The Gates of Winter Read Online Free PDF

castle.
    “That is a sight I feared we would never see again,” said a deep voice, comforting in its gloominess.
    Grace looked up to see Durge guide his horse close to hers. She smiled again. “I don't believe you, Durge. I think you've known all along we would make it back here. Why else would you have set out on the journey in the first place?”
    “To be by your side, my lady. Where I belong.”
    Grace couldn't help feeling a note of pleasure. She loved the craggy-faced knight; he was truer than any person she had ever met. Travis had told her Durge had been a sheriff's deputy in Castle City, in the year 1883, to which they had traveled and returned from with the magic of the gate artifact. It wasn't difficult to see Durge as a frontier lawmen; no matter where he went, no matter what century he was in, he would always be a knight. Her knight. However, she doubted loyalty was his only reason for returning with her to Calavere.
    We're coming, Aryn.
Grace cast the words across the threads of the Weirding, not knowing if her thoughts could be heard from so far away. Several times, as they journeyed east, the baroness had contacted Grace over the Weirding, the web of life and power that wove itself among all things in the world. Aryn had spoken of affairs in Calavere and the Dominions, and Grace had recounted their own harrowing encounters at the Black Tower. However, each time Grace tried to contact Aryn herself, she had failed. She did not have the ability to reach out with her thoughts over such long distances as Aryn seemed able to do.
    Grace stole a glance at Durge's somber profile. His eyes were focused on the castle as he rode, his left hand pressed against his chest. She wasn't certain when she had first begun to suspect the truth. Maybe it was the way, each time she told the others Aryn had contacted her over the Weirding, Durge seemed to take particular interest. At the same time, Lirith would cast frequent glances at the knight, her dark eyes troubled.
    One night, as they lay on the frozen ground near the feet of the Gloaming Fells, Grace had asked Lirith if there was something about Aryn and Durge she ought to know. Lirith had tried desperately to hide the truth, but Grace was a doctor; she knew precisely where to make an incision. At last, over the secret strands of the Weirding, Lirith had told her what she had learned by accident in the Barrens last summer, when she and Durge had traveled with Falken to find the Keep of Fire. In that desolate place, the witch had tried to lend a bit of her own life power to the weary knight, but in the process she had unwittingly stolen some of Durge's memories.
    He loves her with all his heart, Grace,
Lirith's anguished voice had sounded in Grace's mind.
But he says she must never know, that she is too young and good to be bothered by one as old and derelict as he, and he made me vow never to tell anyone. Only now I have, and so I've betrayed him again.
    No, Lirith, you haven't betrayed Durge—he's betraying himself. If he loves Aryn, he owes it to her to tell her the truth.
Just because he didn't want to trouble Aryn was not reason enough to hide his feelings from her. Grace always gave her patients the true diagnosis, even if it was something they didn't want to hear.
    The wind blew Durge's hair from his brow and tugged at the mustaches that drooped beneath his hawkish nose. Durge wasn't handsome. All the same, there was a kindness to his craggy visage, a nobility that went beyond mere beauty. She didn't know if Aryn could return Durge's love, but the young woman deserved the chance.
    Durge glanced at her. “Is something amiss, my lady? We must look our best to greet King Boreas and Lady Aryn, and I suppose there's a bit of this morning's porridge stuck in my mustaches.”
    Grace laughed. “No, Durge. You're absolutely perfect.”
    This statement appeared to confound the knight. He opened his mouth, shut it again, gave her an odd look, then spurred his mount ahead,