A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Eirwen pulled herself onto the bed and Ismena stooped to lift Elisabeth in next to them. “Now no talking, you two, gets some sleep.”

  Elisabeth pressed a wet kiss on Ismena’s cheek before curling up beside her. “Night, night, mama.”

  Ismena smiled and wrapped her fingers around the small princess’s tiny chubby ones. “Goodnight, my dear.”

  Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Elisabeth’s breathing evened out and she knew that the princess was asleep.

  She lay staring into the darkness alone in her solitude, even though she knew that Eirwen was still awake. Every sniffle of her little niece’s muffled cries, pierced Ismena’s heart. She knew then that she could not keep this up, not even another day. Eirwen could not remain in this castle. Even if she knew that it would break her heart to do so, she also knew that such a fate was preferable to having it slowly crumble from within.

  She reached out and smoothed Eirwen’s hair back. “How would you like to return home?”

  “Go back home?” Eirwen replied distantly.

  “To Alain, don’t you miss it?”

  “Will mother be there?” the young girl asked, her voice suddenly bright.

  Ismena laughed bitterly. “Your mother will never be there again, darling. She is dead. She has been taken from both of us forever.”

  “Why was my mother taken? Why did that happen?” Eirwen asked. “I just don’t understand.”

  Ismena hesitated, trying to find a reply, but she did not understand how the world could be rid of a light such as Rsokva’s. Finally she said, “Because Morren was a bad man and he knew that it would hurt me to do anything to your mother. He wanted me to be hurt.”

  “Why would he want that?” Eirwen demanded.

  “He was a bad man,” Ismena repeated, a tear dripped out of the corner of her eye as she continued running her hand through Eirwen's hair.

  “And what about father? What about Lora, Isla, George, and Harold? Will they be there?”

  “No… no one will be there.”

  “So… to go home, I would have to be alone?”

  “I would send Thora with you. She would take care of you.” Thora was the maid that Ismena had brought with her upon her marriage. She would miss the woman’s loyalty but she knew that Eirwen needed her more.

  Eirwen nodded at last. “I miss home.”

  “Tomorrow we shall see about the arrangements,” Ismena replied. “Now get some sleep and stop crying. Crying will not bring anyone back, or change what has already been...” she trailed off, listening to Eirwen’s breathing until it evened out.

  Once she was certain that both the girls were asleep, she finally allowed herself to cry.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Ismena stared down at the letter in her hands, until the final line began to blur, but it was too late. The words had already been imprinted on her heart.

  Mooraven has finally fallen. The war is over, my dear.

  She was not comforted by the words like she once thought that she would be. The rearing monster that she had unwittingly created was defeated. Stephan was well and whole and would be returning home to stay. But instead she felt a vague sense of dread as she wondered what sort of relationship she and Stephan would have now that the fighting was over.

  In the past seven years, their union had been defined by the war. By the many letters that they sent and the short visits he had begun paying ever since the death of her family. But what would all that mean now that their mutual enemy was defeated? Stephan had married her to step in and be queen in his absence, and so that he would have a strong alliance with Alain.

  With the war over, he no longer needed her. He already had an heir. He did not even need a queen.

  She had been tossed aside when he no longer needed her before, discarded like a glove on a warm day. She could not allow that to happen to her again. She feared that she would never recover from the pain of such a blow.

  She had become a dark and twisted thing the first time. What she was now would have horrified her past self, to know all the blood that she had on her hands, even that of her own darling sister. The question that plagued her was what she would become if Stephan abandoned her a second time.

  She feared that there would be no crawling back out of whatever pit she would be hurled into.

  Ismena clenched the letter in her hand as Elisabeth ran into the room, all giggles and laughter, sunlight and dawn. It was her seventh birthday and young Elisabeth had grown to be an extremely beautiful child. Ismena supposed that it was fitting that she would receive official news of the end of the war on the child’s birthday, the same day the war began seven years ago.

  Elisabeth was wearing a lovely pale blue dress as well as her very first corset, both gifts from Ismena.

  She smiled as Elisabeth twirled around displaying her pretty dress, and was thankful that Elisabeth was too young to realize that it was fake. “You look lovely, dear, but all your laces are undone. Here, let me do it.”

  Elisabeth skipped to her side and turned around, revealing the open back of her dress and corset and the laces dangling around them.

  As Ismena was tying the corset, an idea crossed her mind. Her eyes darted up to the mass of black curls tumbling down her stepdaughter’s back. If Stephan no longer had an heir, he would have no need to be rid of her until she could replace Elisabeth.

  Her fingers began working faster, pulling on the laces until they were too tight.

  It would be a horrible accident.

  That’s what everyone would say.

  That’s what she would believe.

  How could she have possibly have known that the laces were too tight?

  “Stop it, Mama,” Elisabeth cried trying to pull away. Ismena’s hand shot out, clamping on Elisabeth’s shoulder, holding her in place.

  Tears streamed down porcelain smooth cheeks. “It hurts!”

  Ismena released her, yanking her hands back as if Elisabeth’s words had burnt her even though they were both far too cold to be creating any fire. But she had already done what she needed to do. The laces were tied.

  “I can’t breathe,” Elisabeth gasped, grabbing at her throat.

  Ismena folded her hands in her lap, forcing herself not to move even as Elisabeth sat down hard and then lay on her back, all the while crying.

  Elisabeth’s mouth formed soundless words as silent tears leaked out of her eyes. Ismena forced herself to not leave the room. She wanted to weep and rail and curse the unfairness of the world that was forcing her to do this to her own stepdaughter. A girl Ismena had raised as her own child. But she had to be certain that the girl died, so she stayed and watched.

  Elisabeth began to still but her lips kept forming that word, over and over, a silent plea. The realization of what that word was cut through Ismena like a knife. “Mama.”

  Her heart froze as she realized what she was doing. If she succeeded today she would never see Elisabeth’s bright smile again, never hear her pealing laugh. They would never sit up in the nursery and play with the dolls that Ismena had had specially made for the princess all with painted white faces so that she did not feel different for being so pale.

  Stephan would return to only his wife, his darling girl gone. She feared that such a separation might actually kill him, which would kill her.

  Somehow this little girl’s very breaths mattered to Ismena’s very existence.

  She lunged out of her seat, rolling Elisabeth over to be able to reach the laces holding her in and stealing those precious breaths. She tried desperately to undo the ties, but her hands were shaking too hard. The ties sliced through the pads of her fingers which dripped blood all over Elisabeth’s beautiful new gown.

  She looked around desperately for something sharp to cut through them, but they were in Elisabeth’s playroom. There was nothing sharp in there.

  “Help!” Ismena cried, looking around desperately. There were always guards around her and Elisabeth to make certai
n that no assassin from Mooraven would try to strike out against them. “Help!” she screamed louder.

  The door burst open and in rushed four guards looking around wildly. Ismena gestured down to Elisabeth. “Her laces are too tight! I need something to cut them with.”

  Three of the guards glanced amongst each other uncertainly, but the fourth sprang into motion and drew his knife, he handed to it to Ismena who sliced through those accursed laces easily.

  Elisabeth drew in a gasping breath, and at that sound, Ismena’s heart began beating again. “She’s all right. She’s all right,” she breathed as the princess began coughing.

  “Thank you,” Ismena said, pulling Elisabeth up and toward her. She brushed back the girl’s raven locks and looked her over. “Are you all right, darling?”

  Elisabeth screwed up her face and shoved away from Ismena. She glanced from Ismena to the guards before running back into her bedchambers and slamming the door shut.

  Ismena swallowed hard, ignoring the pain shooting through her at the look that had been in the child’s eye upon looking at her. Elisabeth would forgive her. After all, it had been only a mistake.

  A horrible, terrible accident.

  She turned to the guards and forced a smile. “Thank you so much. She is only frightened. I will speak to her later. I will also speak to her nursemaid about this.” The nursemaid would know that Elisabeth had never had her laces tied. She would have to see about sending the woman to another position and bringing in someone else who would take care of Elisabeth.

  The guards bowed and the one who had given her the knife said, “Glad to have been of service, my queen. We boys would give our lives for that little girl.”

  Ismena’s smile remained as the guards left the room, but all the while her thoughts were swirling as she wondered if they would have given their lives for her, their foreign queen. She had kept this kingdom from crumbling during the war, and yet she feared that if given the choice between her and Elisabeth, they would choose the child who had never done anything for them, save for existing.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  Ismena stared blankly at the doll in her hand. She had been spending much more time playing with Elisabeth in an attempt to apologize to the girl. At least her stepdaughter had stopped watching her suspiciously. The scare of last week still weighed heavily on her mind. What had she nearly done?

  Suddenly the door to Elisabeth’s play room burst open. Ismena looked up startled, half wondering if she was still lost in her thoughts as Stephan stepped through, a wide grin on his face.

  “My darling, girls!” he cried, holding his arms out.

  “Papa!” Elisabeth squealed, leaping to her feet. She rushed to him and threw herself into his arms.

  Ismena quickly climbed to her feet realizing that this was not just a vision, Stephan was finally home. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so glad that you are here. I missed you.”

  “Well, I shan’t be leaving again so you will have no more need to miss me.”

  Would he really? Or would he leave her like he always seemed to?

  Ismena forced a smile and pulled back as Stephan rested his hand on the side of her face before turning to Elisabeth.

  He shook his head teasingly. “No, no, no. You couldn’t possibly be my little girl. You are much too big to be my Lizzie!”

  “But I am me!” Elisabeth cried clapping her hands.

  Stephan chuckled and knelt in front of her. “Of course you are. You look just like your mother. I’ll have to beat off the suitors.”

  “It is a pity that the armies of Havenkeep are so depleted, you may need help,” Ismena said, trying to keep her voice light, but wondering if she succeeded. It had not even been minutes since his return, but Dahlia had obviously returned with him.

  Stephan pushed back to his feet and pressed a kiss to Ismena’s forehead. “I still have some men. I think they will be sufficient for now.”

  He stepped away, tousling Elisabeth’s hair. “Now if you will excuse me, I have some things that I still need to take care of. I’ll see you in the morning, my heart.”

  He left without saying another word to Ismena. She released a breath and turned back to Elisabeth to continue their games.

  Later that night, after she had made certain that Elisabeth was tucked safely into her bed, Ismena went in search of Stephan. Surely his first night finally back from the war and he would not spend it in his study.

  She found the door slightly ajar, and Stephan sitting inside, with his face in his arms. She pushed it open and Stephan turned, some of the tension leaving his shoulders when he saw her. “What hour is it?”

  “Late,” she replied offering him a tentative smile.

  He tried to return the smile, but it quickly slipped off his face.

  “What is the matter, darling?” she asked draping her arm over his shoulders.

  Stephan shook his head. “Oh, it is nothing just… the war is over, but it’s left a gaping wound. In the land, in our people, in me. I’m so tired of the bloodshed.”

  Ismena tightened her fingers around him. And she was the one responsible for it. He could never, never know. She would make certain that he never knew.

  He released a breath and shoved a hand through his tousled black hair. “Of course, even with the war ended, this can’t all be over. I’m trying to decide what I should do with Morren’s heir. Obviously I cannot let him roam free, but… he’s just a boy, Ismena. He’s no more than eleven years of age. Phobius, of course thinks he must be executed none the less. He’s probably right, but I can’t stop thinking about how Morren sent him away at the end of the war so that the boy wasn’t there when the capital fell. Obviously he cared about his son, no matter the monster he was, and I can’t help but think if our places had been reversed and if it was Morren who were to have won the war. I couldn’t stomach the thought of him executing Lizzie for nothing more than being my daughter.”

  Ismena’s first thought was to tell Stephan of all that Morren had done. This man had murdered her family, orphaned poor young Eirwen, but the words died on her lips. As much as she could never forgive Morren, she just kept remembering that day she went to brochure the deal with him. The little blonde boy in the courtyard, the fond look in his father’s eyes, and the laughter that was innocent and sweet.

  “What if you did not kill him?” the words were out of her mouth before she could even consider them.

  Stephan half turned in his chair. “But then what could I do? I cannot allow him to roam free. If I did it would only be a matter of time before Mooraven was back under his control.

  Ismena bit down on her lip as she considered this. “Then do not allow him to roam free. Banish him to some other place where he could live out his life.”

  Stephan leaned back into his chair as he considered this. “We couldn’t send him across the seas. It is far, too easy for exiled princes to return bringing an army of mercenaries.”

  “What if we didn’t banish him from Illesya?” Ismena asked, her eyes alighting on the map, buried under several stacks of paper on Stephan’s desk.

  “What do you mean?”

  She leaned forward and brushed the papers away, revealing a patch of woods between Mooraven and Havenkeep. It was probably the only area of the island that wasn’t inhabited. It was the last area the faeries had been before leaving their world, and was filled with more magical creatures than even inhabited Alain. “You could send him there.”

  Stephan balked. “He would die there. He’s just a boy.”

  “It’s better than ordering his execution yourself,” she said. “Besides, perhaps you could send someone else there who could take care of him.

  “I know,” Stephan said, springing to his feet. “There are some dwarfs I have been considering the fate of. They fought for Morren in the Battle of Little Peak, but so many of their kinsmen have already died that I haven’t the heart to kill them. I can send them to the forest as well. Perhaps they c
ould take care of the boy.”

  Ismena nodded, but she was no longer paying any attention to his words. Now that she knew she would no longer have that blonde headed boy’s blood on her hands, she didn’t care at all for his fate.

  He was, after all, still Morren’s son.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  The next morning as she was in her chambers finishing up her breakfast, and contemplating seeking out Stephan to chase away her solitude. Now that he was back, she no longer needed to be alone, above the servants and courtiers, with no one who was her equal whom she could confide in and enjoy the company of. Something she had not had since Roskva’s death. The council meeting that he had left to attend should be ending soon.

  A knock sounded on the door and she looked up in the middle of dabbing her lips as the door opened. She was surprised to see a guard with sandy brown hair step into her room. He could not be any older than she was at three decades, though his tunic was decorated with golden medals showing that he was a well-recognized leading member of their military, more so than many men who were older.

  She wasn’t sure who she had been expecting since Stephan would not knock to the doors of his own chamber, but this guard was certainly not it. Perhaps a servant who had thought that she had already vacated the chambers.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, lowering her napkin. Her eyes darted to the sword hanging at his side and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he was contemplating killing her, but no… her own guards were just outside. They would not have allowed him entry if he did not have a purpose. Besides, if he had come here to kill her, she would just have to kill him first. Ice crackled through her veins.

  The guard bowed. “I am Cillian, a commander in the king’s army. It was there when Mooraven fell and my men were the first to storm the castle.”

  “Yes?” she asked, her brow arching lazily. None of these explained what he was doing here standing before her.