A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Ismena tore her gaze away from the baby, forcing the panic down as she realized how true these words were. But they did not have to be true forever. Once Stephan returned, he would fix her. He would teach her withered heart to beat again.

  She could become the woman she once was again. She would.

  But even as she thought this, she knew that wasn’t true. She had killed now. What was to stop her from ever doing it again?

  She inhaled a shaky breath, bracing herself against the wall with her good hand. The wind had truly picked up now, and the snow was now falling more steadily. It was odd for the season, and she felt so dreadfully cold both inside and out.

  A cracking sound and icy chill shooting up her fingers brought her attention to her hand against the wall. She pulled back with surprise when she saw a fine coating of ice covered it. She pulled back and looked down at her hand which ached to her very bones from the cold.

  The baby cooed again Ismena glanced down at her, surprised to see the snowflakes no longer landing on her. The circled over the baby’s head like the moving constellations of a starry night.

  Elisabeth smiled up at them.

  Frowning Ismena looked around at the blizzard building around her. This must mean that Elisabeth had inherited some power from her mother, but how could an infant control all this?

  Her eyes darted down to her hand and she moved it back to the wall, moving it over the ice that had formed, her heart stuttered as the ice moved with her fingers, obeying her command.

  She huffed a laugh, snowflakes raining around her even as pain shot up her arm.

  No, she did not believe that she would ever be the same person again.

  But was that such a bad thing?

  Chapter

  Twelve

  All natural magic came from the Tree of Life. That was how the legend went.

  Every fruit that grew on the tree carried a different kind of magic. One for fire, one for immortality, one for ice…

  Ismena clenched her hand, staring down at her pale flesh as the wind howled outside. A blizzard raged beyond the palace walls, not matter that it should have been summer beyond.

  All living creatures ate of the fruit of that tree until there was only one fruit left. One final fruit for the very last creature. The fruit was mortality. The creature was the first human.

  However there was a group of human women who were not content with that lot. They were the first sorceresses. Using potions, they devised a way to steal magic from the other more magical beings. Such an act was unnatural, leading to many humans to shun them.

  After years, the focus turned from magic to simply mortal power and the war between the sorceresses began. The wars finally ended when her ancestors took the throne, creating the kingdom of Alain and since then the rulers had been sorceresses in name only.

  The days of taking what was not naturally theirs was over.

  At least until Ismena, the first true sorceress to walk the land in hundreds of years.

  The courtiers whispered about the storm. They said that it was Dahlia’s ice nymph sisters mourning her. The members of the palace shot Ismena accusing glares. That very morning, no maid had come to prepare her bath or help her change, forcing her to go fetch the maid she had come from Alain with since no servants would deliver her message. They did not accept her as queen. What didn’t matter to them was that she was already queen.

  They thought that she had no right to marry the king, least of all so soon after the death of the former queen. They thought that her actions further enraged the ice nymphs, causing the winter to be worse. What they did not know was that Ismena herself was the one who was controlling the winter.

  When she had stolen Dahlia’s life and beauty, she had stolen something else. The last fragment of her powers over ice and snow she had retained when she took human form, were now Ismena’s.

  It was true that Elisabeth had inherited her mother’s magic as well, but what was she but a cursed child?

  No one could really stand up to Ismena, not ever. The blanket of snow on the ground that had been there for the past months since she discovered her power was nothing more than an arsenal for her to use at her command.

  It was even worth the ice that now flowed through her veins, how she never felt warm. How she missed the sun. How she created the thing that she had always hated.

  Because she was not the same girl she had been, the girl she was now no longer hated winter, but drew her strength from it.

  What was the sun anyway, but a reminder of a time when she was summer and daylight to the love of her life?

  Two letters had arrived for her that day. The first was from Stephan detailing how the war was going. Apparently her snow had even reached him there. She did not like thinking of him sleeping on a cold cot or having to trudge through snow as he fought, but she did not know how to control her powers enough to keep the snow around Havenkeep to protect the capital.

  She would simply have to try harder to control it.

  The second was a letter from Roskva finally replying. It was a short letter, only four letters long.

  What have you done?

  Ismena had set it aside, unsure how to answer. She had known that her sister would read between the words, but she had not been expecting such a cold response. She would explain herself, but later. Roskva would not understand if she were to say that she had done what she needed to. She would write to her sister again when the war was finally over, then Roskva could have no reason to remain angry now that there was no longer any harm being done.

  And the war would end soon.

  It had already been nine months. Surely, how much longer could Mooraven hold up against the combined forces of Havenkeep and Alain?

  Then she would finally have Stephan back and make peace with her sister. When that happened she could finally begin to live her happily ever after that all the tales promised her she would have.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  As the months passed, Ismena became less and less sure that the war would even end. It had been more than a year since the beginning of the war and Mooraven had still not fallen. Instead, Morren had rallied his men and had even moved to the offensive and moved against Alain, tearing through the villages of Havenkeep that lay between him and it.

  Her heart was heavy at the thought of all the carnage. If she could have, she would have created wights to fight this war for her people. But if she were to do so, then Stephan would know that she was the one who made the wights in the first place. So she was trapped in her own lie.

  Her wights had all been destroyed by the armies of Mooraven in the first days of war so she could not even use them.

  Her letter of apology to Roskva lay written on her desk, but she had not sent it yet. She could not send it because the capital of Alain was under siege. Her letter would not make it through.

  Ismena comforted herself. In his last letter to her, Stephan had assured her that he was marching to their aid.

  That was days ago now, surely Roskva and the palace were already liberated. She was only waiting for the happy news.

  She hummed as she strode down the hall to Elisabeth’s room to check on stepdaughter. The young princess was growing up to be quite rambunctious, always wanting to play when Ismena hardly had time to spend with her. Of course, she did somehow find time to carve out of her schedule every day for the princess.

  Just as she reached for the handle a young squire, left behind from the war effort because he was too young to march with his knight, rounded the corner huffing.

  He dropped into a sloppy bow. “My queen, you are needed in the grand hall.”

  Ismena frowned and lifted her skirts, leaving the closed door and the sounds of children’s laughter behind as she raced down the hall in a decidedly un-queen-like fashion.

  While she was finally beginning to be accepted by the servants, and had taken over all Stephan’s duties, sitting in on the council meetings and caring for the people’s needs at h
ome, her heart still turned to ice as she wondered what could require her attention so urgently.

  She darted around the corner into the grand hall before skidding to a halt, her heart crashing in her throat at what she saw.

  Standing in the middle of the entrance, black hair speckled with white snow, was Stephan. Her Stephan.

  With a delighted laugh, Ismena rushed across the room, nearly slipping in the puddle of melted snow, coming off of the servants and guards walking in and out of the palace bringing trunks and supplies.

  She threw herself into his arms and released a happy sigh as Stephan wrapped his arms back around her. The past fifteen months melted away, all her insecurities and worries with them. She was finally home again.

  Stephan must have been thinking the same thing, because he tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder.

  She stood there for a moment, simply relishing being alive when a thought came to her. Why was Stephan here?

  She pulled back, placing her hands on either side of his face as she looked him over with desperate eyes. “Are you all right?”

  Stephan nodded, his hand moving to press against hers, warming hands that had been cold as ice for over a year.

  She let out a relieved laugh, but didn’t bother pulling away. “Then what are you doing here?” As overjoyed as she was to see him after all this time, the war was still far from over and Stephan had never mentioned in his letters any plans to return home. Had he done this to surprise her?

  She caught sight of one of the guards behind Stephan, he was holding what looked like a child, bundled in so many cloths that she could not even make out if it was a girl or a boy. He handed the child off to a maid who stepped forward. The cloth covering their head fell back revealing a head of remarkably golden hair that looked somewhat familiar.

  “Who is that?” she asked her eyebrows furrowing.

  Stephan released a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I wish I could spare you from this.”

  “Spare me from what?” Ismena demanded stepping back, finally pulling her hands from his hold. She looked over Stephan searching for the telltale spot of red, marring his white uniform, but it was unblemished. There was not even a tear in the fabric. He was unharmed.

  She raised her gaze to his.

  What could he have to spare her from, the worst had not happened, he stood before her whole. What other news would be so horrible as long as he was alive?

  Surely, he did not mean to leave her again.

  That child could not be his own. Even though the child was too old to be his, her heart still crashed against her rib cage. Had he been unfaithful to her when she had spent every waking moment wishing for his return?

  He stepped toward her, his hands extended in a pacifying gesture. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  Ismena stumbled back another several steps, clutching at her chest. She shook her head mutely. No, she would take this standing. She was strong enough to take whatever he had to tell her. She may have been weak once, but she was a true sorceress now. She was the queen of both Havenkeep and Alain.

  “Spare me of what?” she asked again, steeling her nerves.

  Stephan looked away defeated, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “The capital of Alain succumbed to the siege shortly before our army could arrive. Morren set it to fire. Most of the city and the entire palace have been destroyed.”

  It took her a long moment to comprehend what the words coming out of his mouth truly meant. Her childhood home was gone? Burned to a pile of ash? No, that could not be, the palace of Alain was too beautiful with its arched ceiling made of glass, with its indoor gardens. It was a place of beauty, not destruction. That was where she had taken her first steps, it was where she had said her first words, concocted her first potion. Her mother and father and all her ancestors were buried in the crypt below it. No, no it could not be gone. She refused to believe it.

  She shook her head, but Stephan would not relent. “It’s gone.”

  Her breath stilled in her heart as she looked around desperately for an answer, but all she found were questions. “And Roskva….”

  She began, but cut herself off as Stephan shook his head slowly. “Almost the entire royal family perished within.”

  She didn’t want to believe his words, but it was his eyes that held the bitter truth. They stared at her with such sympathy and sorrow that she knew there was no way that it could be false.

  An echoing wail filled her ears. It took her a while to realize that she was actually the one weeping. Her knees collapsed from underneath her and she would have crashed to the ground if not for Stephan’s strong arms wrapping around her. He sank to the ground beside her and pressed his face into her hair.

  “I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so sorry. I should have been able to stop it. I should have saved them.”

  She shook her head

  It wasn’t Stephan’s fault.

  It was hers.

  She had started this war. She had angered Morren into seeking revenge against her. This was all her fault.

  They stayed like that long after she had actually stopped crying. She still felt hollow inside, but she was no longer graced with blessed tears. She had no way of representing her grief, to show that on the inside she was dead. It was her curse for what she had done.

  But Stephan seemed to understand. He didn’t budge, but kept his arms encircled around her, rubbing her back gently.

  Finally, he pulled back with a heavy sigh. “One member of the royal family did survive. Your niece Eirwen. When we arrived, we found her sitting in the bottom of the well with water up to her chest. It must have protected her from the flames. She had broken her ankle in the fall, but she was still alive. I brought her here because I did not trust her to be safe there. She needs love, I’m sure that you will be able to comfort each other.”

  Ismena stared at the metal links, of Stephan’s chain mail not saying anything. Out of all her nieces and nephews, only little Eirwen survived? The girl was no more than five and now she was motherless, her home was destroyed, and her family was gone. Ismena was all that she had left, and perhaps that was the worst thing that had happened to her yet, because she did not deserve to have Ismena as her only remaining relative.

  “I will make Morren pay for this,” Stephan vowed, tightening his arms around her when she still didn’t reply. “He will pay for his crimes.”

  Ismena nodded numbly, but did not say anything. Because was this truly Morren’s fault when she was the one who had started the war? Nay, this was on her. And who would make her pay for her crimes?

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Eirwen couldn’t stay. A year had passed and by now the armies of Mooraven had been driven from Alain and forced back to Mooraven, it would be safe for her to return to her homeland.

  By now the army of Mooraven had already done all that they needed. Morren had gotten his revenge against Ismena for her betrayal.

  If only if she had known the price she would pay, she would go back. She would go back and change so many things. But then she thought of Stephan, and she wondered if she would change anything, even as she realized that she was forced to send away a young girl who needed a mother more than anything because simply looking at her hurt too much.

  Eirwen was the very image that her mother had been at that age and every time Ismena saw her she thought of hollow promises and wasted life.

  Roskva had so much to live for. A love that was strong and true and five beautiful children. Now, all that was gone save for one lame little girl.

  And it was all Ismena’s fault. She wondered if her sister had spent her last few minutes cursing her as the fire consumed her entire family. Her darling younger sister who had been her closest friend for her entire life was gone forever now and it was all Ismena’s fault.

  She could not even fault Morren for something that she had put into motion. But there was nothing for her now, but to move one. To fin
d some way to live with who she was and who she had become.

  And the only way she would ever be able to do that was if she no longer had the constant reminder of everything she had lost flitting through the palace, following her around everywhere she went, and playing games with her stepdaughter.

  Elisabeth, of course was thrilled for the playmate, but Ismena would make it up to her when Eirwen left.

  Just as she would somehow make it up to Eirwen. She would visit every year, teach the girl the art of sorcery as her mother should have done. She would make certain that what happened to Eirwen’s family could never happen to her.

  She blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes, but no one was there to see it anyway, not here alone in her dark bedchambers.

  Just as she thought that, the door to the chamber connecting her room to the girls’ opened and Eirwen peeked her blond head through the door. She glanced around wide eyed, the small candle she was holding, reflecting on her tear stained face.

  “What is it?” Ismena asked, sitting up.

  Eirwen hiccupped and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “N-nothing, it’s just… I couldn’t sleep. I kept having the dream. May I join with you, Aunt?”

  Ismena released a breath, but she couldn’t refuse her niece even if she desperately needed this time to collect herself so that on the morrow she could be the queen she needed to be. She patted the bed. “Come on then.”

  Eirwen limped into the room. Her ankle had never healed fully, not since her fall. Ismena feared that she would bear the physical scars of that day forever, just as she would always bear the emotional ones. As she moved into the room, another small form toddled in behind her, their hands interlocked.

  “Lizzie didn’t want to be left alone,” Eirwen explained.

  Ismena shook her head, a small smile pulling at her lips. Those girls were truly inseparable. She wondered if Eirwen could possibly be more fond Elisabeth if she had been Ismena’s daughter and they were truly cousins.