Snow

The war, if it could be called that, was over in no time at all. Michael marched them forward relentlessly, passing into the snow-covered land that had once been David's home and laying waste to it. They first crossed an eerie forest where no snow was to be found, a place that bloomed green and beautiful and made Judith's skin crawl, the wind that blew through the trees sounding like bitter whispers, like fading screams. Michael ordered it burned as soon as they passed through, stopped and stared back at the ripe red fruit littered on the ground as it charred and popped in the flames, no expression on his face.

They reached the castle where David's brother and sister lived easily, the snow that covered the ground melting away as they marched, and Michael killed them both himself. He wouldn't let her be present when he did and his face, when it was done, frightened her. He didn't look like a man whose fury had been appeased. He ordered their severed heads displayed on poles and their bodies placed on raised platforms that were covered with carrion in hours and she thought perhaps then he would look more at peace.

He didn't. He ordered everything that could be burned torched and had the rest of the castle pulled down, the very stones broken up into pieces and the land salted, and even then his expression stayed grim, haunted.

Judith had expected the people to be terrified by Michael's actions, to hide from him and his army, but they weren't. They seemed eager, hopeful, and by the time the castle ceased to exist and the snow had completely melted away, joyful. She had never seen people so happy to view mud, watched grown men and women dance blissfully through it.

"Look at that," she told Michael as they were seated on horseback watching the last of the castle stones be smashed, pointing at the people covered in mud and grinning as if they hadn't smiled in years. "You've set them free."

Michael nodded, looked, but didn't smile. "We have to go home now," he said. "David is waiting for me."

"But--" she said. "Your Majesty. He's--he's not--he isn't--"

"He's waiting," he said again. "I've made everything safe for him and now I can go home."

"Michael," she said carefully, hoping the use of his name would call him back.

"He's not dead," he said fiercely. "His--" he spit on the ground, "brother and sister told me he'd cursed the land and so they'd cursed him in return--something about his mother…you should have seen them. They were--" He shook his head. "I wish I could kill them again."

"You've avenged him," she said. "He's at peace now."

"I'm not," he said and spurred his horse forward. "Tell the commanders we'll be leaving in the morning. Pick two of them to leave behind to set up a governing council."

"You should pick who stays, talk to them and tell them--"

"No," he said. "I need you, Judith. Take care of this so I can go home."

She could never refuse him anything.

When she did return home she found that he hadn't attended any meetings, had delayed the court of petitioners, had not even made a progress through the streets. He had retired to his rooms and stayed there, visited by a stream of wizards and witch women and sages and sibyls. David's body had not been buried. It had not left his rooms. People were talking and worse, talking openly.

She sent him a note, carefully worded, and received a reply granting her an audience two days later.

She did not see him alone. David was with him. She had expected that. Michael was in his bedroom, sitting in a chair, and David was lying on the bed. She stared at him, shocked. His body had not begun to rot. She had not expected that. David looked as he always had, perhaps even more beautiful, a kind of contentment in his closed-eyed expression, and she stared at him for a long moment, startled by how alive he looked.

"You see?" Michael said. "I can tell from your eyes that you do. But yet everyone that comes, they all say--" he broke off. "He isn't gone! They know nothing!"

She looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, was staring at David. The look on his face made her heart clench.

"Your Majesty," she said, crossing to him and kneeling on the floor in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is hard. But you must think of your kingdom, all you've built.

Your people need you."

He still didn't look at her. "Please," she said softly. "He's--"

"He knew," Michael said. His voice was quiet, low. "When you asked before, I didn't tell you anything but he knew. He knew what the wine would do. I saw his face. When I showed him the-

-the gift--" he spat the word, "his family had sent he didn't say a word but he--his eyes. He knew.

I offered him a glass of that wine--that damned wine!--and he took it. I made a toast. I was ready to drink and he said--he said, ‘Wait.’ I thought--I thought he was going to say something. Tell me something. And instead he drank."