The Usurper's Crown Read Online Free PDF Page A

before the ghost, she felt the cold. It rolled off him in waves and bit straight into Ingrid’s bones. It was cold beyond winter, beyond ice, beyond the waters of Lake Superior. It froze her blood in her veins and threatened to reach through to her soul. Ingrid staggered backward, trying to push Grace more fully behind her. Then, because she could think of nothing else that might help, she began — “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name …”
    At the sound of the prayer, the drowned man’s face twisted into a horrible scowl and a light came into the hollows of his eyes that filled Ingrid’s heart with fresh fear.
    “No!” shouted the ghost, and his voice was like the winds of a winter storm. “There is no God where I am! He left me there in the dark but I will not stay! I will not stay!”
    Ingrid snatched at Grace’s hand and turned to run, but her sister might have been a block of marble for all Ingrid could shift her. The ghost now gripped Grace’s shawl in both fists. “She promised,” he said grimly.
    “I did.” Grace’s voice was as pale as her cheeks. “I promised. Under the water.”
    “She’s mine.” The ghost slid closer.
    “No.” Ingrid stepped back between them, trying to stiffen her spine against the all-consuming cold. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mother Mary, help me. You shall not have her.”
    “She’s mine by her own promise. We made a bargain. No name can keep her from me.”
    The ghost reached out and Ingrid pressed back against her unmoving, unmovable sister. Her heart beat wildly in terror at the idea that the apparition and all the cold he carried might reach straight through her and engulf Grace as if Ingrid were not even there.
    A flash of movement caught Ingrid’s eye. A fresh shadow dashed headlong down the beach. Moonlight glinted on metal as the new shape leapt forward. Ingrid opened her mouth to scream as the knife blade came down. With all her strength she threw herself backward, knocking Grace to the sand. The ghost’s cold rushed over them, and for a time, Ingrid knew nothing more.
    Ingrid woke to the scent and sound of a fire. She lay on her side, her back against the bracken-covered slope that led to the shore. A smoky blaze smelling of pine and moldering driftwood burned on the sand and a man’s form sat beside it. Stiff with cold and damp, Ingrid pushed herself upright immediately. As she did, she saw Grace, also lying on her side, her fair head pillowed by her own arm.
    Ignoring the man, Ingrid crawled to her sister, laying an anxious hand on Grace’s throat. Fresh relief washed through her as she felt the warmth of Grace’s skin, the beat of her heart, and the slow draw of her breath. Only then did Ingrid lift her eyes to meet the gaze of the man beside them.
    The moon had set and the morning sky filled with clouds, so she had only the fire to see him by. The resinous, red-gold light showed her a lined face with a hawk nose and deep-set eyes. She could not make out their color. The hair swept back under his fisherman’s cap was a dark gold, and his hands, although tanned, showed themselves to be surprisingly long-fingered and delicate as he reached for a fresh piece of driftwood. He broke the branch easily in two before tossing it onto the small fire and raising a fresh shower of sparks.
    Ingrid was suddenly extremely conscious that she was rumpled, and half-covered in sand. In the next heartbeat, she cursed herself for such ridiculous vanity, especially at such a moment.
    “Thank you for your help and company, sir.” Ingrid attempted to gather her composure and her manners. “My sister has not been well, and …” She dropped her gaze to the fire, intending to find some sort of lie to explain how two young women came to be out on the shore after dark. As she did, she saw the scraps of knitting among the ashes of the fire and realized that they belonged to Grace’s shawl.
    The man followed her gaze with his own. He gave a tight smile that was at