He was not agreeable about keeping me on, however. He believes that he has the authority to behead me should I fail to cure him before his wedding. No doubt this stems from the fact that he has not been forced to learn any diplomacy with other kingdoms in order to rule, and of course he does not know that I am a Curse-Breaker rather than a healer—though the penalty to him would hardly be less severe if he executed a healer. That much to say that he and the queen necessarily do not know the extent of the skills I’ve been taught, and for the moment I am still keeping that secret. It does make me all the more grateful for the Dust Boots that Reola gave me, though. Did she tell you about those? You can tap the sole of one to the side of the other twice, and they will vanish you and send you straight to Maith. It only works once, but it would suffice if real danger overwhelmed me.
I am keeping the fundamentals of curse-breaking in mind, but as of my very first day, I cannot yet determine the nature of the curse, so I can’t proceed much further with it yet—except that I have succeeded in creating a sanctuary. I’ve banished the queen’s influence from my chambers and have planted grass and roses and lit an everlasting fire in the fireplace. I’m now quite cozy, and surrounded by my familiar things and smells. I have eaten dinner, I have had a bath, and hope to sleep well, though this bed is unfamiliar. The prince said I would be summoned when I am needed. So who knows when that will be!
Give my love to Effrain and Reola, and give Clanahan a bear hug for me. What does Stormcrane say? Is he still at Maith? Write back whenever you have the time.
Love,
Rose
After finishing, she read it over to herself. Satisfied, she blew on the ink, then folded the paper carefully. Then, she stood up, and easily worked the latch of the window, and pulled it open.
A gust of frosty air intruded. She lifted the paper, tapped it, and said:
“Go to Daisy.”
The paper lifted off her palm, twirled like a top, then spun out the window…
And straight into the darkness.
Rose watched it go for a moment, then shut the window against the unbearable cold. Immediately, warmth returned.
She moved to the bed and turned down the covers, then took off her dressing gown and hung it in the wardrobe. Then, she climbed beneath the blankets—shoved several of them aside—and snuggled down into the voluminous pillows.
“Goodnight,” she whispered to the candles and lamps—and they extinguished, sending tendrils of smoke toward the starry ceiling. But the fire in the hearth just lowered, as if keeping watch by the door.
Chapter Seven
But the Frost Remained
Tap, tap, tap!
Rose jerked awake, sat up too fast—
Blinked rapidly…
Her heart started pounding.
Where was she?
“Madam Healer?” A masculine voice came through the door.
Shaking her head to clear it, Rose lifted a hand and snapped her fingers.
The candles and lamps sprang to life, and the fireplace roared, illuminating her chamber with a carpet of grass, and walls of rose vines, and her familiar furniture arranged in unfamiliar ways.
Oh! Yes.
“Madam Healer?” The man’s voice on the other side of the door gained urgency.
“Coming! I’m sorry,” Rose called, scrambling out of bed, pulling on her Dust Boots, flinging open her wardrobe and hurriedly pulling on her dressing gown. Tying the sash, she quickly crossed the room and opened the door.
Frost cracked upon the hinges. Darkness waited out in the corridor. But because of her spell, no freezing air wafted in.
That familiar guard stood outside, wearing his usual uniform along with a white half-cape, looking even paler, with dark circles around his wide eyes.
“What is it?” Rose asked, brow furrowing.
“What…” He blinked, glancing past her. “What is that infernal heat?”
“I’m just keeping myself warm,” Rose answered. “What’s wrong?”
The guard hesitated, glancing past her again, but then shifted his weight and attended to her.
“The prince has summoned you to his chambers,” he said. “His Royal Highness is suffering from not only headaches, but…delusions.”
Rose’s attention sharpened.
“Is that new?”
“Yes, madam,” he answered. “Or perhaps not delusions, but…nightmares. Ever since he lay down after dinner. The servant at his door was…” The guard swallowed, wincing. “…quite frightened,” he finished. “He hurried to inform the queen first. She is with the prince now.”
Rose darkened.
“Let me dress myself,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
The guard nodded, and Rose shut the door. Quickly, she found the warmest clothes she had brought—a warm cotton under-dress, stockings, thick woolen dress with petticoats, a scarf, gloves, and her cape. Finally, after tying her hair back in a loose braid, she snatched up her bag and her key and went to the door. Bracing herself, she swung it open, stepped out into the dark hallway, and shut it behind her.
Darkness instantly swallowed her.
“Ugh,” she groaned, turning to face the door with her key. “I can’t see to lock this…”
“Here, madam,” the guard offered, holding up a small etched crystal that blinked to white life, shining dimly down upon the keyhole.
“What is that?” Rose cried.
“A light,” he answered simply. “Please hurry.”
“Yes, of course,” Rose nodded, quickly locking her door and hiding the key in her pocket. Then, she straightened up. “Lead on.”
The guard turned and headed off down the corridor, Rose following.
It was freezing. Night had swallowed the palace, and whilst Rose had been sleeping in snug comfort, the temperature in the rest of the building had plunged. The floors beneath her boots felt slick with ice—she made herself walk more carefully. Her jaw tightened as she imagined falling down and cracking her head…
As she followed the guard down an unfamiliar pathway, Rose couldn’t distinguish the colors of the walls or floor. It was as if he was leading her through a tunnel in a mine, hundreds of feet below the earth…
She swallowed, shaking that thought away, then drew a purposeful breath.
“What is your name?” she asked. Her voice echoed through the empty space. The guard twitched, then glanced back at her.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“I…am called Captain Elfrid,” he answered, frowning.
“Elfrid,” Rose smiled. “That’s a splendid old name.”
He blinked, looking at her again.
“Indeed?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It means ‘elf-friend.’ My master would approve.”
“Your master?”
“Yes,” Rose nodded. “I have a teacher who is an elf.”
“Ah,” Elfrid gazed out ahead. “I have never seen an elf.”
Rose considered him, that sad thought settling through her.
They rounded a corner into a wider hall, lit only by the light Captain Elfrid carried, and a broad set of doors waited at the far end.
“Mind your step,” Captain Elfrid warned, lowering the light so Rose could see three stairs, gleaming with ice.
“That’s inconvenient,” she chuckled, picking up her skirts and carefully stepping down. “Do you not slip and fall all the time?”
She finished descending and looked up at Captain Elfrid, who appeared uncomfortable.
“We…We do indeed,” he whispered, glancing at the doors. “Just four months ago I myself slipped and fractured my knee.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Rose exclaimed quietly. “That must have hurt terribly.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“It did, madam,” he nodded. “Come.”
Together, they advanced upon the double doors, which seemed, even in this light, to glow very, very slightly in their depths, a dark crimson. Rose looked down to see
frost swirling across the wide floor, and felt her soles skidding…
And so she stopped trying to walk. Instead, she kept her feet on the floor and slid them forward in rhythm, as if she were ice-skating.
Feeling much more stable, she was able to lift her head, and keep up with Captain Elfrid, who grabbed the door handle and heaved the door open.
Together, they passed into an even vaster hallway, but Rose could only judge its size by the echo of their sweeping footsteps. She couldn’t make out any of the decorations on the walls. She kept skating forward, gripping her bag, feeling her breath cloud around her face and crystalize on her hair.
It was so cold. She gritted her teeth.
“Here, madam,” Captain Elfrid gestured, then pulled open a slightly smaller door.
Rose stopped.
Past the threshold lay a bedroom chamber unlike any she’d ever seen.
The floors appeared black. A wide fireplace that one could almost sit inside stood against the left-hand wall, the mantel made of dark grey crystal. No fire lived inside it. It gaped like a black, toothless mouth. Directly across, in the far wall, stood a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows haphazardly draped in dark navy curtains. Tables and chairs stood all about in nonsensical arrangements—some of them capsized—but all were fantastic pieces of art, uniquely-crafted of all sorts of glass, upholstered with elaborate patterns. Books stacked here and there on tables or in careless piles on the floor. Iron sconces protruding from the walls bore that same haunting blue flame, which cast everything in grey and white. Icicles dripped from the furnishings, and from the mirror that hung above the mantel. A single long rug led the way into the room, but hoarfrost encased it.
A four-poster bed stood at an angle, with its head in the far left-hand corner of the room, its posts only halfway reaching the tall ceiling. The bed’s grey drapes had also not been attended to, and one hung loose. And in this bed, his lower half covered by a blanket, wearing only a loose white nightshirt, lay the prince.
His blond curls, almost white in this light, were mussed, and clung to his forehead and temples. A sheen of sweat marked his chest where his shirt lay open. His pillows and blankets twisted all around him, as if he had thrashed in battle. Now, he pressed one hand over his eyes, and let out short grunts with every breath.
And beside him, like the specter of death, stood the Snow Queen.
She wore a long sleeved, high-collared silver dress, every inch of which sparkled in the blue light, arrayed with an attached cape that flowed from the backs of her shoulders to the floor behind her in a long train, like a frozen waterfall. Her white hair had been tied in a braid behind her, and hung down past her knees. As Rose approached, the queen slowly turned, and fixed Rose with a gaze that pinned her to the floor as crisply as an arrow.
Rose gritted her teeth, clasping her bag in front of her. She made herself dip a small curtsey, but she did not lower her head.
“Your Majesty,” she said. “May I examine my patient?”
“We have made you aware of the law, Madam Healer,” the queen replied, her voice a knife edge. She lifted her delicate eyebrows. “Unless you wish to take my hand now?”
Rose squeezed her bag even tighter.
“No, thank you.”
The queen’s gaze flickered. Then, she turned back to the prince.
“Then you may concoct the potion to set him at ease, and I shall administer it to him.”
“Your Majesty, it will not—” Rose tried.
“Do it.”
The words sliced the air. Rose felt Captain Elfrid tremble. The prince’s groans lengthened, pulling through his shivering body.
Rose bit the inside of her cheek and set her bag on a nearby table. She pried her gloves off—trying not to wince at the biting cold—opened the latch, and reached inside.
A tall wooden goblet came to her waiting grasp. She drew it out and set it down with a click, then reached inside again.
This time, she drew out that same flask she had used earlier—the little brown clay bottle. She popped loose the cork, held it over the goblet, and let fall one single drop of what looked like liquid sunshine.
“What is that?” the queen snapped. Rose glanced at her, to see that the queen was watching with flashing eyes.
“Medicine,” Rose replied. She then put the cork back on, and slipped the little bottle back into the bag. As quickly as she could, she opened her hand in the depths of the bag and another flask came into it—one that nearly burned her skin. She hurriedly pulled it out and uncapped it, and poured it in the goblet.
Light brown liquid swimming with foam filled the goblet, sending steam to the ceiling. It let loose a thunderstorm of scents: ginger, cinnamon, cloves—all the best smells of Christmas. It made Rose’s mouth water.
“What is that stench?” the queen demanded, almost stepping back from it. Rose frowned.
“It is apple cider,” Rose answered, capping the cider again and putting it back in the bag. “It dilutes the medicine to make it palatable, and keeps it hot. It has to be hot when swallowed or—”
Before she could finish, the queen had stepped forward, reached out with a white hand, and taken up the goblet.
Instantly, ice spread across its wooden surface, and the steam died.
“Your Majesty, you’ve just—” Rose yelped, trying to snatch it back from her. But the queen buried her with a savage glare, turned her back on Rose, and advanced on the bed.
She then slipped her hand underneath the prince’s neck, and lifted him up.
The prince dropped his hand away from his pale face, opened his eyes, and gazed up at the queen.
“Here,” the queen murmured. “The little healer has brought this for you to drink.”
“Will it work?” the prince croaked, his brow knotting. “I feel as if someone is cutting through my skull…”
“Perhaps it will,” the queen supposed, shrugging one shoulder. “But if it does not, I shall personally find another healer for you.”
Rose ground her teeth.
The prince sat up, and the queen helped him drink the goblet dry.
Then, the queen reached down and spread her right hand upon his chest…
And the prince let out a deep, deep sigh. He closed his eyes, lay back on the sundered pillows…
And stopped moving.
Rose’s heart jolted.
“Is he…Is he breathing?” she cried, taking a step forward.
The queen straightened up and faced her.
“Of course he is,” she stated.
“You rendered the medicine ineffective,” Rose snapped, pointing. “It will not work if it’s allowed to cool.”
With a flick of her wrist, the queen tossed the goblet. It bounced on the floor, spraying flecks of cider, and rolled toward Rose’s feet.
Rose’s face grew hot.
“Rather weak magic then, isn’t it?” The queen said flatly, arching an eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed. “I will have you know, little one, that I am not pleased by your slovenly appearance, your crude manner, your careless glances or your casual defiance of the prince, not to mention myself. In fact, I have never met a being on this earth who disgusts me more than you do.” She glided toward Rose, and once again loomed over her—a full foot taller.
Rose did not respond—just closed her bag, and took it down from the table. The queen stopped, mere feet away, and lifted her chin.
“I have already seen what you are,” the queen stated. “You are a child, and too foolish to know that you cannot succeed. The prince would have you stay, for he still believes there can be some end to his suffering. But I have lived more winters than you will ever know, and am wise enough to realize that he was born with this affliction. I, and I alone, can teach him how to live and rule whilst bearing it.” She shook her head. The icicles in her hair twinkled, and her eyes blazed with starlight. “It cannot be altered, or relieved. Only soothed.” She stepped even closer. The ice of her presence washed over Rose, catching her breath in her throat.
“It was my hand, not yours, that brought him solace tonight,” the queen breathed. “You are useless, Rose. And if my will holds sway, as it always does, I shall soon see you banished from my sight.”
Rose said nothing. She couldn’t. She felt that if she drew in a breath, her very ribs would freeze.
The queen’s gaze flicked to the floor.
“I believe that trinket is yours.”
Rose swallowed, and looked down at the empty goblet. She looked back up to find the queen staring at her in challenge.
Rose’s face flushed again.
She gripped her bag in an iron fist, and forced her knees to bend, slowly, slowly…
Until she was effectively kneeling at the queen’s feet.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach turning over, and picked up the goblet. She put it back in her bag, then stood up.
The queen gazed flatly at her.
“Get out.”
Rose stood still for just one moment. Then, she snatched up her gloves from the table, turned on her heel, and swept back up the rug toward the door, where Captain Elfrid waited.
Captain Elfrid quickly opened the door for her, and followed her out. The door slammed shut behind them, darkness fell all around, and Captain Elfrid lit his light.
“Are you all right, miss?” he gasped, catching up to her. “I could never bear to stand so close to her as you were—I always feared my very breath would turn to ice!”
“Captain Elfrid,” Rose panted, her cheeks burning even hotter against the frozen air as she made herself slow down and not slip.
“Yes?”
She glanced over at him. He watched her earnestly.
“Do you wish me to have my head cut off?” she asked.
“What?” he cried. “Why—no, madam.”
She stopped and faced him, then leaned in close to him, capturing his gaze.
“Then the next time the prince is in distress,” she hissed. “Do not inform the queen. Come and find me instead.”
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