Daughter of Sun, Bride of Ice

by H. L. Burke

  She frowned. “Did you give me the starshard just so you could travel to my room?”

  “No. I don’t usually think that far ahead. It was just a convenient method once I realized that I needed to do so.” He rolled it between his fingers then set it back down. “Now, if you don’t mind me taking the reins of the conversation for a bit, I’ve been trying to work out the terms you set for this arrangement: namely the magic scrolls you need to study.”

  Her chest tightened. “Did you get them?”

  “Yes ... and no. Apparently they don’t make those volumes readily available in your kingdom. All my inquiries met with shock and dismay and eventually led to me getting cornered by your brother demanding I stop spreading such dangerous ideas around his court as non-priests using magic.”

  Arynne’s heart sank. “Of course he did. So you couldn’t get them?”

  “I’m not a quitter.” He smiled. “I explained to King Vanya that Frorheim has a much different attitude towards magic as it runs openly in all our good families. If a woman were to appear in my country’s court claiming to be a princess but unable to access magic, it would be akin to a princess of your land not being able to read or play harps or whatever it is that you princesses do.”

  “Reading and playing harps are both possibilities.” She rolled her eyes.

  “He did not like the idea of you being considered an inferior princess, even by our barbaric standards, so he agreed to give me the scrolls on the condition that I do not present them to you until we’re outside of his lands, so that the tales of you practicing magic stay away from court.”

  Relief flooded through her like cool water over a parched tongue. “Thank you!” After waking-times of frustration and worry, happiness welled within her, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Her vision blurred, and she turned away from him in shame. “I’m ... I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be.” The bench creaked as he rose from it. “I’ve seen how much you want this and how little respect you get from your brother and the rest of the court.”

  She laughed bitterly. “According to Vanya, respect has to be earned, not handed like a gift to impulsive, shortsighted, selfish—” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed by the tears that slipped down her cheeks.

  His hand rested on her shoulder. “Believe it or not I know a thing or two about being a disappointment to one’s family.”

  She angled towards him again, examining his face for mirth, but his usually twinkling eyes were somber.

  “You? Why?” He seemed so happy, confident, and competent.

  He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m careless, thoughtless, and would rather drink ale, play with swords, and chase women than do what’s good for the family name or my country.”

  The words “chase women” sent an unwarranted ripple of displeasure through her.

  “Would you rather do that?” the words slipped out before she could stop them.

  He exhaled a long breath. “To an extent, though partially that was because I realized at a young age that I would never be good enough for my father or live up to the standards he’d set for me. After that sinks in, well, the will to try melts away like snow before the hearth.”

  “So what did you do? How do you—” She dropped her gaze. How did he manage to be so calm and happy? So strong? She felt so weak every time Vanya made her feel small and helpless and unworthy. She would’ve given so much for a drop of Kajik’s self-certainty.

  “I stopped caring what he, or anyone else for that matter, thought of me. You can’t soften a rock, and plenty of people are just that stubborn.”

  She winced. A rock was a good way to describe Vanya, unshakeable in his old fashioned ways. “It’s easier said than done.”

  “I know.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. The familiarity of the gesture sent a shiver through her. “But we’ll be leaving tomorrow, and you’ll have a new life, a better one. I promise.”

  She tried to return his smile, but her insides quaked. She would escape her old life, yes, but her new one was a series of unknowns, a husband she’d never met, a land she’d never visited, a people who might never accept her as one of their own, let alone their eventual queen. She pushed aside the terror. She needed to be strong. It was the only way she’d survive this. “Thank you.”

  “I had better get going before someone catches me in here.” He stepped back, and the air tingled with magic. The thought of him leaving gripped her by the throat.

  “Wait!”

  He tilted his head to one side, and the magic ceased.

  “I ... do you think I’ll be a good princess for Frorheim? Or do you think Vanya’s right? That I’m too impulsive and selfish to deserve to be a future queen?” She didn’t know why she cared what he thought. He was, as he so often said, just a glorified soldier, there to see her safely to her new home and new groom ... but somehow she cared. She cared deeply.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. He sighed and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Like I said, I think Prince Olyn is a lucky man. You’ll be fine, Princess Arynne. Frorheim couldn’t ask for a better princess.”

  Chapter Seven

  The first week of the journey would be spent on the water, boating up the various water ways that drained through the central valley of Frorheim from the marshlands and temperate forests in the Gloaming. The swath of land between the light and dark sides of the world was known for its unpredictable weather patterns—storms that tore up great swaths of forests and left no life in their wake—but the constant rainfall and snow-melt watered not only the Gloaming but filtered into the sun-lands through great rivers. Many of these dried up before they reached the massive sea and the island nations there, but the ones nearest the Solean capital flowed strong and free, branching off into many smaller streams to feed the farms of the people.

  Arynne rode upon Vanya’s barge for the first leg of their journey, the Frorians following behind in a rented boat. According to Rafal, they’d left hired guides at the pass between the Gloaming woods and the border of Frorheim to guard their moss-elk and sleighs, the most common mode of transportation in the snowy lands.

  Knowing that they would be long on the road with little time to see to beauty routines, Elfrida did Arynne’s hair up in fresh braids, weaving in strands of dyed wool in bright red, the national color of Solea, allowing her locks to reach midway down her back, far longer than she’d ever worn her hair before. The effect was stunning, and would hold well so even if they were unable to properly see to her hair during travel, the braids should last through most of it. The wool, while treated and colored to resemble human hair, required much less care than Arynne’s own locks. She’d be able to arrive in her new homeland looking every bit the princess, making a stunning impression on her future groom and his family.

  With the constant sunlight, they made good time, the crews of the two boats taking shifts rather than stopping for resting-times. For Arynne the trip couldn’t end soon enough. After the first several miles of farmlands and date palms lining near identical riverbanks, the initial excitement of leaving the palace faded into tedium. Vanya had brought along his favorite musician, but once the man had played through his repertoire of tunes for the second time, even that only added to the monotony of the trip. Arynne often wished she had a reason to be on Kajik’s boat instead of her own. At the very least, Arynne might’ve been able to quiz Kajik further on the ways of his people, on the personality of Prince Olyn, or what would be expected of her on the journey.

  Through the long journey sheltered under the canopy against the sweltering heat, Elfrida provided her only relief from boredom. The older woman had told Arynne most of her stories of Frorheim before—and they were admittedly about the life of a peasant woman, not a princess so how applicable to Arynne they would be was debatable—but listening to them piqued Arynne’s interest. They told of a harsh but free life, of twinkling stars, and of magic users t
hroughout the population, doing great deeds.

  After the sixth or seventh waking time, however, something changed. The fierce blue sky grew deeper and cooler with a yellow glow on the horizon. The change came so gradually that she didn’t notice at first, but as the shadows grew long and the river water changed from clear blue to deep purple, a chill swept through her. It was like the world was falling asleep around her. Unlike the golden desert dunes, the distant hills were cloaked in blues, greens, and purples, and the sorts of trees changed to strange ones with draping branches that touched the water like a curtain of tassels.

  Turning, she found the usually hot white sun hovering over the horizon streaked in oranges and red. Her throat tightened. Was that right? It looked like a coal in a fireplace, flickering, dying. What would happen to the world if the sun died altogether?

  A hand gripped her shoulder, and she jumped.

  “You look frightened?” Vanya examined her face.

  She stood straighter. “You startled me is all.”

  He laughed. “Never showing fear. That’s the Arynne we all know and love.”

  Anger rippled through her. Was he really going to pretend he loved her? Now? After all the harsh things he’d said of late?

  Stiffening her shoulders, she angled away from him and the sun, staring at the darkening horizon.

  He sighed. “After this resting-time we should reach the source of the river, a great inland sea, called the Skymere, where many streams converge off the melt from the Gloaming. That is the end of Solean territory. There is a small community of fishermen, trappers, and woodsmen who live along the shores of the sea, or upon its waters on boats and houses built on stilts. Beyond that, there is the Gloaming, inhabited only by wandering tribes.”

  “I know my geography.” She tossed her hair. The beads in her braids clattered like coins in a purse.

  “Then you understand that when we reach the Skymere, we will part?”

  “Yes.” She strode towards the canopy that stretched over the center of the boat. In the middle lay a deep trough filled with cushions to rest upon. A breeze stirred, and a shiver crept over her skin. When she glanced down, tiny bumps had formed over her bare arms. She gaped at them. Was she getting ill?

  “What’s wrong?” her brother asked.

  “My... my skin?” She held her arm out to him.

  He glanced at it and roared with laughter. She flushed and jerked her arm away.

  “You are chilled, Arynne. That is all.” He balanced along the edge of the sleeping trough and returned a moment later with a silk wrap. He draped it about her shoulders.

  Bristling from the mocking, Arynne almost pushed the offered garment away, but another cool tickle of air soothed her pride. She wrapped the cloth tightly about her.

  Concern crossed Vanya’s face. “It only gets colder from here.”

  “The Frorians have provided me with appropriate garments. I will change as soon as I can arrange the privacy to do so.”

  “So just that easily you will slip from your life, your homeland, your family? No tears? No regrets? As thoughtlessly as a serpent sheds its skin?” His words came out in a rasp.

  Arynne whirled to face him, wide eyed.

  Vanya’s usually stoic face pinched in pain. “Do I ... we truly mean that little to you?”

  “Did I ever mean anything to you?” She swallowed. “Brother, I know what we say of family and homeland. I know the words we speak, but in action? Since our father died, have you ever acted as if I was anything but a burden? Have you ever shown anything but displeasure at my behavior and desires?” For a moment grief gripped her. She’d been six when their father had died, from the same fever that had taken his young wife, Arynne’s mother only a resting-time before. The grief had long ago simmered to coals, cool and dead unless breathed upon by memory. “And now that I’m leaving I’m supposed to grieve for you? To pretend that you truly loved me when you ... you so obviously despise me.” Her voice cracked and tears blurred her vision, whether from rage or grief, she wasn’t sure.

  They stood in silence, the shadows from the trees flickering over his face, the only sounds the waves slapping against the boat and the wind flapping the canopy overhead. Heat blazed beneath Arynne’s skin. To cry before him, to show such weakness, when she’d almost escaped, was not what she had planned. For so long she’d fantasized about flippantly saying a farewell and marching into her new life without so much as a look back, a clean cut to sever their ties forever. Instead, she’d humiliated herself, and for what? Vanya would never change. He’d proven incapable over and over—

  The king fell to his knees and grabbed her hand. “Sister, little sister, forgive me! That was not my intent! That isn’t—” His voice cracked.

  Arynne froze.

  “When Father died, when I realized I’d inherited not only a throne but a child, a child I had no idea how to raise, how to guide, I was terrified, my little one.” He bent over her outstretched fingers. Tears dripped upon her skin, and her breath left her. Vanya was weeping? Over her? “I feared spoiling you, for you were so strong-willed, so stubborn. I thought you needed a guide, a firm hand to tame you, but every time you ... you resisted. I never wished you to despise me, but—you must understand, Arynne,” his voice steadied and he raised his eyes to her. “I do not chastise you because I do not love you, but because I do. You are naive.”

  Arynne hardened herself. Here it came. He’d given his expression of love, and now he would explain why he was right all along, why she was wrong.

  “I’ve heard it all.”

  “Yes, you have heard, but have you listened?” He stood. “You are so impulsive, so hardheaded. The world is not as easy as you think, and to be a queen you must be willing to put aside your desires for the good of your people. Do you really think you can do that, Arynne?”

  Arynne hesitated. She’d jumped at the chance to travel to Frorheim specifically because they would allow her to practice magic, that they would grant her her greatest desire. “I believe in making a life where I will not have to make such sacrifices.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ve seen how you—” He glanced over his shoulder, towards the Frorian’s barge, following them in the fading light. “You may find sooner than you think that the things you want are out of reach. When that happens, please, Arynne, remember to act not from your heart but from your sense of duty. Remember that you are a princess, and a princess must put her kingdom before herself.”

  “If such a time comes—” which she doubted, “—I will act in the way I know to be best. I may be impulsive and stubborn, Vanya, but I understand the cost of power. I am stronger than you think.”

  “It’s not your strength, I doubt, little one. I’ve gone against that enough times to know it is unquestionable.” He touched her cheek. “Do not remember me ill. Do not doubt that I love you, but please, think on my words. I fear that soon you will find the responsibilities before you a far heavier burden than you anticipate.”

  “I will keep that in mind.” Arynne tightened her wrap around her shoulders. “I should rest now. I will see you when I wake, brother.”

  “I will be here.” He nodded.

  Arynne settled on the cushions beside the already sleeping Elfrida and pulled a woolen blanket over her body. Vanya’s sincerity left her unsettled. Perhaps she had been too quick to dismiss his affection towards her—but even in his supposed love, there was correction, there was criticism, there was a sense that she’d never be enough. Would anyone ever look at her and see something right rather than something that needed altered? Was that too much to ask?

  She shut her eyes and wondered what sort of man Prince Olyn was. Would he possibly be the one to appreciate her for who she was? Rocked by the boat’s gentle movements, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  When Arynne awoke, something felt off. She stared up at the shadowy underside of the canopy. The chill air bit at her face. A strange, earthy green smell—like the palace gardens but more so—tickled her nose, and an inte
nse feeling of life filled her body, chasing away all remnants of sleep. Birds cried in the distance, not the musical songbirds of the gardens or the harsh cries of the desert hawks and eagles, but sharp, piercing cries that reminded her of laughter. Murmured voices wafted towards her on the breeze, along with a faint scent of woodsmoke. What was different? She settled back into her cushions, not wanting to rise until she’d placed the unease. The cushions welcomed her, still and soft as her bed at home. Still ...

  She sat up. The boat. The boat wasn’t moving. For the first time since casting off, the surface beneath her was still and solid as stone. She rubbed her eyes and took in her surroundings. The others were already grouped at the prow which had been run up onto a muddy bank next to a wooden pier. In the distance, torches lit a series of wooden structures built along the edge of a broad, dark swath of water—wider than any she’d seen since her parents had taken her to the great sea when she was five. Her mother—often sickly—had rested for some time by the great waves crashing along the white sands. Arynne had collected shells and chased crabs and watched seabirds and distant silver creatures leaping over the whitecaps. The memory brought forth a pang of grief, so Arynne pushed it down and stood.

  The blankets fell about her feet, and she immediately shuddered.

  “Princess!” Elfrida emerged from the group of servants bunched together near the luggage. She rushed forward, holding a great cloak of fawn colored skin with a lining of silver fur. “Here, wear this.”

  Arynne wrapped the garment around herself gratefully. Elfrida had likewise donned a coat of thick, white wool and had traded her sandals for skin boots. “Your brother is seeing to the transfer of your baggage to the Frorian’s barge. They intend to keep to the boats until the other side of the Skymere.” She fetched Arynne a bit of flat bread spread with soft, salty cheese for a morning meal. Arynne ate as quickly as possible, wanting to observe the activity.