Glass

by Alydia Rackham

  That instant, they leaped into her grasp. She snatched them out, rustling, and handed them to him.

  He took them, frowning sharply at her, then at the papers.

  “Hm,” he grunted, his cold eyes sweeping over the writing. Rose held her breath.

  These papers were forged. True, they were forged with the permission of the doctors at the Halls of Healing, but still…

  At last, the guard came to the letter that Galahad Stormcrane had intercepted. And he lifted his eyes to her, and nodded once.

  “Indeed,” he said. “We are glad you have come. Follow me.”

  He turned on his heel and strode back into the courtyard. Rose took hold of Devon’s reins and led him to follow.

  Snow and shadow filled this courtyard. To her left, a massive sapphire set of double doors forbid any entry, with drifts piled up before it, and frost locking it shut. Directly before her, an identical door of blood-crimson, equally drifted and frozen. And to her right, a deep-emerald door that could barely be seen over the mountain of snow before it.

  A single path had been carved through the drifts, and now its snowy walls rose around them as they turned to the right toward a much smaller obsidian door that hung open.

  The guard gave a sharp whistle. It echoed through the dark chamber ahead. The next moment, a young man, dressed the same, came darting out. He looked just as pale as the guard.

  “Take this horse to the stable and make certain it is fed,” the guard ordered. “Then see to it that all the young lady’s effects are delivered to The Summit in Radiance Towers.”

  “Erm…yes, sir…?” the bewildered boy stammered, then, giving Rose a stunned look, limply held out his hand.

  Reluctantly, Rose handed the reins to him, then tugged her small satchel loose from the saddle. Giving an awkward smile to the guard, who watched her, she just stood and waited while Devon was led into the opening. His hooves clattered on what sounded like stone.

  “Come with me,” the guard said. Rose just nodded, and followed him through the door.

  He turned slightly to the left, and led her up a long—seemingly-unending—staircase in the near-dark. Rose could feel her labored breath clouding around her head, and tried not to shiver. And then, finally…

  He pushed through a door...

  And stepped out into the air.

  Rose jerked to a halt. But the guard kept walking.

  Walking right out into the sky, unfettered.

  But his heels clicked like tinker’s hammers. And he kept going.

  “Oh…my…word…” Rose gasped, the heat draining out of her face. She inched her toe forward, out over what looked like nothing, the plunging height right there—the pointed tips of the trees and the snowy wood spread out beneath her like a carpet—and the vast blue sky just an arm’s length away.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs and in her throat. She wanted to swear.

  This was an utter leap of faith. Doubtlessly designed to completely terrify any visiting dignitaries…

  Ugh, what would Reola say…!

  She bit back a shudder.

  Well, the guard hadn’t fallen to his death! And there was nothing special about him. If he could do it, so could she.

  Maybe.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, baring her teeth, leaned her whole weight forward and just stepped.

  Her foot met solidity.

  She opened her eyes. Stared down at her shoe.

  The snow that had piled on the toe of her boot now lay around her foot, upon an invisible floor.

  “Ha,” she giggled helplessly, breaking out in shivers.

  “Will you be coming, Miss?” the guard growled from far up ahead.

  Her head jerked up, and she found him about fifty feet in front of her.

  “It’s glass!” she cried, feeling dizzy.

  He didn’t even bother to answer. Just turned around and kept walking.

  “Haha…” she kept laughing faintly, not sure if she felt relieved, or sick. Her eyes watering, she stumbled forward, forcing herself to keep her gaze fixed on the guard’s back—and not to look down…

  She hurried, her cape flapping around her, and couldn’t stop herself from glancing to the left…

  She was running alongside the outer wall of the palace. And as she kept moving, she could see the billions of panes of dark emerald glass gradually lightening to rich greens, and then to springtime yellow, before fading to frosted crystal.

  At last, she caught up to the guard. And it was a good thing, too, or she would have run her face directly into the curved wall of the corridor. The guard turned sharply left, strode a few paces…

  And opened a frosted white door in the palace wall into an infinite milk-glass corridor.

  “Oh…!” Rose breathed, coming to a stop once more, even as the guard continued.

  Finally, she ventured in after him, treading carefully, her mouth open.

  Gleaming gold bordered the ceiling, and the floor glittered with billions of flecks of the precious metal. The walls—pure as white snow, and shining. But even in here, she glimpsed the traces of frost lacing every surface.

  The guard marched on ahead, so Rose was forced to follow him, rather than marvel. Their footsteps made a sharp racket as they strode along, rose catching glimpses of miniscule detail—dozens of tiny sunflowers worked into the golden borders...

  Every thirty feet, small crystal chandeliers, evoking images of the sun, with tongues of paper-thin glass flame emitting from them, glowed a subdued white light—but icicles dripped from them. And they stifled the light. Rose noticed doors standing shut on either side of them, each marked with a different mysterious symbol.

  At last, they achieved the end of the corridor, and the guard stopped before a door that bore a single gold sunflower. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of brass keys. He inserted one into the lock, and with some difficulty, turned it.

  The cracking of ice protested. He worked the latch, and shoved, forcing the door open. And he stepped aside.

  “This is your room,” he said.

  Rose stepped up, and peered past the door.

  A large, rectangular chamber, with a frosted, dark-gold, textured floor. Long maroon curtains hung from rods upon the walls, covering all three of them. And the ceiling…

  Clear as the open day itself, except for a single line of iron running down the peak, to give it shape.

  Except, as Rose looked closer, she could see that faint marks of frost there, too…

  A golden glass motif of the sun hung in the center of the wide triangle at the top of the far wall, above the four-poster bed—whose posts wove upward like yellow crystal vines. Maroon blankets covered it, sewn with tiny gold beads.

  To the right stood a tall gold-crystal fireplace with a grand mantel that glimmered with more swirling sun motifs. But no fire burned in the hearth. To her left she saw another door, hanging ajar. Otherwise, the room stood empty.

  “The water closet is through there,” the guard told her, jostling his keychain. Rose turned to him, just as he held out the key to her room. She took it.

  “If you need anything, pull that,” he pointed to a lever near the fireplace nearly identical to the one by the main gate. “You have plenty of practice.”

  Rose didn’t answer him. Instead, she stepped inside, and frowned down at the fireplace.

  “Is there no wood?”

  “What for?” the guard asked. She looked over at him and raised her eyebrows.

  “To light a fire,” she laughed. “I’ll freeze to death otherwise!”

  “No, you won’t,” he answered, as if she’d just said something ridiculous. “Not after the Queen has given you her hand.”

  Rose stared at him, something cold settling in her gut.

  Just then, chimes sounded nearby—vibrant, crystalline tones. The guard looked up.

  “I am afraid you won’t have time to change your attire,” he said suddenly. “You must accompany me now to the Hall.”


  “What? Why?” Rose asked.

  “I must present you and your letters of recommendation to His Highness, and Her Majesty,” the guard said gravely. “Come out, lock your door, and follow me.”

  Chapter Five

  She Met a Queen—and a Prince

  Rose had left her satchel and obsolete straw hat in her room, behind the locked door, and now slid her new key into her pocket as she followed the guard’s swift strides down another milk-glass-and-gold corridor.

  “You are residing in The Summit, in Radiance Towers,” the guard told her. “Each door in these corridors opens to a different individual tower, which is home to a courtier. Each tower is made of the clearest crystal on earth, and many are capped with pure gold. You are residing in the corner suite, which has no cap.”

  They turned a corner in the corridor, and suddenly, a polished black wall rose up before them, with a double door the color of jade. Both had been carved with fantastic, interlocking floral designs, and on the door, in the myriad of gaps between the stems, the carver had gone all the way through, to create jade lace out of the whole piece—and Rose could see through these thousands of little gaps to the emerald corridor beyond.

  The guard reached out and grasped one of the silver handles, and tugged the door open.

  Beyond waited a short obsidian hallway, with a broad downward staircase to the right, another green door ahead, and then three smaller red doors to the left.

  “Past that,” the guard pointed to the green door. “Is the Gardens and Menagerie. But we’re not going there.” He stopped in front of the center red door and pressed his gloved hand to it.

  A soft ringing issued, and then a rushing sound. The next moment, the door slid open, revealing another pale guard with a white beard who put his hand to some sort of brass lever…

  Standing inside a tiny gold room.

  Rose’s guard stepped inside, then turned around and faced her.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked her.

  Rose stared at him.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going down to the main floor,” he replied, frowning. “What, did you expect us to walk all the way?”

  Rose stood planted, her mind whirling…

  But the white-bearded guard cleared his throat. So, she braced herself (reminding herself that it couldn’t be worse than the transparent corridor) and stepped inside.

  Immediately, the door slid shut, locking them into the little shoe-box of a chamber. Then—

  A strange, plunging sensation in her stomach…

  And she instantly felt that they were descending.

  “Oh!” she yelped, grabbing onto the rail on the wall. The men just glanced at her, but said nothing, even as her heart raced.

  “What…What is this thing?” she gasped.

  “It is called an Alaskuljetta. A Down-Carry. Although, of course, it does go up as well,” her guard answered flatly. “The great-king named it the Jetta.”

  Gathering herself, giddy again with disbelief, Rose reached out and pressed her hand to the wall…

  And felt magic tingle her fingertips through her gloves. She grinned.

  The Jetta slowed to an effortless halt, and the door slid open. Her guard tipped a salute to the man remaining aboard the Jetta, then stepped out. Rose gave the white-bearded guard a quick curtsey and smile, then hurried out…

  Into a vast, wide, dim corridor.

  Their footsteps slapped the dark, polished surface. Occasional dull lights in the walls near the ceiling flickered a hesitant orange light, and by them she could almost tell that the walls bore the same colors, only deeper…

  “This is the outer-ring corridor of Ember Keep, His Royal Highness’ living quarters,” her guard said, and his voice echoed through the long, empty space.

  Rose wrapped her arms around herself. If it was possible, it was even colder here than up in that exposed, clear corridor, or in her fire-less bed chamber. She shivered, fighting against it, even as it tried to penetrate her cloak and boots and gloves…

  They turned left, into an even darker entryway. And up ahead, a tall set of gothic double doors waited—and on either side, in claw-like iron baskets, blue flame burned, with no smoke and no sound. The torches cast their cold light across the doors, which Rose could now see had been designed of milk-blue glass, ornate with reckless patterns of jack frost.

  “And this,” the guard glanced back at her, even as he strode toward the doors. “Is Hoarfrost Hall.”

  He pushed the door open. And Rose followed him inside.

  Into a cathedral of ice.

  Soaring pillars of sky-blue glass overlaid with designs of spidery white frost, culminating in an unreachable ceiling, where burst giant, suspended glass snowflakes that shone from within, as if the breath of winter had encapsulated the stars. Real grey clouds gathered among them, wandering through the starlight, hiding the peak of the roof.

  The floor: a dizzying mosaic of triangular-shaped panes of every shade of blue one could imagine, held together with pulsing silver bands, in a pattern that swept toward the far end of the room in a rolling representation of the northern wind.

  In a line down the center of the broad central aisle of the hall rested five huge, silver cups filled with burning crystal stones—wild sapphire flame danced and swirled within each. Likewise, hundreds of sconces stretched their hands out from the walls and pillars, ablaze with icy radiance. And yet, for all the fire, it felt no warmer within than without. Genuine icicles dripped from the metalwork, and twinkled in the flamelight.

  Two tremendously-long tables flanked the pillars and the fire-cups: spread with tablecloths of snow, with clear glass candelabras sprouting like trees in a wood—all burning with that same wintry blue flame. Silver cutlery sparkled beside pearl-white plates, and hundreds of domed trays caught every fleck of light that danced through the hall. The chairs each looked like a little cathedral as well, with navy-blue padding, and a coat of arms upon the back.

  The walls themselves bore giant relief-likenesses of fantastically-dressed courtiers and royalty, sharply-defined, pale and elegant in their complete stillness, their beautiful heads tilted upward, their expressions placid as a frozen lake.

  And every inch of architecture, from the floor all the way to the height, bore a blanket of very real frost.

  Rose stopped, gaping at the chilling magnificence…

  And only secondarily noticed the two-hundred people occupying the hall.

  Two distinctly-different kinds of people.

  One kind dressed much like her guard: white fur caps and fur-lined coats and collars, with silvery embroidery upon the thick blue fabric. They all looked pale; handsome, nobly-bred and of varying ages, and moved with purpose and ease as they found their seats at the right-hand table, or greeted their friends and relatives. These must be the courtiers of Glas.

  And to the left-hand table…

  Fairies.

  Rose had been told about the fae folk by Effrain and several other Curse-Breakers often enough to recognize one upon the instant. And these were exactly the kind that Effrain had described: ice fairies, from the kingdom of Iss.

  Tall as Rose, and taller, their white bodies were scantily draped in shimmers of ice-beads, their feet and arms bare. Their hair, also white as snow, frozen in jagged arrangements by coats of ice, their eyes like chips of sapphire, their features graceful and set. Their wings—sharp as those of a dragon, covered in millions of tiny glittering scales—lay tight down against their backs if they merely stood, but if they wished to go from one spot to another, these wings would flash to life, and beat blindingly like a hummingbird’s. Their feet hardly touched the floor, but when they did, more frost spread out in ripples.

  “Come,” the guard ordered—though Rose only faintly heard him. Absently, her feet started moving, even as her attention fixed upon these winsome, darting creatures. She could feel power radiating from their every movement. Ancient. Dark. And sharp as a January morning.

/>   And as Rose passed by, the fairies instantly paused, and looked at her.

  Pinned her with unmoving, cutting gazes.

  For a moment, she looked back at them, searching their faces for any flicker of confusion or penetration. But their eyebrows did not move, and their gazes did not waver.

  She turned away, and faced the dais.

  And almost slowed to a halt again.

  To the left, upon a spilling mountain of glistening ice that had been crafted into lace, and crowned with towering spikes, sat a woman.

  Young. A flawless, stunning face as pale as winter clouds—utterly beautiful. Large eyes of bluish silver and trapped starlight, long white lashes and brows, and stardust sparkling across her eyelids, cheeks, and colorless lips. A willowy form, swathed in cascades of dazzling shards of carnival glass, her white hair flowing like rivers over her shoulders and down to her knees. A dainty silver crown bearing a single oval moonstone sat amidst her tresses.

  Diamond lace served as her fitted sleeves, light blazing across every gem. Her skirts swirled around her like a blizzard, dozens of sparkling ruffles fluttering down around her feet and across the steps of the dais. Winking sapphires set in silver bedecked every slender finger. And in her left hand, she gently grasped the right hand of a prince.

  Now, Rose did stop.

  The prince looked at her.

  And she couldn’t pull her eyes from him.

  Skin almost as white as the woman’s. Clean-shaven, with short curls of pale gold, some that fell across his noble brow. The features of a young lion; dark eyebrows, with vivid eyes the color of the bright northern sea in the morning—though in his left eye gleamed a deep, dark fleck of silver. He had a refined nose, and a delicate, mocking mouth. It bore a small, roguish smile that enlivened his vibrant gaze.

  He wore a pale-blue doublet embroidered with silver-and-gold vines—wide sleeves around his shoulders that became fitted at his forearms, and ended in silver-lace cuffs. He wore two rings, one on each long hand, one bearing an emerald, the other a blood-red ruby. He wore trousers that matched his doublet, silver hose, and white shoes that buckled with diamonds. A dark-blue velvet cape lined with white fur tumbled with effortless beauty all around him. He wore no crown, but the halo of his hair and the majesty of his bearing were crown enough.