The words hurt, but I’m not a fool. I know what he’s doing, but before I can argue with him, the situation dawns on me. The girl is Henri’s stepsister, the troll queen’s daughter…the woman—and I’m using that term loosely—he’s supposed to marry.
“You’re Ambrosia,” I say, my voice slightly more accusatory than I intend. “The troll princess.”
“Around here, we usually drop the troll bit. It’s rather unnecessary, don’t you think?” She flashes Henri another look. “Or it was before you humans started to pop up.”
“Send her home.” Henri’s voice is strong, but there’s a plea in there, one his betrothed notices.
She angles her head toward him and then looks at me. After a moment, her quizzical frown turns into a radiant smile. “You’re her—Henri’s human wife. The one who foolishly went and fell in love with him and broke the fairy-addled curse.” She grins at Henri, whose face is now like stone. “And she followed you here? Isn’t that remarkably sweet?”
I swallow, fighting back my embarrassment. She makes it sound so ridiculous. Like I’ve been nothing more than a pawn all along, and I’ve overstepped my part in the game.
“Give me the apple,” Ambrosia says, holding out her palm. “I’ll take you to the palace and sneak you into Henri’s room tonight.”
I stare at her, my mouth partially agape.
“Come on now.” She wiggles her fingers, demanding her payment.
“Why would you do that?”
She arches a single eyebrow in a move so perfectly executed, I want to learn it myself. “I don’t want him. Do I look like the sort of troll who must resort to marrying a human?”
Unsure how to answer, I give her a wobbly shake of my head. “No?”
“No,” she parrots sternly. “I have more than ten suitors, and I do not intend to give them up for one of my mother’s whims. Henri is entertaining, no doubt, but you are welcome to him.”
“What about your mother?” I demand.
Ambrosia clasps her hands together, making her ringlets dance, and sighs with great contentment. “She will be livid when she finds out you’ve come for him.”
Slowly, my unease lessens, and I drop into the seat opposite Ambrosia and Henri. Though unlikely, I believe I’ve found a troll after my own heart.
The princess coos over the apple for several moments, and then she tells the driver to continue. I glance at Henri, wondering what he makes of the situation, but he stares ahead, his face expressionless.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ambrosia’s even lovelier in the light of the castle, though I immediately spot her tell. Her nose is turned up at the very end, almost as if she’s trying to conceal a great, long snout with her magic.
She flounces around Henri’s room, telling me exactly when to expect him back again this evening. When she catches me studying her, the princess covers her face with her hand. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“No…” I cringe as I slowly say the word.
With a loud groan, she flops her tall, willowy frame into a nearby chair. “Don’t bother lying. We have mirrors after all—I can see it. No matter how I try, I can’t conceal it.”
“I didn’t notice in the woods.” This time, it’s the truth.
“Yes, I suppose it could be worse,” she admits with a lazy shrug.
She sits there for so long, I begin to wonder if she’s going to leave. Henri’s already in the dining hall, playing dutiful house guest—and all to protect me. It’s not that surprising he’s angry I’m here.
I’m afraid he’ll have to get over it.
“I should go,” Ambrosia says after several long minutes.
As she stands, I open my mouth only to close it again.
“Spit it out,” she says, catching me.
“You’re not what I expected,” I admit.
Her eyes light with amusement. “Not all trolls are like my mother.”
“Are most of them?”
After all, I’d like to know what I’m up against.
“Yes, most are.” She grins at me as she opens the door behind her. “Best not answer the door. In fact, hide under the bed.”
“For how long?” I ask, aghast.
“Only until Henri returns.”
“And how long will that—”
I’m answered by the slamming door.
I look around the room, wondering if there is somewhere else I could hide. Left with no other option, I scoot under the bed.
Ten o’clock goes by and then eleven. Somewhere before midnight, I doze off.
The door swings open and voices sound in the room. I wake with such a start, I knock my head on the frame and have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out.
With every one of my muscles tensed and ready to flee, I listen to the brief conversation Henri has with his stepmother.
“You must convince her,” the troll queen insists when Henri points out Ambrosia has refused to marry him every night he’s asked for her hand.
“If you cannot, I promise the human girl you left in Briadell will suffer for your lack of perseverance.”
With that, the door closes. Still, I don’t dare move.
After several long moments, Henri whispers, “Sophie?”
Relieved, I crawl on my belly, scooting from under the bed like a weasel. Before I can find my feet, Henri pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly. “You are a foolish, foolish girl,” he whispers into my hair. “How did you find me?”
I tell him of the fairies, and though my tale isn’t long, by the end, he’s yawning.
“I’m sorry.” I gently poke him in the side, chastising him with a teasing scowl. “Am I boring you with the details?”
He shakes his head, but he fights a yawn yet again. “She must have drugged me at dinner.”
That’s inconvenient.
“What will we do?” For the first time, I hear the fear in my voice. We need to escape.
We need to escape tonight.
Henri pulls me to the bed, unable to keep his eyes open. “We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
I burrow close to him, but I don’t dare sleep. I jump at every noise—every creak, every gust of wind outside the tall, slender windows.
Near morning, I try to wake Henri, but it’s an impossible task. The troll queen’s magic is too potent.
Just after dawn, as I’m lying on my side, staring at Henri, willing him to wake, I hear footsteps outside the door.
I leap from the bed, looking for a place to dart as the door swings open.
Ambrosia stands on the other side, key in hand, shaking her head. “Now what would you have done if I’d been my mother?”
“You didn’t tell me the queen would give him a sleeping draught!” I hiss as I fight back my fright.
The pretty troll shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”
Wrinkling my nose, I stare at her.
Ambrosia’s response sounds an awful lot like something I would say. No wonder Father’s always so irritated with me.
“Well, you didn’t.” She laughs at the sour look on my face. “And now you have to leave because Mother will be along any minute.”
And that’s when I hear it—the ominous sound of the troll queen screeching at a servant down the hall.
“Where should I go?” I demand.
Ambrosia shrugs again. “Out the window?”
“We’re in a tower!”
“Therefore, I suggest you watch your step.”
Even though there is no time to waste, I gawk at her, certain she must be joking. When she makes a “scoot along” gesture with her hand, I realize she’s not.
Growling under my breath, I hurry to the window and toss the dappled glass open. Then I look over my shoulder, glaring at the troll princess. “There’s a balcony just under us.”
“Of course there is. What did you think? That I’d expect you to sprout wings?” She grins and gives me a shove.
I cast Henri one last rueful look, and then I crawl out the window, down t
o the safety of the terrace below. The morning wind is bitter from traveling the nearby icy peaks, and it bites at my hands and face.
Shivering, I drop to the balcony and realize I left Henri’s cloak in the room. Just as my feet touch the frosted stones, Ambrosia pokes her head out the window. “Watch for the snow griffins. They roost this time of year, and they’re not particularly friendly.”
“What are—”
The princess closes the window, cutting off my question.
Why do people keep doing that to me?
Frustrated, I rub my hands over my crossed arms for warmth and scan the turrets, looking for signs of the griffins Ambrosia spoke of. There’s a stray gray feather on the stone rail that could be from a griffin—or most likely a pigeon—but I don’t catch a single glimpse of the beasts themselves.
Sunlight, warm and welcoming, crests the eastern peaks. It shines down on the wooded valley, stretching all the way into the distance, chasing away the night. I angle my face toward it, grateful it’s a cloudless morning.
After several minutes, I look around. No stairs lead to the balcony, and the tower is built of smooth, slick stones that would be impossible to climb. Glancing behind me, I frown. There’s a door, one I most likely don’t want to enter. Looking up, I try to decide if I could crawl back to Henri’s window in a while.
Alas, it’s a little too high.
Left with no choice, I try the door. As I feared, it’s locked. I’m trapped here, waiting for Henri or Ambrosia to rescue me. Of course, Henri doesn’t know where I’m at, so I suppose I must rely on the kindness of the troll princess.
Once the sun melts the frost, I sit with my back against the wall and look out over the forest. Steam rises from a nearby river. It’s half-covered in ice, beautiful, and serene.
As harsh as it is, Elsland is breathtaking. If the trolls didn’t guard it so tenaciously, surely a human king would claim it for his own. I draw my legs to my chest in a feeble attempt to keep warm and take in the scenery, all the while planning an escape that is looking less likely by the minute.
I’m fortunate I got here at all. What did I expect? That I’d show up undetected and spirit Henri away?
“Little human?” a now-familiar voice calls from Henri’s room. “Still down there?”
Not bothering to stand, I crane my head up to look at Ambrosia. “There are no stairs, and the door is locked. Where did you expect me to go?”
“Hmmm.”
That all she says. Hmmm.
“Do you think you could unlock the door?” I ask, my frozen fingers and toes making me lose my patience.
She sets her elbow on the ledge, drops her chin in her palm, and nods. The motion makes the sun catch her perfectly-spiraled ringlets. “I could.”
I wait a moment.
“Will you, please?” I say once I realize she’s not going to make this easy.
Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, Ambrosia opens the door.
“Where’s Henri?” I demand as soon as I walk over the threshold.
“I have an errand,” Ambrosia says absently, ignoring my question as she leads me through what appears to be a seldom-used sitting room. The drapes are pulled, and the room is quite dark and depressing. “You’ll come with me.”
Stopping by a linen-covered chair, I set my hands on my hips. “You think so, do you?”
The pretty troll looks over her shoulder. “Do you have something better to do? I’m not sure you want to wander around the palace. Most of us have lost our taste for humans, but the elders still remember the glorious days of old.” She leans close, her eyes bright, and says conspiratorially, “Rumor has it you taste like chickens.”
I cringe. “You’re bluffing.”
Ambrosia shrugs. “Your choice.”
And then she walks through the door, into the hall. I tap my finger on my hip, frowning.
Trolls don’t eat humans. They curse us, blight us, set our villages ablaze. But they don’t eat us.
Do they?
Another few seconds go by.
“Ambrosia!” I hurry through the room, scurrying after the troll princess.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What are we doing?” I demand as we go deeper and deeper into the depths of the palace. “Where are we going?”
The walls, which up higher were made of smooth, rectangular stones, have morphed into mismatched, flat rocks of all shapes and sizes. I haven’t seen a window in almost ten minutes, and though we haven’t passed a single fire, the cool air seems to stay a constant temperature.
I’m not sure how far underground we are, but I’m quite confident we’re not in the palace anymore.
Instead of answering my question, Ambrosia launches into a dry speech about Elsland’s grand history. Even she sounds bored, so I know she’s just evading my questions.
Fifteen minutes later, the air begins to warm, and it grows steadily hotter as we continue down the passage.
Again, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“Here,” she says as the narrow hallway ends at a series of five steps that lead up to a door. It’s a massive thing, with iron braces and a heavy lock. The chamber ahead looks ominous, like the kind of place a troll would take a human to torture her.
Without hesitation, Ambrosia tosses the door open, and we’re hit with a curtain of hot air.
A forge burns in the middle of the room, and flames dance over red-hot coals like a living creature.
Apparently, it’s less a torture chamber and more a smithy. A chimney tops the forge, and it disappears into the rock above, taking smoke with it.
“Johan!” Ambrosia calls as she saunters into the room.
And that’s when I see him. The troll. The troll who looks like a troll.
The troll who’s…not that bad, actually.
He looks up, probably as startled to see me as I am to see him. His eyes are a smidgen too close together, and his shoulders are slightly hunched. His skin is smudged with soot, but to my great surprise, it’s not green as I’d always been told.
“New pet?” he asks the princess, looking leery.
“She’s cute, isn’t she?” Ambrosia bops me on the head in a patronizing fashion. “I’m thinking of keeping her. She’s a tame little thing—hasn’t made a fuss. It will all depend on how much she eats.”
The troll at the forge grunts. I glare at Ambrosia, but she only smirks and produces the golden apple from the folds of her gown. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses it to the smith.
With surprisingly quick reflexes, he catches the apple with ease. He narrows his eyes, studying the golden fruit, turning it over in his palm before he throws it back. “It’s tainted.”
Ambrosia catches the apple mid-air and scowls. “It’s gold.”
“It’s fairy gold,” he says, practically spitting the word.
Apparently, there’s no love lost between the two races.
The princess points to her nose. “Do you see this? It’s larger than yesterday. I need you to melt down the apple!”
Shaking his head, the smith refuses. “Too dangerous.”
“You can do it.”
“The timing is impossible.”
“Johan, it’s not a request.” Apple in her palm, Ambrosia sets her hands on her hips.
After several long seconds, Johan meets her eyes. “Fine,” he says, perhaps not daring to defy his princess. “But if we go even a moment too long, the forge will explode. You best send your pet out.”
I ignore the pet remark and step forward. “How long is too long?”
Johan watches me for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if he’s going to answer a human. “I have four minutes to extract the lingering fairy magic from the gold—and not a second more. If I go over, my magic will merge with the fairy’s, and the results will be catastrophic.”
A slow frown builds on Ambrosia’s face. “Johan’s probably right,” she finally says.
The smith begins to nod, glad Ambrosia has come to her senses and realized
she should leave well enough alone.
“You should probably leave before we begin,” she finishes, looking at me.
Johan’s face falls.
I turn to the princess, standing my ground even as she attempts to shove me toward the door. “If I help you, will you let me see Henri tonight?”
“Help?” She laughs like I’ve said something truly amusing. “What could you possibly do?”
I’ve never been proud of my gift. In fact, I tell as few people as possible. But right now, I’m grateful for it.
“Every moment of the day, I know exactly what time it is; therefore, I know—down to the second—how much time has elapsed. I can tell Johan the very moment he must finish his task.”
Ambrosia narrows her eyes, studying me. “That’s a strange gift for a fairy godmother to bestow.”
I wrinkle my nose. “My family ended up with a fairy godfather.”
She looks momentarily perplexed, and then she nods. “Fine then. Stay here, help if you can. But I simply cannot be held responsible if you die a horrible, fiery, excruciating death. Is that clear?”
I gulp but find it in myself to nod. “And Henri?”
Sighing, she says, “I don’t know. I’ve grown rather tired of the game. It was amusing at first, but I have no desire to make a habit of sneaking you about the palace.”
Without hesitation, I pull the golden carding comb from the deep pocket stitched in my gown.
The lovely troll’s eyes go wide, and she immediately reaches for the comb.
Making a tsking noise, I pull it back.
“All right,” she says, her greedy eyes still on the comb. “I’ll sneak you in again.”
Nodding, I hand her the comb. “And you’ll keep your mother from slipping Henri the sleeping draught?”
The princess gives the comb a loving stroke and says in a chiding voice, “You should have asked that before you handed me the comb.”
I give her a disbelieving look, but she only smiles.
Do I dare trade away the spinning wheel? It’s the only thing I have left.
But what choice do I have? It won’t do me a bit of good if Henri falls dead asleep again tonight.
A Bear's Bride: A Retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon (Entwined Tales Book 3) Page 8