“The wedding, of course,” Elfrid said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Queen Iskyla has sent word—she will be here in two days’ time.”
Rose’s head came around and she stared at him.
“Two days?”
“Yes,” Elfrid smiled briefly. “I assume you’ll be at the wedding ceremony?”
Rose blinked, feeling the heat drain out of her face.
“Oh, I…I’m afraid I haven’t been invited,” she managed.
Elfrid frowned at her.
“Surely you have.”
She shrugged and offered a feeble smile.
“It’s all right—my teachers have ordered me to come home before the wedding, since the prince seems…” She took a deep breath. “To be on the mend.”
“He does indeed,” Elfrid agreed, glancing through the hall. “I’m pleased that no one has had to summon you in the middle of the night for quite a while now!”
“Yes, so am I,” Rose said faintly. “Is the prince…here, by chance?”
“No, I believe he’s at the draper’s,” Elfrid answered. “Probably having his wedding coat fitted.”
Rose swallowed hard, her gaze drawn inexorably up to the swirling, stormy chandelier.
“I’ll bring his dinner to his chambers at four, then,” Rose said, hardly hearing herself. She dipped a quick curtsey to the captain, then turned and left the frosty hall, her chest tightening to pain.
“Well!” Nikolas clapped his hands together after he drained his wine glass and set it down on the feasting stone. “I am pleased to report that I had no pains and no nightmares last night.” He gave her a knowing look and a smile. “Which means I officially rescind my decision to cut off your head.”
Rose almost choked on her own wine, and then laughed quietly. She sat across from the prince in front of the fire in his chambers, dining on roast turkey, summer peas, baby roast potatoes, and raspberry tarts. Warmth and crackling light bathed them as they ate, and the shaft of the scarlet fireplace pulsed like a heartbeat.
“Well, thank you, Your Highness, for your merciful and gracious decision,” Rose lifted her glass to him.
“Not at all,” he said lightly. “You’ve done what no one else has ever been able to do, and for that, I am grateful.”
Rose blinked, her glass halfway to her lips, and looked across at him. For a moment, he gazed back at her, and his features softened. The light in the fire enlivened his eyes, revealing dozens of shades of blue. She almost smiled back at him. He glanced down then, and raised his eyebrows.
“Which reminds me,” he said, leaning back from the table and then getting to his feet. “I have a reward for you.”
“A reward?” she repeated. “No, I don’t need any—”
“Tosh, you don’t have any choice in the matter,” he cut her off, crossing to the door and opening it. “Valentina, do come in.”
Rose twisted around to see a middle-aged court-lady stride in, her black hair done up tightly, a stern and exacting expression on her sharp face. She wore sleek black beaded with sapphire jewels. And she carried a wide, red, satin card box. Valentina glanced at Rose, and Rose instantly climbed to her feet.
“Madam Healer, this is Lady Valentina, the Mistress of the Robes,” Nikolas gestured to the newcomer. “She has created a gown for you to wear to my wedding.”
Rose’s eyes flashed to him—but he just smiled in satisfaction and beckoned to her. Rose’s hands went cold and her heart started to pound.
“I…The wedding?” she murmured.
“Yes, of course,” Nikolas said, then reached over and carefully lifted the lid off the box.
Rose’s breath caught, and her protests died on her lips.
“The dress is made of ivory silk,” Lady Valentina stated. “It is adorned with ten-thousand jeweled beads—beads of Spegel glass that mimic citrine and amber—in designs of autumn leaves. It has a scooped empire neckline, a synched bodice and ballroom-length skirt with a dancing train of layered lace.”
Rose drifted closer, utterly captivated by the way the light shimmered across the elegant front of the dress. It had long, fitted sleeves with puffs at the shoulders and elbows. She reached out toward it, then instantly withdrew her hand.
“I had it commissioned especially for you,” Nikolas declared. “I thought the colors would suit your hair. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh…” Rose whispered, finally daring to touch the edge of the sleeve. “How long did this take to make?”
“It took seven seamstresses forty-eight hours,” Lady Valentina answered for him. “But the value of the beads is beyond reckoning.”
The words struck Rose through the heart. She turned to Nikolas, who just watched her—his smile increasing. The back of Rose’s throat suddenly hurt, and her eyes stung.
“I cannot…I cannot imagine wearing this,” she managed, her voice shaking as she turned back to the dress, fingering the cuff. “I’d be afraid to tear it…”
“Nonsense, you must look your best at the wedding,” Nikolas protested. “And I know you brought nothing suitable for the occasion.”
“I had not…” Rose tried—for she suddenly couldn’t form words, or even look at him. “I had not…honestly…planned to attend.”
“Oh, and whyever not?” he wondered, striding back toward the table—where the glass had refilled itself with wine. “You’ve done your duty, fulfilled your promises. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be rewarded, and even remain at Glas permanently to attend the royal household. I’m sure Iskyla will get used to you eventually.”
Rose stared fixedly at the dress, the delicate fabric held between her fingers, fighting back tears. And she didn’t say anything.
“Leave the dress with Madam Healer, Valentina,” the prince ordered. “Thank you.”
Valentina nodded, then passed the box carefully off to Rose. Rose gathered it to her, her hands shaking, as Valentina left the room and shut the door behind her.
“Rose?”
Rose blinked—the sound of her name lanced through her. Her head came up. And a startled tear spilled down her cheek.
“Yes?” she tried.
She heard his footsteps come round behind her—and he appeared in her left peripheral, still holding his wine glass. But he lowered his head and peered at her.
“What is the matter?” he demanded. “Do you dislike it?”
“No!” she said hurriedly, freeing one hand to wipe her tear away, then turning a bright smile to him. “I’m…I’m just speechless. It’s the prettiest gift anyone’s ever given me.”
“As I said, it is a reward,” he answered carefully, pointedly. “For a duty well-performed. For, as you well know,” he shrugged, and gave her a crooked smile. “I am a reasonable monarch.”
Rose gave a watery laugh, and nodded again—a terrible pain churning in her chest. And more tears fell. Nikolas’ smile faltered. She ducked her head.
“I imagine you are…overtired?” Nikolas supposed. “I’ve kept you long enough. You may retire.”
“Thank you, Nikolas,” she threw a smile at him again without making eye contact, and started toward the door. “Yes, I think I’ll…I think I’ll go to bed.”
“I’ll see you for breakfast on the morrow,” Nikolas said. “Be sure to bring one of your roses—since it’s to be the last of such breakfasts.”
Rose stopped.
“The last?”
“Naturally,” Nikolas sat down in one of the armchairs. “After that, I’d imagine Iskyla will wish to dine with me.”
Rose swallowed hard, and didn’t turn. She squeezed her eyes shut, then made for the door. She opened it, passed through, and shut it behind her.
“Oh! Are you all right, Madam Healer?” Elfrid’s voice caught her off guard.
“Yes, Elfrid, thank you,” Rose stammered, more tears falling that she hurriedly swiped away. “Goodnight.” And she hurried away from the prince’s chamber toward her own.
Chapter Twenty-Three
And t
he Truth Was Told
Rose dreamed.
She stood in a great crowd, in the midst of a city-wide summer market fair. Colorful tents stood round about, filled with entertaining wares and toys. The scent of roasting pecans filled the air. Flags flapped, jugglers tossed balls in the air, children ran about squealing, torches burned, and a brilliant, warm sky stretched overhead. And thousands of people pressed all around her, jostling her, paying her no heed.
And she held someone’s warm hand in her right. She turned, and looked up.
It was Nikolas. Wearing a white tunic covered in a simple leather hauberk. The sun shone in his golden curls, and caught the beauty of his features and his glittering eyes. He glanced down at her, and gave her a rare smile, squeezing her interlaced fingers.
A large man passed in front of Rose, and she had to back up—her hand tugged on Nikolas’, and loosened their grip.
People began trying to walk between them, grumbling at her for blocking the way, and pushing against her.
Then, all at once, Nikolas’ hand slipped free.
Her heart slammed into her breastbone, and she pushed a portly woman out of the way to try to find
him—
She glimpsed the top of his shining head further on in the crowd. She started toward him…
But when she arrived at that spot, he was nowhere to be found. Rose stood up on her tip-toes, but she could see no sign. She pushed onward, shuffling against the flow of the crowd, searching, searching…
She searched for an eternity, but she never saw another trace of him. The wind picked up, and the sky darkened. And then a catastrophic rain let loose on the market, drenching everyone almost instantly, soaking Rose’s boots in mud. Still she frantically searched and searched…
But she couldn’t find him.
Her eyes snapped open.
She lay in her bed, all twisted in the covers, her pillow sideways. The cold moon beamed through her ceiling, turning all her plants to an icy silver color.
Rose shivered, her limbs and head aching. She tried to adjust her covers, but every movement hurt. And she realized that tears stained her cheeks.
She dragged herself to a sitting position and used her sheets as a handkerchief, wearily dabbing at her eyes and face. Taking deep breaths, she made herself get out of bed—though her stomach turned over. Shakily, she made her way to her bag, fished out the jug of cider and a cup, and poured herself some. The steam fogged in front of her face, for the air in here had turned cold, and the fire nearly died. She brought the cup to her mouth and took deep draughts of the cider, feeling the warmth spread down through her. But somehow, that deep ache in her chest remained. She set the cup down on her desk, her fingers still trembling, and stared down at the box on her chair—the box in which the dress lay folded. For a very long time, she did nothing, her thoughts settling fathoms down within her.
Then, she turned, and began to put on her usual warm clothes and Dust Boots.
“Madam Healer!” Captain Elfrid exclaimed as she approached the prince’s door. “I was just coming to fetch you!”
Rose frowned and drew her cape closer to her.
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” Elfrid confessed. “The prince has not summoned me or commanded me to come get you—but I heard him stirring and pacing back and forth, and going up into his tower, and it is far past his usual time for bed.”
“May I go in?” Rose asked.
Alfred gave a small sigh and half a smile.
“I am relieved to allow you,” he said, and opened the door for her. Carefully, taking deep breaths to calm her heart, Rose stepped inside, and waited until Elfrid closed the door behind her. Then, she ventured further in.
The fire burned at mid-strength, and the room was warm, though the torches guttered low in their sconces, and the chandelier had gone dim. Rose’s footsteps slowed.
The furniture all sat up properly, and the bed had been neatly made. But Nikolas wasn’t in the room.
Rose stepped further in, scanning the darkened edges, and found her way to that doorway in the far corner that led to a staircase. She paused at the foot of it, listening.
Sure enough, faint footsteps issued from up above.
Rose set her teeth, wrapped her cape even tighter around herself, and started up the shadowy staircase.
Her footsteps tapped lightly on the black fogged glass as she wound up and up, following the lights protruding from the curved walls. As she approached the top, a breath of icy wind touched her hair, and as she lifted her face…
She stepped into full moonlight.
She slowly climbed up into a circular study with tall, gothic open windows upon the western half of the curved wall. Beyond the windows, a vast, snowy mountainscape bathed in pure lunar light, crowned by a spectacular full moon wreathed in fog. The bitter cold—and the stunning view—took Rose’s breath away.
Near the center window stood an elaborate telescope on a tripod. Nikolas bent over a paper-cluttered desk, writing something on a large piece that looked like a star chart. He still wore his dark suit and black neckerchief, and the moonlight turned his hair white.
“Captain Elfrid tells me you’ve been called back to the Halls of Healing.”
Rose faced him. And that moment, she noticed the latest rose she had brought—a yellow one—in a vase by his hand.
“Why did you neglect to inform me?” Nikolas asked quietly, his voice low and even.
“I just recently received word,” Rose answered.
Nikolas put down his pencil and stepped across to the telescope, bent over it, and began carefully adjusting the dials.
“Is that why you assumed you wouldn’t attend my wedding?”
Rose hesitated, a tremor running through her whole body. She gripped her gloved hands together as hard as she could.
“No,” she said. “It is because I…do not wish to attend your wedding.”
Nikolas’ eyes lifted, but did not find hers. His lips parted briefly, and then he lowered his glance.
“The dress is not fine enough,” he whispered.
Rose blinked.
“No! No, that isn’t it at all,” she protested, stepping toward him. “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever been given.”
“What is it, then?” he shot back, standing up straight and pinning her with a look. “You dislike my palace, my kingdom?”
“No—everything is beautiful,” Rose tried.
“My household, then,” Nikolas cut in, gesturing to the door. “My servants, my staff—they do not pass muster for you?”
“Of course they do,” Rose insisted. “The servants I have met have been very courteous and helpful, especially Captain Elfrid.”
Nikolas’ breath unsteadied, and he opened his mouth a little but said nothing. Then, his eyebrows drew together, and his voice shook.
“It’s myself, then. My stupidity, my ugliness.” His gaze pierced her. “You’ve grown to hate me.”
“No, dearest,” Rose reached out and grabbed his wrist. He jumped, and his shining eyes flashed to hers. His hands closed to fists, but she didn’t let go.
“I’ve come to…To tell you something,” Rose said. “Something terribly important. The true reason I cannot come to your wedding.”
Nikolas said nothing. His jaw tightened, and his attention sharpened.
Rose gazed back at him, but to meet his eyes suddenly felt like putting her hand too close to an open flame. So she ducked her head, kept hold of his wrist…
“I am not just a healer,” she said. “I am a Curse-Breaker from the Fortress of Maith. I was sent to break the curses that lie on you and your kingdom.”
“What?” Nikolas whispered. Rose made herself look at him.
“We obtained a letter that the queen sent, requesting help for your headaches, and my masters determined that something far worse than an ailment was troubling you,” she said. “They sent me to discover its source.”
“You are not a healer at all?�
�� Nikolas pulled his wrist out of her grip. “What is it you’ve been feeding me—water and snake oil?”
“No!” Rose hurriedly shook her head. “I am also trained as a healer—I gave you very real remedies that have helped you.”
“Why all this talk of curse-breaking, then?” he demanded through his teeth. “What is it you have decided is so wrong with my kingdom?”
Rose took a deep, trembling breath, squeezing her own hands together. And, praying for the right words, she decided to keep them simple.
“Your fiancée.”
Nikolas suddenly frowned.
“What did you say?”
“Your fiancée is what is wrong with Spegel,” Rose said, her heart thundering. “And…she is also the source of everything that has been harming you.”
Nikolas stared at her as if he had never seen her in his life.
“What do you mean?”
Rose heaved a brief, strained sigh.
“When you were young, she cast a spell over your kingdom to make it always winter here, like Iss—but that is not the way your kingdom was meant to be. I believe…I also believe…” Rose pulled in another painful breath. “That the Bani Looking Glass was sent here by Queen Iskyla, and that a piece of it lodged in your eye.”
Nikolas’ expression twitched, and he leaned away from her. Rose tried to step closer to him.
“It’s caused you headaches all your life,” she pressed. “And also caused you to believe that you are worthless and ugly, which, Nikolas—you are not. These are lies fed to you by a terrible enchantment—”
Nikolas twisted away from her toward the windows.
“Nikolas, please listen to me—” she cried, coming up beside him. “The mirror has distorted the truth. You are not wretched or ugly, you are beautiful and valuable and brilliant. But don’t you see? Iskyla wanted you for herself—and ice fairies cannot marry unless their mates have never loved anyone in all their lives! She has done this to you, and to your kingdom, and you mustn’t allow her to—”
“Stop!” Nikolas threw up a hand, grabbing the railing with his right—rocking slightly forward and back, the muscles in his jaw working. Rose’s words died in her mouth.
Glass Page 15