Daughter of Sun, Bride of Ice

by H. L. Burke

  “Again ... maybe. No one knows what the prophecy means beyond that your marriage to our prince would supposedly save us.” Kajik sighed. “The why and the how? Most believe that it involves the heartbond, a magical process that can bind a man and his wife within our land. It allows them to share magic and strengthen each other. The assumption is that being bonded with the proper woman will give the Star Prince the strength to keep the boundary between our world and the Lingering Dark closed forever.”

  Arynne nodded slowly. She could handle that.

  “So you will agree to marry our prince, even knowing of the prophecy?” Rafal stepped closer, eyes glinting.

  Taken aback by his eagerness, Arynne swallowed but again nodded. “I would.”

  “Star spirits be praised!” Arynne cringed at Rafal’s outburst. What if someone heard them? The emissary continued, unperturbed. “I will discuss the terms with the king—”

  “No!” she gasped.

  Rafal stared at her.

  “We will need to arrange it with your brother. We can’t just kidnap you,” Kajik pointed out.

  “I know that,” she snapped. She drew a calming breath. “However, I would like to speak with him first. I think I can make him see the benefit to all parties, but it may take some finesse. I know how he thinks.”

  Rafal scowled. “I really feel that such matters should be discussed man to man—”

  “Do what you feel you must,” Kajik broke in.

  Rafal’s face reddened, but he did not correct the younger man.

  He’s as much a glorified soldier as I am a wind scorpion. Well, Arynne would figure out what Kajik was hiding later. She had to coax Vanya to agree to her schemes first.

  Chapter Four

  Arynne slipped through the columns towards where the rest of her family still sat, watching the musicians. As she settled onto a cushioned mat at the edge of the audience, Vanya shot her a glare. He’d noticed her absence. Her throat tightened. Could he know what she’d been up to? Either way, she’d have to face him eventually.

  The musicians played through a few more songs before they paused so the servants could bring around steaming pots of after-dinner tea and delicate cakes, hollow on the inside and coated with pure white sugar. These treats were called “snow on the mountain,” though Arynne was sure the cooks who made them had never seen snow, even as she had not. If she got her way, though, snow might be a large part of her future. She wondered if it truly resembled sugar. When she’d asked Elfrida about it, the maid had described it as, “cold, white, odorless, and tasteless.”

  Under the shadow of Vanya’s obvious disappointment, the sugar lost its sweetness and the bites of cake she did manage to get down felt heavy in her stomach. Finally the bell for final prayers released her. She stood, eyes closed, with the rest of the family as Vanya thanked the Sun God for a successful and safe waking-time then asked for the blessing of peaceful sleep during the hours of rest. When the prayer ended, she started towards the exit leading to the maidens’ quarters only to feel a hand upon her shoulder.

  Turning, she stared at Vanya’s steward, the disapproving fellow who glared at her when she showed up early for meals. From his expression, he wasn’t any happier with her now.

  “The king wishes to have words with you.”

  She stuck her chin in the air, determined not to be intimidated by a glorified butler. “If so he may schedule a meeting as required by palace—”

  “He said you’d try that,” the steward broke in.

  Arynne gaped. How dare he interrupt her!

  “He said when you did to inform you that as king he has every right to bend protocol, especially considering how little concern you showed for that same protocol across your various displays this waking-time.”

  Realizing she wasn’t going to win this battle, Arynne gave him a curt nod. She brushed past him, through the thinning crowd of family members and palace guests all making their way to their bed chambers. Vanya waited for her upon his couch, Leyal at his side.

  “You wished to speak with me, brother-king?” Arynne clasped her hands and bowed, her posture perfect.

  “Not here.” Vanya stood. “I would have privacy for this discussion.”

  Leyal reached out and clasped the edge of his robe. “Be gentle with her, my love. She’s merely a girl.”

  “I will do what must be done to remedy the problem,” Vanya said simply, his expression unmoved.

  Arynne’s stomach clenched. A problem. She was a problem. Well, perhaps as such it would be easier to convince him that the solution was to be rid of her altogether.

  She followed him through the door to the banquet hall. The table had been cleared and the windows shuttered. The room was now dark except for a lantern of blue glass sitting at the head of the table. The steward awaited them. He poured two goblets of spiced wine from a crystal decanter then stood behind Vanya’s chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  Probably eager to watch the disrespectful child get her comeuppance.

  Displeasure rippled through Arynne’s gut at being brought so low a servant could gloat over her fate.

  “Thank you, Janni.” Vanya settled in his seat. “You are no longer required.”

  From the way his expression changed, Vanya might as well have told the steward the wine he’d poured had soured to vinegar. He stumbled out the door, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Vanya sighed and pointed to the chair upon his left. She silently took her seat.

  They sat for an awkward moment, staring at the light flickering through the blue glass of the lanterns. With the ever-present sun, fire for lighting was unusual. Most light was achieved simply by opening windows and directing the sunbeams with mirrors. Fire was for cooking, for burning incense ... and for moments like this when Vanya wanted privacy from even the Sun God himself. Had she displeased him so greatly that he wished to hide her away from the deity? Or did he know how the glow and warmth of the flame tempted her to use her magic? Even now she could sense its energy, begging her to draw it out, to tickle it with her fingers and twist it to her will.

  However, that would only upset Vanya further.

  Unable to bear the quiet any longer, she spoke. “Thank you for sending Janni away.”

  “The court already whispers enough of how I cannot control you, how you run through the halls like an unbroken stallion, ignoring my wishes and decrees.” He shook his head. “I do not wish an audience for this, Arynne. It would only add more shame to the both of us.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “I do not mean to shame you, Vanya.”

  “Then why must you constantly push the boundaries I have set for you?”

  She winced at his raised voice.

  He drew a deep breath, held it, then said in a more measured tone, “What would you have me do, Arynne? Is your plan to make yourself more and more of an embarrassment so that I have no choice but to banish you to the priesthood? You think you want that life, but it is not a fate for a princess. You would never know the joys of a man’s embrace, the delight of children. You would be forced to give up so many earthly pleasures, and you are not nearly devout enough to take comfort in devotion to the Sun God.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I know you wish to use magic, but your desire to join the priesthood to do so is short-sighted, and I will not let you make that mistake.”

  “And so you would marry me off to some lord who would tame me?” she snapped. “How would that be any less of a sacrifice than subservience to the deity?”

  He closed his eyes. “I spoke abruptly when I made that threat. I would not see you wed to a man who would break your spirit, but perhaps a marriage would make you understand that there is more to life than service to oneself. That a princess, or prince, or even a king, must put the good of the family and the kingdom above the desires of their own heart.”

  Seeing her opportunity, Arynne raised her eyes from the lantern and focused on him. “And if I were to agree to accept a marriage without further resistance? Would that appeas
e you?”

  “It would.” He considered her as if anticipating a trap.

  “Would it appease you to the point that you would allow me to choose my own groom?” She leaned across the table.

  “Within reason. I would not have you wed to a peasant.”

  “No, I would choose a man of proper blood,” she assured him. “What requirements beyond that would you have for my groom?”

  “Not an enemy of our house.” His brow furrowed, and she could see his mind struggling to find her trick. “Nor a criminal.”

  “I do not even know such men, brother.” She rolled her eyes. “You think I would wish to marry a bandit in the wilds? As you say, I am a princess, used to a life of luxury. I would choose a man who would allow me to maintain my pampered lifestyle.”

  “Then yes, if you can find a man of noble birth, who is an ally of our house, and of good character, I would consent to you marrying him.”

  “You give your word.” Her fingers clenched around her skirts, afraid he’d change his mind at the last moment and foil her carefully made plan.

  “The word of a king and a brother.” He offered her his hand.

  She took it, and a grin blossomed on her face. “I would have the prince of Frorheim.”

  Vanya’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”

  “I assure you it’s a well-considered decision.”

  “Well-considered for all of three hours!” Vanya leaped to his feet. “There’s no way you could’ve known of the emissary’s offer to consider it before he spoke of it at the table.”

  “I overheard them speaking in the courtyard before the meal,” she pointed out.

  He scoffed. “Oh, forgive me, so it was three and a half hours.” He shook his head ruefully and sank back into his chair as if exhausted.

  Arynne’s fingers twitched with pent up magic. Why did people act as if being decisive and knowing what she wanted were bad qualities?

  Her brother sat, staring past her into the shadows, his fingers tapping on the table top. “I cannot allow it.”

  Her chest tightened. “You gave your word. You said that if—” A prickling sensation at the back of her neck stopped her mid-sentence. Magic? But not her own ... her eyes snapped up, searching the darkness in the far corner of the room behind Vanya.

  “Do you realize it would mean leaving your family? Your home? Never seeing me or your sisters again?” Pain edged Vanya’s voice, drawing Arynne’s attention back to him.

  She blinked. Somehow she had not considered that her departure would bring Vanya grief. After all, the majority of their interactions were conflict. Her sisters, likewise, treated her as a willful child when they acknowledged her at all, which was rarely. No, they were all too busy with their growing families to have time for her.

  “You all have your own lives, Vanya. Me? I have no future here. Nothing that brings me hope or joy. I exist simply to wait for the right suitor to arrive, for some man to come and claim me. For though I bargained for the right to choose my groom, how would I ever meet someone being confined to the maidens’ quarters except for supervised state events?” Her throat tightened. She’d never allowed herself to face how little of her future was in her control, how she had no dreams with any hope of fruition. A pawn, waiting on the will of those above her, with her best hope being that the political match they inevitably made for her was a good one. “This is my one chance, my only chance, to choose my fate ... and I will miss you, but if I remain I will wither.” Her voice cracked, and she had to look away.

  Vanya’s shoulders slumped. “Since our father died, I’ve done my best for you, Arynne. You’ve always been headstrong, or should I say determined? I had not the will as your brother to give you the discipline you needed. Perhaps now I am reaping the results of my leniency.” Pain darkened his eyes. “Still, how can you travel so far to marry a man who none of us have met? How do you know he’s a good man? That he will be kind to you? Protect you?”

  “Excuse me, your highness, I might be able to address that,” a voice said from the shadows.

  Arynne jumped, and Vanya stumbled out of his chair as Kajik strode into the light, blue eyes glinting.

  Vanya’s fists clenched. “How did you get in here?”

  Arynne frowned at the young Frorian. Did he not trust her to see to this?

  “I fear I sneaked in. I had some understanding that the princess’s discussion would involve my mission and wanted a chance to speak if a topic I could address, such as the character of Prince Olyn, came up.”

  Arynne froze realizing she’d forgotten to ask Kajik about the prince, not his name. Olyn ... was Olyn her fate? Her future?

  Vanya’s gaze hardened towards the starwarden. “You know the prince of Frorheim?”

  “I do, but I would feel most at ease if we could discuss the matter alone.”

  “Why alone?” It took all of Arynne’s willpower not to shout at him. “It involves me!”

  Kajik avoided her eyes. “When I took this mission, I was sworn to secrecy on a few matters, some of which I may have to discuss freely if your brother is to understand how I know things and what the consequences are. I’m not a perfect man. Still, I try not to break my vows—but I will bend them if it means your brother will feel confident in putting you in my care. Please, King Vanya, I only ask a few minutes of your time.”

  Vanya rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Arynne, leave us for now. Find a servant to escort you back to the maidens’ quarters. We’ll discuss this again after the resting-times.”

  “But Vanya!” Arynne protested.

  “Arynne.” His tone sharpened.

  Jaw clenched, Arynne shot Kajik a glare. He brushed at his nose with the back of his hand in a failed attempt—or perhaps an intentionally bad attempt—to cover a smirk. She’d get him back for this. Whatever secrets he was keeping, they’d be hers eventually, if she had to roast them from him slowly.

  She left the room but made no attempt to find a servant as ordered. Instead she took a seat beside the fountain to wait and sulk. With no sandclock, she had little idea of how much time passed as she waited in the courtyard. After a bit the trickle of flowing water and the light rippling upon the surface of the pool lulled her into a hypnotic state. Her head nodded against her breast.

  The creaking of door hinges jerked her to the present. Kajik emerged from the banquet hall, turned and bowed to someone within, presumably Vanya, and started across the courtyard.

  Hopping to her feet, she dashed after him. “Wait!”

  He spun on his heels. “I thought you got sent to your room?”

  She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “I’m starting to see a pattern regarding you and following orders.” He clicked his tongue.

  “Says the man who somehow managed to get through a closed door to spy on a private discussion he was not invited to,” she pointed out.

  “I didn’t say I disapproved. World needs more people willing to break rules, if you ask me.” He stroked his beard. She noted it hadn’t quite filled in the way his companion’s had. Men in Solea tended to shave or at most keep a moustache, so originally the beard had made Kajik seem mature. Now, she could tell he wasn’t much older than her, perhaps two decades old, she imagined. The mischievous glint in his eye added to his boyish demeanor, and she softened towards him.

  Realizing she was losing sight of her goal, she hardened her expression. “What did you and Vanya talk about?”

  “He wanted assurance that Prince Olyn was the sort of man he could entrust his sister to, that he’d treat you well, that you’d be safe and cared for.” Kajik’s eyes grew somber. “I believe he was assured. It looks like you’ll get your way about coming to Frorheim with us after all.”

  She suddenly felt foolish. She’d jumped at the chance to marry a man without so much as knowing his name. What if he were old and ugly? Cruel? Dull-witted?

  She swallowed to moisten her suddenly arid tongue.

  “You know the prince?”

  He nodde
d. “We’ve met.”

  “It seems you could’ve brought this up when I expressed interest in the marriage.” She huffed at him.

  “You didn’t ask.” His smile returned. “And you could’ve. You certainly interrogated me on every other aspect of the matter.”

  She sniffed. “Maybe I didn’t expect a ‘glorified soldier,’ as you put it, to be held in confidence by the royal family.”

  “Frorheim is a small kingdom, and those of us with magic blood are considered nobility, no matter what our vocation of choice.” He crossed his arms. “So, yes, I know the prince. Enough to truthfully tell your brother that he will be kind to you and treat you with the respect due a bride and a princess.”

  She let out a breath. That should reassure her, but now that she’d opened her heart to doubt, she couldn’t shake it. “How ... how old is he?”

  “Twenty-three starcycles.”

  “Starcycles?”

  “What I believe you call years. As we have no sun we mark time by the movements of the stars and moon. There are some differences between the systems, but overall I’d say he’s not much older than you. Five maybe six years?”

  The tightness in her neck and shoulders eased. That wasn’t bad. “Is he handsome?”

  He coughed. “I’m hardly a judge of what women find attractive in a man.”

  “Tall? Strong? Healthy?”

  “Yes. Enough. Peak condition. If it matters to you, he’s clever, well-thought of by the court, and a good and loyal friend to those who are close to him ... all of which you probably should’ve asked before you threw yourself at the opportunity to marry him.”

  A blush raged beneath her skin. “I did no such thing!”

  His smile grew smug, and warmth rushed through her in response. That prickling feeling, of magic not her own, of something calling to her, returned. It rose off him like body heat ... no, like the rays of the sun beating down on her, powering her. A jolt cut through her, from her chest into her shoulders and down her arms in a powerful jerk. Flames exploded from her fingertips.