by H. L. Burke
Daughter of Sun, Bride of Ice
Book One in the Ice and Fate Duology
H. L. Burke
Copyright © 2019 H. L. Burke
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Dragonpen Press
ISBN: 9781087094847
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
Epilogue
End of Book One | The story continues in | Ice and Fate Duology, Book Two: Prince of Stars, Son of Fate.
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
“Come on, spark! Spark, spirits take you!” Arynne crouched beside the fountain in the great garden, cursing at her own fingertips. A crimson light glowed through her rich brown skin, only to flicker out like an extinguished candle. The magic left a tingling, prickling sensation in its absence.
“Sand rash!” she cursed, shaking her hands to get the blood flowing again. The heat of the ever present Solean sun, red and raw as a wound in the fierce blue sky, beat down upon her with little regard for the layers of blue silk she’d draped over her back and shoulders as protection from its rays. However, even as sweat beaded on her neck, a thought formed in Arynne’s mind.
What had the scroll she’d stolen from the priestess’s library said? Fire magic could ignite from one’s inner heat ... or the heat from other sources. Untrained, Arynne’s inner spark was weak, but the sun? There was nothing stronger in the kingdom of Solea than the sun.
Sitting cross legged for better balance, she closed her eyes and focused on the warmth of the sun that radiated through her skin. She imagined it flowing from her back into her shoulders and down her arms to her fingertips. Her blood warmed in response. Magic gathered in her hands until she gasped in pain. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at her own hands, orange and luminous. She laughed.
“I did it!”
Concentration snapped. Flames exploded from her palms towards her face.
“Eep!” Arynne fell backwards, over the edge of the fountain. She landed in the water with a splash then sat up spluttering.
“Princess Arynne? What’s that noise? Do I smell smoke?”
Arynne gasped, accidentally inhaling some of the water still dripping from her black braids. Now coughing and choking, she climbed out of the fountain and struck a regal pose as her handmaiden, Elfrida, and two younger serving girls rushed down the garden path. They gaped at her.
Arynne crossed her arms over her breasts, chin in the air, completely ignoring the water pooling about her sandaled feet.
“No. You do not smell smoke. You smell nothing. Nothing at all.”
Elfrida’s blue eyes swept up and down her soaked charge before she motioned to the younger servants. “Go fetch the princess new garments.”
As the other two scurried off, Elfrida slipped her arm around Arynne and led her down the tiled pathway towards a shady alcove where the older woman assisted her in removing her outer garments. In the women’s section of the palace, it was unlikely any men would happen by. Even close relatives were only allowed into those areas with permission and an escort, so while Arynne felt mildly humiliated standing in her thin undergarments, waiting for new clothes, she didn’t fear for her modesty. After all, Elfrida had changed her diapers as an infant. Even now, at eighteen, Arynne felt no shame standing half-clothed before her.
Unlike the other residents of the palace, Elfrida had pale skin, though it had been tanned like leather by years of exposure to the Solean heat, contrasting starkly with her cloud-white hair. Elfrida had come to the Solean royal family as an indentured servant when Arynne was little more than a baby, to serve as the infant princess’s nurse. Though she had long ago worked off her contract, she had chosen to remain to care for the child who had become as her own after first Arynne’s mother and then father had died.
Now Elfrida glanced around the garden before switching into her native tongue, Frorian, a language she had taught Arynne but which few others in Solea spoke.
“You were practicing magic again, weren’t you?”
Arynne’s cheeks warmed, but she replied, likewise in Elfrida’s native tongue. “It’s a stupid rule.”
“Be that as it may, if the king, finds out—”
“He’s my brother, not my father,” Arynne snapped. Of course, between his throne and the fact that he was nearly two decades her senior, Vanya often acted as if he was had the authority of a father.
“Yes, but he is your king, my shining one.” Elfrida removed her headscarf and rubbed it briskly over Arynne’s braids. “Even as spoiled as you are, how long do you think you can defy his orders as well as the laws of the land without consequences?”
“I’m not spoiled.” Arynne bit her bottom lip in order to stop herself from pouting. “It’s just not fair.”
“Our world would be very different if everything were fair.” Elfrida gave her a sad smile. “It simply isn’t.”
Arynne kept her mouth shut out of respect for the older woman, but she couldn’t help thinking that the world not being fair was a poor excuse for humans to likewise be unfair. The world might not have a choice—as the priestess put it, the sand wore equally against earth and stone, the strong and the weak, the good and the foul—but people, people had a choice, and the silly rule that kept Arynne from magic was an invention of people.
The two serving girls returned, carrying fresh, dry garments, these scarlet trimmed with gold, the royal colors. They bowed and presented them to Elfrida then hung back, exchanging meaningful glances.
“Be gone!” Elfrida shooed them away. “Make yourself useful and fetch the princess her tea. She’ll take it by the pool.”
The heat in Arynne’s cheeks spread to her ears. They knew—or at least suspected. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d disobeyed the restrictions placed upon her. Would the word get back to Vanya this time? Well, that was always a risk.
The light fabric slipped over her head and settled on her shoulders.
“Come. Some tea and cakes will set you right.”
In spite of her efforts to maintain her queenly posture, Arynne’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she followed Elfrida to the other side of the garden where a tile-lined pool filled with about six inches of water and darting, silver minnows sat under a canopy that protected it from the glaring sun. Lily pads rested upon the water, flowers imported from the marshes at the foot of the Gloaming, where the sun wasn’t as harsh and rain fell more often.
They settled on cushioned mats beside the pool to await their meal. Arynne brushed her fingers across the tiled floor, leaving a smug of soot. She grimaced. Hopefully, no one noticed that before she got a chance to wash her hands. She
rubbed her hands into the mat in an attempt to destroy further evidence of her crimes.
“Elfrida, please, tell me again about the magic in Frorheim.”
Elfrida sighed. “Do you really think that is wise right now? It was wrong for me to put those stories in your head.”
“Well, it is too late; they are there now.”
“Yes, but you already know them. Will me repeating them do any good? Or just worsen your hunger for something you are denied?”
Arynne fell silent. The old woman was likely right. If she hadn’t heard how magic was practiced so freely in her handmaiden’s homeland, perhaps it would’ve been easier for her to accept how restricted it was in Solea.
Magic users were not particularly rare. The ability was inborn, and appeared in perhaps one of every ten births—not common, but not unreasonably uncommon. It was not a crime to be born with magic, but to use it, one had to be initiated into the service of the Sun God, the deity who granted such powers and therefore oversaw their use. Priests and priestesses had good lives, from what Arynne could tell. She would’ve readily accepted a place among them, and if she’d been a boy, it would’ve been offered to her, but a girl? A princess? No, she only had one purpose in Solean culture, as a bargaining chip in a political marriage.
As the youngest and only unmarried sister of King Vanya, she was too valuable to waste on a life of celibacy and religion.
“It isn’t as if magic is common in Frorheim,” Elfrida said. “They have less reason to restrict it because it only runs in families with royal blood. Coming here and seeing common folk using it—priests or not—was quite a shock to me.” She laughed. “When I first arrived in Solea, I assumed everyone in the priesthood was royalty.”
Arynne nodded absently. She dangled her fingertips in the water and watched as the minnows swarmed to nibble her nails. The sensation tickled pleasantly.
“Do you ever miss Frorheim?” she whispered. “I mean, you chose to stay here even when you would’ve been free to return. My geography lessons make it sound like a frozen wasteland, cold and dark, with never a glimpse of the sun.”
“In some ways it is that, but in other ways it is very beautiful.” A faraway look crept into Elfrida’s eyes, then she laughed. “Though believe it or not, the children of Frorheim are told that the lands on the other side of the Gloaming—such as Solea—are hot and arid sand pits where a great ball of fire called ‘the sun’ burns your skin and dries the water.”
Arynne smirked. “As you said, in some ways it is that.”
As much as she wanted magic, it was hard to imagine living on the other side of the Gloaming. While some tribes settled in the forests and marsh of the Gloaming itself, the Frorians were the only people brave or foolhardy enough to live on the dark side of the world. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
“Do I miss it? Yes, sometimes, but the family I had there sold me to pay their debts, and I feel no need to return to them. The family I have here, however—” Elfrida stroked Arynne’s hair. “That family still needs my guidance, even when she is too stubborn to listen to me.”
One of the serving girls approached carrying a tray. “Your tea, my princess.” She placed her burden between Elfrida and Arynne, bowed, and backed away.
Perhaps for fear the serving girl would hear as she departed, Elfrida continued to speak in Frorian as she poured the tea. “I don’t really understand why you want to use magic so badly. Fire magic seems the least useful kind in this hot, dry land.”
“Do you think if my talent had been water-witching or foresight, Vanya would’ve let me join the priesthood?” Those talents were in greater demand. It would’ve been hard for even the king to deny the high priestess a new prophetess, princess or not.
“Perhaps. After all, magic is only as good as what you can do with it, and it seems all yours is good for is lighting fires and making flashy displays. The royal family could hardly accept you becoming a fire dancer.” Elfrida passed Arynne a cup which she held under her nose, inhaling the fragrant, spicy steam.
Fire dancing was the most common use of fire magic—and Arynne would’ve loved to learn it. Soleans considered the dance sacred, a display to honor the Sun God, but more than that, it was beautiful. Girls in scarlet and gold, swaying and leaping, fire shooting from their hands, flames spinning in wheels about them, sparks falling but never burning. It took years of study to fully master the art, and Arynne—well, at best she had stolen a scroll or two on the subject when her family wasn’t watching.
Arynne sighed. Maybe Elfrida was right, and it was a frivolous thing to want. Still, that didn’t stop her from wanting it. She loved the way magic felt when she drew it into her hands. The energy was tangible, like sun on her face but with more weight. Her lack of control made it dangerous, but if Vanya would allow her to practice openly, she knew she could master it. She’d been born with these powers after all. It had to be an affront to the Sun God not to use them.
So instead, her waking times were spent studying things Vanya thought would make her an ideal wife for some foreign prince or lord courtier he felt like rewarding with a royal bride. Music. Poetry. The languages of most of the surrounding countries—at least the ones he felt were worth allying with, which only ended up being three. Even Frorian was considered a waste of time as that land was dark and desolate and Vanya had little use for it.
“Arynne!” A male voice boomed from across the garden. Arynne cringed.
Yilre, another servant, rushed up to them. “Princess Arynne! Your brother, our king, seeks an audience with you.” Yilre said it in her best palace-ettique inflection and posture, her palms pressed together before her chest in proper deference.
“Arynne, where are you?” From the general direction of the shouting, he was probably standing at the entrance to the women’s garden, held back from searching for her himself by propriety but as close as he could get to her without crossing the forbidden threshold.
Arynne sighed and stood. “Thank you, Yilre, but everyone in the garden is aware of that, considering that we can hear him bellowing like an ox with a sun-blistered snout from here.”
Yilre gave a nervous laugh. “You will go to him now, yes?”
Arynne sipped her tea. She had a good idea what he was upset about and felt no need to rush to an ear chewing from him. “No.”
Yilre’s hands fell to her side. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
Elfrida raised her eyebrows though she didn’t challenge Arynne for her petulant display. Arynne picked up a sticky, golden ball from their tea tray—a honey cake—and popped it into her mouth. It burst on her tongue, sending sweet, rich honey oozing down her throat.
“I will go to him, but not now. We will follow the proper protocol. He may set a meeting with me in the Mingling Room, and I will arrive there, on time.” She allowed the corners of her mouth to quirk into a self-satisfied smile. One of the few advantages to being forced to obey proper court protocol in all ways was a complete knowledge of all the extremely inconvenient rules of the system—and the ability to throw those back in her brother’s face when he was being unreasonable.
Yilre’s eyes widened. “But, your highness—”
“You heard the princess, Yilre,” Elfrida interrupted. “She is correct. It is improper for the princess to leave the women’s quarters without preparation. If the king wishes to entertain her, he must allow her time to groom as well as use the Mingling Room, as court etiquette requires. You may convey that message to the king.”
Yilre slumped forward, her face defeated. “Yes, my princess.” She scurried away.
Moments later, a roar rang through the gardens, barely words, though Arynne thought she recognized a curse or two intermixed with the pure growling. Her conscience pricked her for forcing poor Yilre to deliver the message and face Vanya’s wrath, but as scary as her brother could be, he wouldn’t hurt the girl for doing her job. Like their father, he was a good man, if stubborn.
“You do realize he�
��ll only be more angry with you when you actually do meet now?” Elfrida poured herself a second cup. “Is the slight satisfaction really worth the future conflict?”
“Yes.” Arynne chose another honey cake to devour.
Elfrida sighed but said nothing. Still, Arynne had heard enough of Elfrida’s lectures to know what the maid most likely thought—even if she’d chosen not to fight this particular battle.
Shame warred with Arynne’s pride, and the honey coating her mouth now tasted dull and flavorless. Yes, she’d scored a point by inconveniencing Vanya, but the only thing she’d really achieved in the long run was antagonizing him further ... she still had so little true power over her fate. Exercising these small forms of control was the only thing keeping her sane.
After draining her cup, Elfrida stood. “Well, since you are enforcing the Mingling Room rule, you might as well dress yourself up for the part. Your hair looks as if you fell into a fountain for some reason.” The old woman laughed at her own joke before leading them through the garden to the entrance to the sleeping quarters.
To protect from the ever-present sun, the sleeping quarters were built partially underground, accessed by a long, sloping tunnel that disappeared under the garden. This made it by far the coolest and darkest section of the palace. Angled mirrors built into the walls and ceiling allowed light to be directed into any room.
Arynne sat patiently before the dressing table mirror as Elfrida undid any of Arynne’s braids that were starting to loosen and re-plaited them, this time with golden beads spangled throughout. Even with Elfrida taking her time, Arynne was still ready for the meeting quicker than she’d like.
Arynne wasn’t afraid of Vanya. No matter how angry she made him, she was his baby sister and a princess. There simply wasn’t much he could do to her, as being a princess required a certain level of upkeep and careful handling, and Vanya knew that. Still, there was only one thing that could’ve made him this angry. He somehow had found out she’d been practicing magic on the sly again. But how? She’d been so careful—up until the incident with the fountain, of course.