by H. L. Burke
Prince of Stars,
Son of Fate
Book Two in the Ice and Fate Duology
H. L. Burke
Copyright © 2019 H. L. Burke
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Dragonpen Press
ISBN: 9781689238960
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
To the many strong women in my life and the various forms they take. | ~HL
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One | Ten Starcycles Later
ABOUT H. L. Burke
Also by H. L. Burke
To the many strong women in my life and the various forms they take.
~HL
Chapter One
Arynne paused on the garden path, her face raised towards the Starspire. The towering spire of magical crystal spread warmth over her, fueling her, and tempting her to bring her fire magic to the surface. Instead she drew the Starspire’s energy into her blood until it seeped into her bones and warmed her to the core.
Bolstered by the heat and light, she mentally toyed with the heartbond that still simmered in the corners of her mind, like a child tugging at a loose thread on a garment. Even though it had been an agonizing two mooncycles since his banishment, she could still sense her beloved Kay’s existence. It dwelt within her as a quiet, calming energy, a sense of him that nothing could take from her. Easily forgotten but never absent.
Occasionally a burst of strong emotion would make its way through the bond, jerking her out of her complacency, but not often. No, usually if she wanted to be aware of him, she had to focus, to reach out, and even then she wasn’t sure how much of her made it through the magical bindings to wherever he was in the frozen wastes of Frorheim.
She supposed she should feel guilty for being relieved their bond remained. It endangered the kingdom, prevented her from bonding with Kay’s brother to fulfil the prophecy and prevent the return of the dreaded sorcerer Athan ... and it held Kay to his life oath, preventing him from returning to the Starspire—upon pain of death—until their bond was removed. Though her mind knew all that, her heart treasured her one remaining connection to the man she’d come to love so swiftly but so strongly. As long as the heartbond existed, she knew he was safe and well.
She let out a sigh and took a step to continue her walk. The moonnotches—Frorheim’s equivalent of one resting-time and one waking-time—spent with nothing to do but wait and hope wore at her. At first she’d attempted to come up with some scheme, some plan, to force Kay’s father to lift the banishment, but as idea after idea came to naught, she’d grown frustrated. Instead, she’d taken to memorizing the ins and outs of Frorian court-life and culture. The more she knew about this strange land, the better equipped she’d be to get her way while living there. If growing up a Solean princess had taught her anything, it was that politics was a game, and to win a game, one needed to know the rules.
A questioning “chirrup” caused her to turn. Her snow-white cat-owl, Sol, stood in the path, wings folded against his back, amber eyes gazing up at her in anticipation.
“Sorry, boy. I forgot. We were going to play, weren’t we?” She stretched out her hand. Sol flapped his wings to rise to the level of her fingers, butted his head against her palm, then settled on the path, licking his front paws. His back limbs resembled the owl-half of his makeup, partially feathered and tipped with glinting talons.
Grinning, she reached into the pouch hanging from the sash about her waist and pulled out a small leather ball. Sol’s spine stiffened, his wings quivering. Arynne tossed the ball into the sky.
With a hoot of delight, Sol darted after it, his wings propelling him through the air. He caught the ball in his hind talons before it could begin its descent and circled back down to drop it at Arynne’s feet.
“Good boy!” She grinned. She picked up the ball and threw it again. Again the cat-owl retrieved it.
They played until she lost count of how many times she’d thrown the toy. Sometimes she’d try variations, feinting to throw in one direction only to toss it in the other, throwing it forward instead of up, aiming it over the garden wall. Sol never missed. Soon her arm was sore, and sweat formed on her brow.
Arynne dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. “Can’t we take a break, boy?”
Sol landed before her and flapped his wings with a peevish, “Mee-hoo.”
“Oh, all right, a few more.” She hefted the ball into a hedge. Sol crashed into the greenery with a snapping of twigs and the frantic cries of a frightened squirrel whose nest he’d disturbed.
“Seems like he has you trained rather than the other way around,” a voice laughed.
Smiling, Arynne spun to greet Prince Olyn’s gentle smile and sparkling blue eyes. “Well, it’s your fault. You got him for me.”
Sol bounded out of the hedge, ball in his jaws. Instead of dropping it, he leaped into Arynne’s arms and snuggled against her neck, purring.
“You should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to resist his charms.” She rubbed the cat-owl under his chin.
Olyn’s face fell. “Actually ... getting him for you was Kay’s idea. He thought you’d like something to care for.”
Arynne’s hold on Sol loosened. “Oh ...” Her throat tightened.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you, I don’t think, but with him gone—it seems wrong for me to take credit for that.” He motioned down the path to where a stone bench sat beside the fish pond. “Would you like to rest and speak for a moment?”
She nodded, and together they walked towards the bench. Growing restless, Sol wriggled from her arms and flew into the nearest tree. A shriek of displeasure from a steel-blue stonejay suggested he’d found a nest to worry. Arynne and Olyn sat down, staring at the insects skating across the surface of the water.
“Have you heard anything from him?” she whispered.
Olyn let out a breath then shook his head. “Vague reports of wardens combing the road to the pass for grims and escorting merchants and other travelers who make their way into the land—I’m assuming he’s a part of that group, but no direct word of him.” He slipped his hand onto her shoulder. “I think you probably know more than I do, considering ... well, you know.”
She did, but between the distance and lack of real news, she could’ve used something concrete.
“Speaking of which.” Olyn scratched at his blond beard. “There’s a group of merchants preparing to leave the Starspire soon, and I believe Solea will be on their route. We haven’t had an opportunity to
send word to your family since you got here, but we should at least inform your brother that you are safe and well—and we can pass along any personal correspondence you desire.”
Arynne grimaced. She considered what that letter would read like.
Dear Brother,
You remember how I defied your will and manipulated you into allowing me to travel to Frorheim to marry their prince, Olyn, so I could fulfil their prophecy to save the kingdom and keep the dark sorcerer Athan from returning? Well, I arrived safely, after nearly dying in an avalanche, being pursued by evil shadowy monsters called grimwolves, and accidentally falling in love with one of my guards who turned out to be the brother of my betrothed traveling incognito.
Oh, and when I did get here, the magical heartbond ceremony that was supposed to bond me with Olyn bonded me to Kajik instead and because of that the kingdom’s fate is in question, Kajik got banished to never return on penalty of death, and now half the kingdom hates me.
But I’m learning the local poetry and have an adorable pet cat-owl, so it’s not all bad.
Sincerely,
The sister you said was too impulsive and camel-headed to ever be a queen.
There was a lot she didn’t want to share with her brother, King Vanya. Well, at least she could tell him she was all right physically, even if everything else was a disaster.
Sol darted out of tree, screeching stonejay on his tail, and dove beneath the bench. He worked his way under Arynne’s skirts and curled around her ankles, purring. The defeated bird returned to its nest. The wind rustled the leaves around them, bringing with it a cool breeze. Arynne drew her cloak about her shoulders. The sun never set on Solea, her sandy but delightfully warm and bright homeland. Coming to the cold and dark land of Frorheim, where the only lights were the stars, the moon, and occasional havens that had sprung up around the magical starshards, great crystals that gave off heat and warmth and allowed settlements to plant crops and live without freezing to death, had been an adjustment to say the least. However, with everything else that had occurred since her arrival, the change in climate was the least of her worries.
Olyn kept his eyes on the pond, though they lacked focus and his expression was one of deep thought. That didn’t bode well. Even pensive Olyn wouldn’t ask her to speak with him just so he could stare into space.
“Did you just come down here to tell me about the merchants?” she finally asked.
Olyn fiddled with the ring on his right hand, a silver band set with an enhanced starshard that allowed him a connection to the Starspire and access to its magic. “No. I mean, I wanted to tell you and check on your general well-being, but I did have a purpose beyond that.” He grimaced as if whatever it was he wanted to say pained him. “While I was under the impression everyone involved wanted the heartbonding ceremony to remain a secret, it’s gotten out that it happened and that something went wrong. That, combined with the fact that you and I still aren’t married or making any steps to plan a wedding, has the populace talking.”
A chill shot through her. “Are they ... what are they saying?”
“A lot of guesses, a lot of rumors, nothing coming near the exact truth, though a lot of fear about what it means for the kingdom and the prophecy. If the Star Prince cannot bond with the Sun Princess, then will Athan return? And if so, what will happen to Frorheim?”
“About what we should expect, I guess.” Her mouth pinched. “I had hoped we could avoid public scrutiny until we had an idea of what to do about it. I’m under enough pressure from your father.”
Olyn’s nose wrinkled, and he angled away from her.
“What?” Arynne narrowed her eyes at him.
He groaned. “I have a suspicion that the reason the word of the failed ceremony got out so quickly was my father. He was careful about who he allowed to be aware of the attempt once Clindt suggested it might fail the first time. The few people who absolutely had to be in the know are either unquestioningly loyal to him, or scared to death of him ... or both. Mostly both.”
Her eyes widened. “Why would he do that, though?” King Evyd was paranoid about maintaining an appearance of strength and control. That he’d not only allow but encourage rumors of his failed plans to circulate was baffling.
“For exactly the reason you just suggested: to put you under more pressure. He wants you to try the heartbond removal magic my Aunt Friya schemed up.”
“The one your cousin Clindt thought was likely to kill me?” Arynne frowned.
“Calculated risk. The more people he can turn against you, the more likely you’ll give in to his wishes the next time he brings it up.”
“Well, he’ll be waiting an awful long time if his plan is to bully me into doing what he wants.”
Olyn squeezed her shoulder. “Good.” He stood. “I am meeting with the local craftsmen to deal with some conflict over pricing this brightening.”
“Sounds ... interesting.” Arynne rose and gathered Sol up into her arms.
“Not really, but it got heated enough to bring the crown into it. Father prefers that I take on the more mundane aspects of rulership—both as practice for my eventual kingship and to save him the headaches.” He offered her his hand. “Do you want me to travel you back to your chambers?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Olyn took her hand, and a tingle of gentle magic swelled around them. Instantly they were standing in the hallway outside her chambers rather than in the garden basking in the light of the Starspire. In the past, Olyn had been able to teleport her directly into her room. However, recently many rooms in the palace had been warded to prevent people from traveling in and out—specifically Kay, but it affected all with the traveling ability.
Like many Frorians, Olyn had two magical abilities, one inherited from his mother—traveling which allowed him to teleport—and one from his father—starcasting, the ability to manipulate light to use as a weapon. Unlike any other Frorian, besides his father, Olyn’s position as Star Prince, as well as his heirloom ring, allowed him to draw from the Starspire to enhance his abilities. While other travelers tired after teleporting long distances or when carrying heavy burdens, such as another person, Olyn barely felt the strain. Though Kay had similar magic, he’d nearly killed himself on more than one occasion, traveling Arynne away from danger.
“Thank you,” Arynne repeated. Sol hopped out of her arms and rubbed up against the door frame, eager to get inside to nap on his favorite perch.
“If I hear anything more about Kay or the heartbond or my father, I’ll let you know,” Olyn said.
“And if anything comes through the heartbond that gives me news of Kay, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in for a quick hug. She allowed her head to rest upon his shoulder for a moment before patting his back and withdrawing.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” she said before entering her room.
Sol immediately sprang from the floor of the little sitting room. He soared into the corner where a basket hanging in front of the room’s lone window provided a perch with a view.
Arynne shivered. Her gaze fell upon the fireplace. The roaring fire had died to a few glowing coals during her walk. Grunting, she crossed to it, tossed a fire-stone from the small stack next to the hearth onto the coals, and channeled her magic down her arm. Flames leaped from her hand onto the stone, catching it immediately aflame and filling the room with a pleasant glow. While fire magic was a somewhat common ability in her homeland, no Frorians possessed it, which made it even more fun to play with. Walking into a room and lighting a fire or even just a candle was an easy way to impress strangers. No need to deal with cumbersome flint and tinder when one had fire literally at one’s fingertips. The firestones took to her fire much quicker than wood, though they burned quickly and lacked the pleasant smell. Olyn had told her that miners dug the light, porous rocks from various quarries around Frorheim. While they sometimes still used wood for heat, it was considered a luxury.
&nb
sp; That sorted, she called out, “Sigid, are you lurking?”
The door leading to Arynne’s bathing chambers opened, and a woman a few starcycles older than Arynne with brown hair and a smattering of freckles entered the room. She held out a swatch of various wool, thread, and textile strands, all of which were braided into tight cords—with differing levels of success. “I’ve been practicing. I think I’m almost ready to get your hair the way it was when you came here.”
Arynne took the swatch and examined Sigid’s handiwork. She was getting better.
In Solea the people were primarily dark skinned—so different from the pale Frorians. Arynne stood out from the populace here, with her warm brown skin tones, but she didn’t mind that. What she did mind was how difficult it had proven to teach her handmaiden how to care for the tight coils of her hair. Arynne had brought a handmaiden with her from Solea, but the woman, Elfrida, had died in an avalanche, leaving Arynne with no one who knew how to braid properly or add in colored wool to lengthen the strands, or beads, or any of the other things that had made her feel like the princess she was when she’d lived in her homeland. Of course, Arynne would’ve shaved her hair off if it meant getting Elfrida, or any of their companions lost in the snows back. Elfrida had practically raised Arynne after the death of Arynne’s parents, and the loss still ached if she allowed herself to linger on it.
“We might try it soon,” she said, forcing her mind to practical matters so she wouldn’t sink into sadness. “It takes longer than you would think when dealing with a full head of hair rather than just a few strands tied to a bit of wood, so we should start some brightening when I don’t have anywhere to be for a while.”
“Of course.” Sigid took the swatch and slipped it into the pocket of her apron. “Though, if you don’t mind me saying so, your current look is quite alluring.” She nodded to the curls that circled Arynne’s face like a halo around the moon. “Men like hair they can run their fingers through, you know?”
Arynne grimaced.
Sigid flushed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have ... I mean, you are bound to work out the complications between you and the princes sooner or later. If you ask me, they’re both fine examples of their sex, either of which any girl would be happy to tie herself to. Tall, broad shouldered, those blue eyes.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “It’s just whether you prefer your tea dark or light, if you know what I mean.”