by H. L. Burke
Kajik yelped and disappeared. Arynne blinked at the empty place where he’d stood an instant before. A hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she whirled to face him, now behind her.
“Don’t do that again.” He frowned.
The magic fled from her, leaving her legs wobbly and her fingers smarting from the burns. “I ... I didn’t mean to.” How had he gotten behind her? Had the fire magic distracted her that much?
“Look we’re likely going to be traveling together for the next few weeks, so I’d like some assurance you aren’t going to roast me.” He motioned to his face. “It took me several weeks to grow out this beard. Be a pity to get it singed off.”
“I’m still learning, or trying to learn, anyway.” Her eyes watered. What a fool she’d made of herself. “Fire magic needs a lot of control, but that takes practice.”
Understanding flooded his face. “And you haven’t been allowed to practice because of your family’s rules?”
She forced a curt nod, not wanting to reveal how embarrassed she was at her outburst.
“Fire magic isn’t a form known in Frorheim.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Is there someone we can bring with us to instruct you?”
Hope kindled in her chest but just as quickly died. “Only those who have joined the priesthood are allowed to learn any magical arts—and I very much doubt a priest of the Sun God would willingly travel to a land our deity cannot touch.”
Kajik snorted. “Doesn’t seem like much of a god if he can be thwarted my mere geography.”
Arynne glared at him, wanting to snap at him to prove his god was any better, but decided not to get distracted from the more serious issue of ensuring herself magical instruction.
“I don’t need a teacher. I can learn from scrolls. If you can get me those, I can figure it out.” The words forced open doubt’s fingers, releasing its hold on her courage. She stuck out her chest. “I can figure out anything if given the right tools.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His blue eyes pierced her, and a shiver cut through her. She wished he’d stop making her feel that way. It wasn’t comfortable. “I’ll see what I can do. Our mission is to return to Frorheim with a bride for our prince as quickly as possible, so we’ll be leaving as soon as your brother permits. We have made accommodations for you, as well as for such servants as would suit a lady of station to travel with. I’m assuming you have maids? Hairdressers? People assigned to walk before you and sweep the floor so your feet never trod upon the lowly dust?” He winked.
She ignored his teasing. “I have a maid who has cared for me since my childhood. She is the only servant I require.” A sudden realization that she’d be allowed to bring Elfrida back to her homeland after so many years warmed Arynne’s heart. That her decision would benefit her long-time companion as well as herself pleased her. “I do, of course, have garments and belongings I would like to take with me.”
“Yeah, about that.” He took a step back, his eyes sweeping up and down her body in a way that made her squirm—internally. Externally she wouldn’t give him the pleasure. “Your garments are not suitable for life in Frorheim let alone the journey. We anticipated this might be the case and brought some warmer clothing: fur-lined cloaks, boots instead of sandals. You will accept those?”
“No. I prefer to freeze and die of exposure rather than forsake the habiliments of my youth.” She rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t want to presume.” He chuckled. “I’ll see that such items as you will need are delivered to your quarters.” He clasped his hands and bowed in the Solean style then switched to her native tongue. “I am grateful that you have made our mission such a success. Prince Olyn is a lucky man.”
“The honor is all mine.” Arynne bowed.
For the first time in her life, her dream was in reach—a journey into the dark unknown and a marriage to a stranger were small prices to play for finally learning to use her magic.
Chapter Five
By the time Arynne got back to the maidens’ sleeping quarters, the servants had already angled the mirrors to plunge the hallways into darkness. She took up one of the candles left at the doorway to help her navigate to her bed then reached for the scratchsticks to light it. She paused with her fingers around the tiny sliver of wood. It was an opportunity to practice. No one was around who would tell her no.
Dropping the scratchstick, she instead grasped the candle’s wick.
Controlled heat. Draw it from my core, into my fingertips. Gently, easily.
Her magic stirred like a sleeping child returning to the waking world, slowly, reluctantly—
A surge shot through her, and fire burst from her palm. She gasped in pain as melted wax splashed over the hand holding the candle, but stubbornly, she gripped harder and clenched her teeth, imagining she bit down on the magic itself. It stopped.
Now half its original height, the candle flickered. Well, she had managed to complete her desired task, if at the cost of some pain. With the candle before her, she navigated the shadowy halls to her bedchamber.
Elfrida had a small, private area—large enough to contain a bed, a small chest of belongings, and a washbasin—separated by a curtain from Arynne’s bedroom. The curtain was drawn, indicating that the handmaiden had given up on seeing Arynne return and gone to sleep. Disappointment ate at the princess. She’d looked forward to delivering the news about the Frorians and their upcoming journey. Well, that could wait until morning.
She placed her candle on her vanity table. A basin of still warm water sat upon it, and a silken sleeping-gown lay draped over the seat. A smile crept across Arynne’s face. Elfrida managed to look after her even when Arynne made it difficult. If the handmaiden accompanied her to Frorheim, the strange land would feel like home.
As she washed her face and changed into her sleeping-clothes, Arynne’s hands stung. She examined them in the candle light. Normally her fire magic strengthened her skin against minor burns, but she’d pushed that to its limits over the last waking-time. Three uses of her untrained power, all of which ended in disaster, had resulted in raw patches on her palms and blisters on her fingertips. She grimaced. Supposedly training would lessen the negative effects of fire magic. For now, though, she had ways of dealing with such things.
Fishing in her cosmetics drawer, Arynne found a small earthen jar stashed among her perfumes and hair oils: burn salve. She’d wheedled it out of one of the servants who was related to the royal healer. A mixture of acrid vinegar, sticky, sweet honey, a selection of cooling herbs, and a little bit of magic, the salve eased pain and sped healing, allowing Arynne to hide when she injured herself. She now slathered the concoction over both hands before slipping on a pair of cotton gloves. Hopefully the medicine would do its job and her skin would be as good as new by morning.
She blew out the candle, plunging her room into darkness. Before she could stumble her way to her silken sheets and comfortable pillows, her eye caught a point of light. She reached forward and found the smooth cloth of the dress she’d worn. Feeling about the fabric, her hands met with something hard and—tingly. A memory clicked, and she claimed the starshard Kajik had given her. She’d tucked it in her sash for safe keeping then forgotten all about it. The magic seeped through her gloves and into her hands. Immediately her stinging skin grew numb to all but the buzz of power, electric and alive in her grasp. Closing her fist around it, she returned to her bed, dreaming of a future filled with magic.
A dreamless sleep later, she became conscious of Elfrida moving about their shared chambers. The older woman hummed pleasantly, a Frorian folk tune involving a moss-elk keeper in love with a snow sprite. The image immediately shook Arynne to consciousness as the events of the previous waking-time rushed into her brain. She sat up with a gasp.
Elfrida recoiled. “Oh, goodness! Did I startle you?”
The mirrors filtered dim light into the room through the now open doorway, and Elfrida had lit an oil lamp, but even with that, the windowless room deep in the palace w
as cloaked in comfortable twilight. Easier to awaken to than the ever-present, fierce Solean sun.
Arynne shook her head. How could she even begin to tell Elfrida all that had happened—all that was going to happen?
Concern puckered the handmaiden’s brow. “I’ll ring the bell for your first meal. I’ve set out the blue dress for you and was thinking we could oil and rebraid your hair before second meal.” Her gaze fell on Arynne’s hands, still clad in the cotton gloves. “You were practicing your magic again, weren’t you? After your talk with your brother last waking-time, do you really think you should continue to risk his wrath?”
Arynne glanced down at her own gloved hands, one of which was still clenched around the starshard. With everything that had happened, her fight with Vanya over the magic scroll hardly seemed to matter anymore. All that mattered was the future she’d bargained for, a future represented by the sparking, prickling energy of the crystal she now grasped.
Ignoring Elfrida’s reproachful stare, Arynne opened her hand and allowed the starshard to shine freely.
Elfrida gasped. “Where did you get that?”
Arynne held forth the starshard.
The older woman’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes wide. “Is that ... is that a starshard?”
Arynne nodded. “The foreign emissaries last waking-time were from Frorheim.” She took Elfrida by the wrist and placed the crystal in her outstretched palm.
Elfrida let out a long breath. “It is as beautiful as I remember, and so precious. How did you ... why do you have it? What did the Frorians want from your brother? From you?”
Arynne’s words escaped with the intensity of flames blasting from her fingertips. She told of seeing the Frorian emissaries before dinner, of hearing them speak of the need for a Solean bride, of her appeal to both the Frorians and her brother and the results.
Through it all, Elfrida gaped at her, silent.
“Starwarden Kajik seemed to think that Vanya would be willing to let me go, and if I do go, I want to take you. You’re the only servant I need, and with you being Frorian, it just makes sense.” Arynne clasped Elfrida’s shoulders. “You get to go home, Elfrida! You’ll get to see your homeland and the stars again!”
Elfrida’s face contorted in pain, and she turned away, shoulders shaking. Arynne froze. That was not the reaction she’d anticipated.
“Elfrida?” she stammered. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t go back!” Elfrida gasped through tears. “I lied, princess! I lied. My family didn’t leave Frorheim and sell me due to debts. My father, brothers, my whole family—we were banished for treason.”
Arynne’s heart jolted within her. “For treason? But you would’ve been just a girl.”
Elfrida laughed bitterly. “No more so than you now, and you seem fully able to cause trouble for yourself and others.” She turned back to Arynne, her expression hardening. “You said the Frorians need a Solean bride to stop the return of Sorcerer Athan?”
“Yes, to stop him from returning to plunge the land into darkness.” Arynne tilted her head. Where was this leading?
“When Athan first challenged his brother for the throne, his goal was not so evil, at least not his stated goal.” Elfrida’s shoulders slumped.
Concerned by the weary look in her handmaiden’s eyes, Arynne led her to the vanity stool and urged her to sit.
“Prophecy is a large part of Frorian tradition. Those with the gift of seeing attend the births of every royal heir—and of many folk of wealth and importance. Upon the birth of the second prince, he was presented to a seer who predicted that through his actions starcasting would come to escape the grasp of the royal line and eventually spread amongst the people.” Elfrida closed her eyes. “There has always been a faction amongst Frorians who remain discontent at the royal family’s choice to keep the starcasting ability confined to their heirs. All other forms of magic have spread throughout the populace as those carrying the powers passed it to their children, but the starcasters have hoarded their power, and in doing so made the populace dependent on them, for without a starcaster, our way of life is impossible.”
Arynne nodded. While Kajik had explained this to her, she hadn’t considered the repercussions of it for the populace as a whole. “It does seem rather selfish.”
“Yes, but people in power like to remain in power. With Prince Athan, however, we had hope that things would change—not that the Frorian kings were cruel. I would call them just leaders overall, but their complete control over the Starspire made many Frorians, including my family, nervous.”
Arynne’s chest tightened. She saw where this was leading. “You joined Prince Athan’s rebellion?”
“As I said, in the beginning his cause did not seem so dark. He promised to release the stranglehold his family held on starcasting, to sire multiple sons and allow those sons to take wives from not just among the nobility, but from the poor and the powerless—to allow the power to self-govern to spread among us all.” With another great sigh, Elfrida opened her eyes. “We were blinded. By the time he turned from rebellion to revenge, it was too late. We did leave his following at that point, but as far as King Evyd and those loyal to him were concerned, we were tainted beyond redemption by our previous dissent.”
“And so you were banished?”
“To the Gloaming—at which point my lies regarding my past cease. My family did sell me to traders in order to survive. What happened to them after that ... I do not know.” Elfrida hung her head. “As much as I long to see the stars and the moon shining upon the ice again, if I return to Frorheim in violation of my banishment, my life is forfeit, Princess. I cannot accompany you.”
Arynne’s heart sank. She had hoped for this to be a happy surprise for her long-time companion, but now, instead, she was facing the possibility of leaving her behind. Elfrida had been more family to her than her actual blood. The thought of never seeing her again ached worse than leaving Vanya and all her sisters combined. She couldn’t bear it. Even if leaving meant practicing magic, she’d be all alone. She couldn't accept losing Elfrida. Why should Elfrida have to suffer for something she had done years before—no, decades before! As a foolish teen? It wasn’t fair.
“No!” Arynne stomped her foot. “I will speak for you. I will speak to the emissary and get you pardoned as part of my bride price. If they won’t allow your return, then they will not have me.” She knelt before the older woman. “You are my friend, my caretaker, and I will not see you left behind when I have the power to return you to your home and your people.” Her jaw clenched. Such promises were all well and good, but she needed more assurance than her own stubbornness.
She needed to speak to Kajik.
ARYNNE SLIPPED THROUGH the palace halls, a head scarf covering her freshly braided hair and a broad travel shawl concealing most of her sky-blue silks. While she couldn’t quite be mistaken for a servant, from a distance she might believably pass for one of the lesser noblewomen who lived in the palace, serving as ladies-in-waiting, musicians, and other tasks that were considered too lowly for the royal family but were still too great an honor to give to lowborn servants. As long as no one got a good look at her face, she should be able to slip into the guest wing unnoticed.
Elfrida had offered to arrange a meeting between the Frorian emissaries and Arynne through the usual channels—a request sent first through Vanya who would appoint a chaperone and arrange for a discreet location for her to interact with the foreign men—but Arynne knew how long those things could take—especially if Vanya wasn’t feeling accommodating. Also he might bring Rafal into it, and Arynne didn’t trust the older Frorian.
No, sneaking down to the guest quarters and cornering Kajik on his own was the surest and fastest way to accomplish her task.
The issue of ensuring Elfrida’s safety was too important to put off. It needed to be in place before Vanya made the betrothal official, so that Arynne could threaten to pull out of the agreement if she didn’t get her way. Whether or
not this was a bluff or if she’d actually forsake her plans to go to Frorheim as Prince Olyn’s future bride if Elfrida couldn’t accompany her, even Arynne wasn’t sure. Ideally it wouldn’t come to that.
It wasn’t the first time Arynne had been to the guest quarters, though she’d always been escorted. She easily navigated the hallways until she came to an open courtyard with a stable for the beasts of burden on one side and a portico shading the entrance to various rooms on the other. She paused behind a pillar to observe. A group of merchants sat in the shade next to a small fountain in one corner. From their brawny tattooed torsos and distinct woven kilts, she knew them to be from one of the island nations. They would often sail up the river to trade dried fish, rich sweet fruits, and other luxuries not found in the dry kingdom of Solea.
Across from them, blocking her view of a large portion of the courtyard, a group of herdsmen from the mountain regions had set up one of their great tents. Vanya often expressed disdain for the mountain folk who preferred to bring their homes with them rather than accept the luxury of Solean lodging. Arynne, however, admired their independence—especially seeing how it vexed Vanya.
She craned her neck, trying to see around the tent. A clacking and crashing rose from the corner it obscured. The islanders shot glares in that general direction, obviously put out by the noise. Somehow Arynne suspected Kajik was involved. A whoop in a familiar voice solidified her suspicion, and she edged around the courtyard.
As she passed the tent, she caught sight of a small group of pale-skinned, bearded men wearing tinted goggles. Four of them reclined in the shadow of the portico, but two—Kajik and a young fellow with a sparse red beard on an otherwise boyish face—sparred with wooden training blades and bucklers. The constant banging of blade upon shield or blade against blade rang out like hammer falls in the otherwise placid space. Kajik obviously had the upper hand over the red-head. He ducked and wove, avoiding blows with the speed of a striking snake. Occasionally he’d send an almost careless swipe in the direction of his opponent, most of which the boy barely dodged in time.