anger in check.

Burl reared his head back as if he couldn’t believe her nerve. Then he narrowed his eyes and took a step closer.

Both guards crowded against Chey’s sides, joined by four more who pushed in from the perimeter of the gathering. They didn’t block her view, nor obstruct her conversation, but they let her know that they were there, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. It was also a show of force for Burl, who curled his lip in open contempt.

Chey arched a brow, encouraging Burl to say what was on his mind. She wanted to know just how much of a threat this man might or might not be to the workings within the castle.

“Me and some of the other men feel like things aren’t being handled fairly. We’ve got people sleeping on cold floors, severely rationed food—”

“Severely rationed food? Trust me when I say that I can show you a much more severe ration than what you’ve been given. In fact, if you and your ‘men’ are so unhappy, you’re welcome to take your chances outdoors.” Chey threw down the gauntlet; if Burl thought he could do better in a blizzard, he was welcome to try. She refused to be baited, refused to allow the man the upper hand. Forcing someone to try and survive outdoors was tantamount to a death sentence, and the quiet gasp that rippled through the crowd proved that they knew it.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Burl said, spine stiffening.

“I absolutely would, and will, if you persist in stirring up trouble.” Taking advantage of the growing crowd of onlookers, Chey decided to press her point home to everyone at once. The regulars of the castle would never challenge her as Burl had done, but there were more than a hundred strangers in their midst and she was determined to end any uprising before it began. Turning a slow circle as her guards stepped back, she made eye contact with the crowd and continued. “Let me be clear to anyone who can’t figure it out on their own. We’ve taken on another hundred and fifty people beyond what we expected to feed during the storms. Food must be rationed so that no one goes hungry. The storms have not abated as we’d hoped, putting pressure on our reserves. The children among us have priority, that’s just the way it goes, and anyone who disagrees with my policy is welcome to return to the mainland.” She paused to gesture in the general direction of the door, a help yourself out indicator for anyone who wanted to take her up on her offer.

Silence descended on the great hall.

Chey glanced from person to person, landing finally on Burl. The tight line of his mouth and ruddy hue on his cheeks suggested she’d pushed the right buttons. He turned and abruptly pushed his way through the crowd without another word. The two men flanking him retreated as well, looking more confused than angry.

Satisfied that she’d stood her ground, Chey eased her posture and greeted a few of the new arrivals with kinder smiles and gracious shakes of her hand. She had nothing against those who just wanted to survive. Many of the mainlanders who had come across on the boat were loyalists and eager to show her their support.

Pindots of white at the edge of her vision forced Chey to ease away from the crowd. Someone appeared at her side, grasped her gently by the elbow, and guided her through the throng toward the stairs. Wynn, though several inches shorter than her own five-nine height, nevertheless provided a sturdy frame to lean against. Chey blinked through a dizzy spell and fought off a rush of nausea.

“We’re almost to the informal sitting room. I don’t think you’re going to make it up the stairs,” Wynn said.

Chey didn’t think she could make it up the stairs either.

“Get Doctor Flemming,” Wynn ordered to someone out of Chey’s line of sight.

Chey concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, down the hall, passing archways to formal parlors and sitting rooms, until she veered through a doorway into a private retreat. The soothing décor in shades of cream, peach, and beige swam before her eyes.

She needed to sit down.

Her knees gave out before she finished the thought.

Something soft and cushy broke her fall, preventing injury to her unborn child. Chey understood that Wynn had managed to direct her toward a large couch before she’d collapsed.

What was happening here?

Blackness rose up from all sides, threatening to drag her into the abyss. Her last words to Wynn were just whispers. “Tell someone to find Sander.”

Fogged windows and bitter cold greeted Sander as he surfaced from a restless dream. He winced as he sat upright, neck and shoulder protesting the awkward way he’d slept against the truck door. Rubbing a gloved hand over the ache at the juncture of his shoulder, he glanced through the vehicle’s cabin. Leander snored in the driver’s seat, Mattias dozed while slumped against the dashboard, and Gunnar looked strange with his head lopped over the seat, skin a scary shade of white.

“Gunnar!” Sander shot a hand across to shake Gunnar awake, fearing his brother had succumbed to the cold.

Leander and Mattias snapped to attention with a loud crinkle of Mylar blankets.

“What—what?” a startled Gunnar said, fighting off Sander’s hand in disoriented self-defense. He sat up with a hiss of pain, probably suffering the same type of kink in his neck as Sander.

“I thought someone had died,” Leander said, shaking off his blanket.

“Or that someone was about to die,” Mattias added, frowning at Sander over the front seat. “That can still happen.”

Sander didn’t give the grumps up front any thought at all. Relief was a drug that numbed his fear. For a horrible heart-wrenching moment, he thought he’d lost one of his own.

Gunnar’s color returned to normal while he complained about being woken up as if the world was ending.

“You were white as a sheet. Maybe if you hadn’t looked dead, I wouldn’t have had to do that.” Sander clapped Gunnar’s back affectionately.

After gathering up the noisy blanket, Sander folded it into a square as small as a wallet. He was so cold that his thighs shivered despite several layers of clothing.

“Well, look at it this way. I’ve got more adrenaline rushing through me than I get with ten cups of coffee, so it’s not all bad,” Leander said. He added his folded blanket to Sander’s and stuffed both into a small bag. Mattias’s and Gunnar’s blankets followed.

“I’d kill for a cup of coffee,” Mattias said.

“We’ve got instant in the back. I’ll go get it. I want to check on the guys anyway.” Sander zipped up his coat and secured the hood over his head. The wind sounded like banshees beyond the windows of the truck, still blowing hard, creating whiteout conditions across the landscape.

“Wait. You should attach a tether between you and the truck, just in case,” Leander said.

“I don’t plan on taking a stroll anywhere,” Sander said. “Except to take a piss.”

“Take the tether.” Leander held a coiled length of rope over the seat, waiting for Sander to take it.

“Don’t need it.” Sander wouldn’t have hesitated if he’d needed to go farther than five feet from the vehicle. He didn’t, so he pushed open the door and jumped to the ground. Not expecting to have an accumulated two-foot drift of snow below the door, Sander sank knee deep into the drift and pitched forward, hands out to break his fall. Not that he had far to go, or that the snow wouldn’t provide a decent, if frigid, cushion. Avoiding a face-plant at the last second, he growled in frustration and got his feet beneath him. Overnight, at least a foot of snow had fallen, much of it piling up against the base of the truck.

Leander, Mattias, and Gunnar threw curses at him for leaving the door open—as if he’d had time to close it after falling. After banging the door shut on their faux threats of violence and death, Sander traversed the drifts toward the back of the truck. Wind gusted against his face, forcing him to turn his head to the side to avoid the worst of the stinging, needlelike ice. If he hadn’t known what planet he lived on, he would have thought he’d been transported to another world. Nothing but white greeted his gaze in all directions, any hint of hills or other terrain obliterated by the blizzard. Growing up in Latvala, he’d seen his share of bad storms. They’d survived a handful of brutal winters, some that had lasted a month longer than normal. But this was beyond comprehension. He understood that the earth moved in cycles and that, eventually, weather patterns would change along with the landscape. Wind, water, time, it all took a toll. He wasn’t fool enough to believe that things stayed the same forever. This, however, had caught him off guard. The ravages of winter were worse than any he’d ever experienced or read about in the tomes of history regarding his homeland.

Rounding the back of the large military vehicle, he approached the door and opened it with a yank. If the guards weren’t awake yet, they would be shortly.

A small lantern cast weak light throughout the cavernous space, highlighting crates of food tucked against the far end. The entire truck had been loaded when they’d set out so many weeks ago. Now only a fourth of the supply remained.

Two guards sat with their backs against the side of the vehicle, arms folded tight across their chests. Even with heavy jackets and Mylar blankets covering their hips and legs, the men looked cold. Miserable. Joska, light haired with a full beard and dark eyes, looked wary as well as tired. Gaius, the darker of the two with bright green eyes, seemed to be faring better than his brethren.

Sander closed the door to cut the icy wind and said, “Where are Antrus and Eimar?”

“We went out fifteen minutes ago to take a leak. The others haven’t returned, Your Majesty,” Joska replied.

Sander hadn’t glimpsed the men outside, but they might have ducked around the opposite side of the truck to take care of business. “How are you two holding up?”

Although there was enough room for him to stand fully upright, Sander fell into a crouch near Gaius and Joska to bring himself down to their level.

“We’re fine,” Gaius said with a curt but polite nod.

Sander knew the men wouldn’t complain even if their fingers snapped off from the cold. They were soldiers, dedicated to their task no matter the cost. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s any warmer up in the cabin than it is back here. Nonetheless, if you’d like some time in the cab just let us know. We can shift people around.”

“Thank you. It wasn’t too bad last night,” Gaius said, then nodded to the door. “Antrus and Eimar might need it when they get back, though, after being exposed so long.”

“Let them know. I’m going to grab some coffee and something to eat and head back to the cab.” Sander stepped over to an open crate and rummaged through the bags of food they’d packed for themselves. He picked out jerky, trail mix, and packets of instant coffee to stuff into the pockets of his coat, along with two canteens of water that he slung across his body by the strap. He added a small pocket stove, a fuel tab, and two cups to a canvas tote. That strap went over his head to lay across his chest.

Spotting an extra length of folded rope next to the food, Sander changed his mind and slung the coil over his shoulder. It was a last-minute decision based on nothing more than whim. He still didn’t expect to need the tether, but at least he had it just in case.

After another word to the guards, he exited the vehicle, silently cursing the weather as his boots hit the ground. Wind tore at his hood, at the rope, at the little canvas tote. Snow blew sideways, making it difficult to see. Thick, concealing fog curled through the air, obscuring everything in a veil of white.

He would have bet a year’s pay that the blizzard was taking a turn for the worse.

How much worse can it get?

Disgruntled and deciding he didn’t want an answer to that question, he hunched against the biting gale and approached the side of the truck. He wanted to check on the guards before retreating to the cab. Fifteen minutes seemed an awfully long time just to take a piss.

Sander squinted against the pelting snow and surveyed the area on the right side of the vehicle. No guards in sight. He doubted the men would have wandered too far away, simply for safety purposes, yet there was no sign anyone had ever been there. No boot prints, no tether attached to the vehicle to help guide the men back. Sander paused to take a few swigs of water, capped the canteen, then fished out his own tether. Attaching one end to his belt, he hooked the other onto the truck and ranged perhaps twenty feet to the right. Even that short distance threatened to obliterate the vehicle from sight.

Impossible. Crazy. He’d never seen anything like it.

“Antrus! Eimar!” Sander cupped gloved hands around his mouth and called for the guards. No answer. It seemed that the storm absorbed his shouts, as if the weather were a living, breathing entity capable of swallowing him whole.

Letting the tether wind out one loop at a time, Sander trudged through the snow. He blocked the wind with one arm while looking for clues. It would have been easy for Antrus and Eimar to wander a short distance from the truck, thinking it no problem to find their way back, only to get disoriented and head in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t take much for the men to get totally turned around and head away from safety. Protocol dictated that anyone needing to go farther than five feet from the vehicle must attach a tether either to it or to a companion. Sander knew how easy it was, however, to bend the rules.

I’ll just be right here, a few steps away. It’ll only take a second.

Those few extra steps and seconds could turn deadly in a heartbeat.

Sander walked in an arc, shouting and searching, always feeling like his words were being forcibly pushed back into his mouth. He tried to remain aware of how long he left himself exposed to the cold so that he didn’t compromise his own safety.

Snow caked his boots, his knees.

Where the hell were they?

Sander glanced back along the tether, which snaked into a white cloud and vanished. He couldn’t see the truck any longer.

Deciding he needed to go back for help, to rally his brothers and Leander for a broader, more extensive search, he grasped the rope and reeled in the length as he followed the lead. To his surprise, when he stepped into a hole and yanked on the tether to center his balance, the end that had been hooked snugly onto a metal hitch slithered into sight.

Just walk in a straight line. The truck is right there.

Even if he couldn’t see it, Sander knew he could be no more than fifty feet from the vehicle. At least that was what he figured in regards to his internal compass.

He reeled the tether all the way in and inspected the clasp. It hadn’t snapped or broken, so how the devil had it come loose? Turning his head down to allow the hood to absorb the brunt of the weather, he staggered forward, intent on finding answers to his questions. Intent, too, on raising the alarm that Antrus and Eimar were missing.

Any second, Sander expected to see a dark silhouette take shape in the blizzard. After several minutes, an uneasy sensation gripped his stomach. He knew he hadn’t deviated from the straight line, yet nothing but sideways-blowing snow greeted his gaze. There was no way he’d gotten off course. He’d plotted his search grid carefully, keeping the general location of his starting point in mind.

Regardless of his certainty that he was going in the right direction, he glanced left and right. Snow pelted his face, stinging his eyes.

No truck. No dark, looming shape.

Sander turned a full circle, battered by the wind; everything looked the same in all directions. Fog, clouds, snow. That was what he saw.

Maybe he hadn’t connected the clasp of the tether as well as he’d thought, hampered by the thickness of his gloves. If so, and the tether had followed him into the snow, he could be facing any direction and also be a lot farther away from the truck than he’d initially calculated. Which meant that if he continued on, he might possibly head the wrong way and get lost.

You’re already lost, probably less than fifty feet from the damned vehicle.

What a disconcerting idea.

What disconcerted him more was the knowledge that he would freeze to death in a matter of hours if he didn’t take action. The drifts weren’t deep enough where he stood to make a snow cave and wandering aimlessly might be more deadly than waiting for the cold to claim him.

He decided to use the tether as a lifeline, coiling it and throwing the end outward as hard as he could. Leander, Mattias, and Gunnar would come looking for him sooner or later, and maybe, just maybe, they would see the tether and follow it back. It was almost like fishing; reel in the end, throw it out. Reel, throw.

As he cast the line again, Sander cursed the weather.

He didn’t want to die out here.