Glass
Page 11
“Get out.”
Power shocked out from her hand—
Instantly met resistance.
She bore down, setting her teeth, and stepped forward, pressing toward the door. Heat built behind her breastbone, flowed out through her arm…
“Get out,” she said again. The cold, the darkness, broke before her, writhing and retreating.
Her hand met the frozen glass of the door.
Crack!
Ice splintered across the surface of the door, then tumbled to the floor in a jingling shower.
And color suddenly flushed through the door itself.
The color of vivid scarlet.
Like a rolling wave, the color rippled over the door and into the walls in all directions.
“What—” the prince gasped, shooting to his feet and knocking the bench back over.
Rose couldn’t hide her grin now as she backed up, watching the brilliant, swimming color stretch to the ceiling. Ice broke loose in large sheets, crashing to the hard floor…
And melting.
Rose turned and came back to the hearth, her heart beating faster, the heat within her body rising to feverish.
“You too!” she commanded, and clapped her hands.
Fire exploded to life in the fireplace: hot, healthy, gold and vermilion with edges of crimson—popping and crackling and laughing.
The same instant, illumination soared all the way up the vast fireplace flue to the peak of the ceiling, like the chimney of an oil lamp—for the whole structure was semi-transparent glass covered in intersecting designs of leaping flame in every imaginable shade of red and orange. Golden flame also swallowed the blue fire in the sconces, lighting up the towering walls, revealing a stunning pattern of glittering dragon scales.
Warm light rose through the whole room, banishing the blue and black shadows, turning the ice to water which dripped in musical pools to the glittering obsidian floor. The carpets suddenly turned from drab greys to rich purples, greens and reds—and the same happened with the prince’s bed, which transformed from a dreary wreckage to a lavish scarlet-and-gold pile of comfort. The furniture revealed golden legs ornamented with every kind of twinkling jewel, and upholstery that swirled with silver embroidery.
And then…
A large, hulking shape in the center of the ceiling finally shook loose its icy cage and blazed into full being: a glass chandelier of a thousand paper-thin tongues of flame.
And that moment, the darkness unveiled a flashing mural upon the whole of the long ceiling: a knight in full regalia upon a white horse, bearing the crest of Spegel, brandishing his sword against the deadly and mesmerizing curves and curls of a vast, glorious, fire-breathing dragon.
Rose couldn’t restrain her delight, now. She stepped into the center again and twirled, her skirts flowering out around her as she swept her hands in broad, dusting motions. Hot wind spun around her, and she sent it out from her toward the puddles on the floor. With hissing puffs of steam, they vanished, even as warmth swelled through the very bones of the room.
Rose stood still, panting, her face hot. She turned toward the prince…
And stopped breathing.
The light had turned his curls from silvery-white to the gold of sunrise, his shirt from snow to cream, and it illuminated the silver embroidery upon the seams of his trousers. His wide, sky-blue eyes captured every ray of light…
And the silvery sliver in his left eye showed itself as a brilliant fleck that covered almost a fourth of his iris.
Rose’s delight faded. But the prince didn’t look at her. He slowly cast his gaze across his room, from one end to the other, up across the ceiling, and to the height of the chimney.
“Did you…know that this is what it looked like?” Rose asked quietly.
“No,” he murmured. “Is it…safe to touch?”
“Ha, yes,” Rose smiled. “It’s still just glass. Perhaps a little warmer than before.”
The prince stretched out his hand, and very gingerly put his fingertips to the edge of the mantelpiece. He ran them back and forth, back and forth, his gaze distancing.
“You may go,” he whispered. “While I consider this.”
Rose watched him for a long moment, then dipped a curtsey.
“I will doubtlessly require the drink tomorrow night,” he added, still not looking at her.
“I am coming tomorrow morning,” Rose said.
His head came up, and he frowned at her.
“With your permission,” she said quickly. “I would like to alter your diet.”
“There is nothing wrong with my diet,” he growled.
“I believe there is,” Rose countered evenly. “And I’m certain that you wouldn’t rather have these headaches and night torments when they might be solved by something so simple.”
He took hold of the mantel and lowered his head, staring into the fire as if it were a strange beast.
“Very well,” he said.
Rose curtsied again, grabbed her gloves and bag, and hurried out of the room—fighting against leaping into the air and cheering.
Chapter Fifteen
And the Spell Was Not So Easily Banished
Rose had dressed in three layers today: two layers to take off, and the final layer to keep for sitting beside the fire in the new warmth of the prince’s chamber. She hurried down the hallway with her bag in her hand even as the sun rose—though the blizzard still swirled around the castle, so instead of slicing through the glass like liquid diamond, the morning light merely caused the walls to glow dully, revealing only a bit more than the torches could manage.
She rounded a corner to enter Ember Keep, then slowed to a halt, frowning.
Elfrid wasn’t standing at his post, and the prince’s doors hung open.
Her heartbeat picked up, and she broke into a run. She skidded to a stop in front of the door and peered through…
To see a thick layer of ice upon the floors, the torches extinguished, and the fire in the hearth worn down to smoldering. Darkness hung about the room again like a shroud.
“Your Highness?” Rose called—unable to keep the dart of fear from her voice. Unbidden, she stepped inside, making certain to skate—for the ice lay several inches thick, laid across with patterns of feathery jack frost.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to come in,” came a voice from the far corner—and for the first time, Rose noticed a tall, arched doorway that led to a set of winding stairs. The prince trotted down them, fully dressed in white trimmed in silver, carrying a bejeweled spyglass. His hair was mussed, his gait impatient. His gaze caught her, but his tone hadn’t bitten—and Rose relaxed.
He strode onto the rug toward her, restlessly inspecting the instrument in his hand. Rose glanced around the room.
“What happened in here?” she asked, frowning again at the fireplace.
“I felt feverish during the night,” the prince answered dismissively, passing her and setting the spyglass on the mantel. “I opened the doors a bit.”
Rose stared at him, then turned and stared at the doors.
“You let it back in,” she murmured.
“What?” he asked, facing her. She looked at him, her anger mounting.
“The spell. You let it back in!”
“I thought you said you broke it,” he frowned at her. She threw her hand in the air.
“Does this look broken to you?”
“You’re saying you failed,” he stated, stepping toward her.
“No, I am saying you allowed it power over this room again!” she shot back. “Right back into your room, so it can torture and torment you all it likes.”
“And you expect me to burn in discomfort all night long?” he snapped.
“I expect you to remove some of your bedding, and keep those doors shut,” Rose replied hotly, pointing at them. “Or nothing that I do will be of any use to you at all, and I might as well leave.”
He stopped, eyes fixed on hers, his mouth tight.
“Very well. I shall…keep the doors closed.”
Rose watched him.
“Do you promise?”
His gaze flashed to hers, a different frown turning his brow.
But she waited.
“I promise,” he said quietly, as if still slightly confused.
Rose nodded, then briskly set her bag down, pulled off her gloves, stepped out on to the icy rug, faced the door, summoned a great wave of heat—
“Get OUT!”
Clapped her hands—
The sound thundered through the room. The air rippled.
Ice shattered from the walls, dissolved into steam, recoiled toward the door.
The fire in the hearth burst like a firework, the torches leaped, color blazed through the room again and the chandelier flashed back to life. Rose followed the cold as it retreated, grabbed the door and heaved it shut. The crash of the latch echoed up to the ceiling. She dusted off her hands, spun around and faced the prince again.
He stood, staring up at the mural of the knight and the dragon, as if seeing something from faraway. But he didn’t say anything. And again, Rose marveled at what the light and warmth did to his features.
She came back to him, pulled off her cloak, then her button-up sweater, and laid them across the table. Then, wearing just her wool dress now, she reached inside the bag, and pulled out her feasting stone. She stepped round in front of the roaring fireplace, and sat down in front of it, cross-legged.
“What are you doing?” The prince pulled his attention down from the ceiling. She smiled up at him.
“A wee bit of magic,” she said.
“And what would you call what you just did?” he demanded.
“A great deal of magic,” she chuckled, setting the stone down in front of her. Then, she tapped it—
And it expanded and bloomed into a table large enough for two, burdened with two heaping plates of bacon slabs, fried eggs, farmers’ seasoned potatoes; two cups of porridge, a bowl of sugary biscuits, two empty glasses, and two jugs of milk.
“Ahh!” Rose sighed, pleased. She rubbed her hands together, snatched a napkin off the table and spread it over her lap, then reached for the pitcher and poured herself a full glass of milk. She glanced up at the prince—who just stared down at her, frozen.
“I cannot eat all of this,” Rose gestured to the food before taking a sip of milk. “Please come and join me.”
He eyed her, then the food, then her, then the food again. But Rose pretended to ignore him, picking up her utensils and cutting into the honey-glazed ham and taking a bite. “Mmm,” she smiled as she chewed, then cut another bite.
“I’ve never dined on the floor. With a commoner,” he stated.
“Unfortunately, if you try this whilst the stone is on a table,” Rose giggled, taking another sip. “It crushes the table. So I’ve just gotten used to this arrangement. Also…” She shot him a look. “I am not a commoner. My father is a lord.”
He paused, considering.
“What is all this?” the prince finally pointed at the plates.
“Bacon, potatoes, eggs,” Rose looked up at him. “Haven’t you ever had them before?”
“They’re hot.” He studied her with narrowed eyes.
“That’s how they’re supposed to be,” she smiled, cutting into her bacon again. “So don’t let them get cold.”
He stood as he was for several more moments, then slowly stepped forward and eased down onto the rug across from her, every movement graceful and cautious. Rose watched him, fascinated by his every motion, for he moved like a great and careful cat. His brow continuously frowning, he glanced across her, noting her utensils, and then poured himself a glass of milk. He then picked up the glass, carefully drew it to his mouth, and took a sip. Rose fought to conceal her delight, but couldn’t quite manage.
The prince swallowed, his gaze pinned on her, but she just ate happily. So, he set his glass down, and ventured to take a bite out of one of the biscuits.
“How does it know?” he asked, turning the half-eaten biscuit over in his hand.
“How does what know what?” Rose wondered, finishing her bacon.
“How does the stone know what to serve? The proper meals for breakfast, luncheon, et cetera?”
Rose shrugged.
“Magic, I suppose.”
“You don’t know how it works?”
“No,” she admitted “I only know what to do to make it work.”
“And so it knew that I would be joining you?”
Rose grinned at him again.
“I suppose it did.”
His eyes narrowed at her.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
Her eyebrows went up.
“Doing what?”
“Smiling at me like—like that. Why are you doing that?”
Rose shook her head and shrugged.
“You make me smile, Your Highness.”
“I amuse you with my stupidity, then,” he muttered.
Rose’s smile faded as he stared blackly back at her.
“Not at all,” she said quietly. “You just…made me remember the first time I saw this magic. I was astonished.”
The prince said nothing—but he blinked, and glanced down. Rose paused for another moment, then started in on her potatoes.
Apparently, the prince had decided at last that the food was not poisoned. So, he picked up his fork and knife, and carved into his own bacon. He took his first bite and chewed, wincing slightly.
“It burns.”
“Only at first, I’m sure,” Rose replied. “You simply aren’t used to it.” She canted her head. “How does it taste?”
He thought for a moment, took another bite, then nodded once.
“Quite good,” he admitted. And he bent over his plate, and began eating with more earnestness.
Together they dined until they finished everything on the table, the prince being the last to swallow all his milk.
“What do you have planned for today, Your Highness?” Rose ventured.
“I have meetings with my councilmen this afternoon,” he answered, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with his napkin.
“But you are free this morning?”
His gaze darted to her.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was curious about a particular aspect of your palace,” she answered. “I wonder if you could explain it to me.”
“What is it?” he sat forward.
“You ought to find something warm to wear—a coat,” Rose advised, standing up. “And then, if you would deign to follow me, I will show you!”
Chapter Sixteen
They Ventured to the Garden
“Why the heavier clothing?” the prince said, emerging from his walk-in closet wearing a striking high-collared black cloak lined with white fur that hung down past his knees. “Are you curious about something outside?”
Rose barked out a laugh, then stifled it.
“There…is a blizzard outside.”
“Nonsense,” he smirked. “Who’s frightened of a little snow?” And he strode past her toward the door, his cape rippling behind him like water.
Snatching up her gloves—for she had donned her sweater and cloak again already—Rose followed him out into the hallway.
The prince swept past Captain Elfrid, who had finally appeared at his post, and Elfrid straightened painfully at the sight of his monarch.
“Good morning, Captain!” Rose greeted him.
“Good morning, Madam Healer,” Elfrid managed, before the other two had reached the set of steps.
“What exactly do you wish to know?” the prince asked, glancing around him. The corridors had lightened a little more, so this time, Rose spotted it when she hadn’t before.
“This,” she pointed. “Do you know what it is?”
The prince almost walked past it, then stopped and pointed at it.
&
nbsp; “What, this?” he said. “This is what you’re curious about.”
“Yes,” Rose nodded toward the large opening whose brass bar was marked: THE GARDENS
“This is nonsense,” the prince scoffed, smirking again. “An antiquated method of moving about the palace quickly, bypassing the staircases. It was made obsolete by the Jettas.”
“Have you ever used it?” Rose ventured toward the dark opening.
“When I was a boy,” he muttered. “And I had time to waste.”
“Well, that’s exactly what we have this morning!” Rose declared. “Care to join me?”
“Are you entirely certain you know what you’re doing?” he arched an eyebrow at her, but his eyes gleamed.
“Not entirely,” she answered crisply. “Does the prince of the realm?”
His eyebrows went up, but before he could answer, Rose had grabbed the bar, hopped up, and swung herself down into the slide.
Instantly, it plunged straight down into blackness.
She screamed.
She tried to cross her legs and tuck her arms in, but she shot downward like a stone, her back barely skidding along the slide. Then, the slide swept up and over a hill, and above her the glass turned semi-transparent and blue, with oceanic patterns rippling across it. Her scream transformed to a wild giggle as she swept down another incline, then up over one last hill…
Then skidded out into the spillway.
Her hair and skirt and cloak and skirts spread everywhere, all askew, as she sprawled on her back in the throat of the slide. Light-headed and giddy, she rolled over and crawled out of the spillway, trying to right her crooked clothing. She staggered up and out, and was just about to turn and face the rest of the room—
The prince shot into the spillway, arms folded, cloak wrapped around him, legs crossed. And then, he turned slightly and caught his heel upon a slight ledge Rose hadn’t seen. He kicked off it, and in one motion he leaped up, his cape flowing around him—
He hopped once, and landed with the ease of a dancer.
He faced her, and with a delicate, mocking smile, inclined his head to her.
“As you say,” he flashed his eyebrows. “The prince of the realm.”
Rose gaped at him, but he turned away from her, glancing up through the room.