Ismena laughed and pushed him away. “Enough of that. People would think you were a rake rather than a king.”
“I am not a man well known for hiding my heart,” he said with a smile.
Ismena returned it, but her heart felt empty inside. Because the truth was, Stephan wore his heart on his sleeve for anyone to pluck it away and Ismena hid her heart in the deepest and darkest chambers of the Skalvanian mountains. No one had truly seen her heart, not since Roskva, and she knew that no one would ever see it again. Not even Stephan.
Stephan’s gaze grew concerned and she realized that the fractures to her smile had shown. “I’ll be right back, darling,” With those quickly whispered words she turned and left the room. She hurried up to her room and pulled her invisible chest out from behind her vanity. Inside it, she opened up a side compartment where she had stored ingredients that she hadn’t used for fifteen years. The unicorn’s horn and Wyvern’s scales.
Swallowing hard, Ismena quickly crafted the potion without allowing herself to think of what she was doing.
Before she left, she pulled a knife out of her drawer. It was one that Stephan had sent to her during the middle of the war, after an assassin from Mooraven had been caught trying to break into the palace. He had wanted her to be able to defend herself. Instead she would be using this knife to destroy a person in much the same way she destroyed his first wife.
If Stephan knew the monster he had truly married...
Once she was down in the ballroom, she allowed herself to be seen by several people, so that Stephan knew that she was there. It would hardly do to have him come looking for her as she was trying to kill another.
When no one was watching her, she slipped out into the garden. She found Dagmoy near the garden entrance. The girl was flushed. “This is all so exhilarating, sneaking about the palace at night.”
Ismena huffed a laugh. “There is not much to it. Come.”
She pushed on the gate and just as she had expected, the gardener had forgotten to lock it again. The man was getting along in his years and unable to accomplish many of his tasks. Of course it was not so difficult for him now that there were no plants to tend, but she still thought that they needed someone younger to keep the grounds. Stephan of course was far too soft hearted to replace someone who could no longer accomplish their tasks.
It was why he needed a hard woman like her as his queen.
She was able to do what she needed to do. No matter how unpleasant the task.
She led Dagmoy out along the west end of the city. Everyone would be in the main square celebrating tonight. They didn’t see a soul before they slipped out of the city and into the surrounding forest.
“What are we doing out here?” Dagmoy asked, the excitement evident in her voice.
“I am going to teach you to make a healing potion.”
Dagmoy’s face fell, but Ismena ignored it. She pulled the switching potion from her cloak and held it out. “Here is one that I made. You taste it, it is always important that a sorceress knows the correct taste of the potion she is concocting because if any one ingredient is off then she will know.”
Dagmoy didn’t even hesitate as she reached for the flask. She tipped it over and Ismena quickly grasped it and pulled it away. “Do not drink all it or else we will have to make a new potion.”
Dagmoy wiped at her mouth where some of the potion had spilled over, staining her lips silver. “When are you going to start teaching me the difficult potions? The more interesting ones? I don’t want to return to my village as a healer, but as a...”
“Assassin?” Ismena asked, pulling the dagger out of her sleeve, she held it behind her back.
Dagmoy turned to her, her eyes sparkling in the dark of the night. “Precisely.”
Ismena pursed her lips. “That is not a common nor honorable trade for a sorceress.”
“It is now. Things have changed in the war, my queen,” the way Dagmoy addressed her, made it seem like more of an insult. “There is now just as much of a need for assassins as there is for healers. You would know that if you ever bothered to visit your old land.”
Ismena swallowed as guilt pierced through her. Alain… her home. She had not visited it in fourteen years. Not even to step one foot in it. Her thoughts turned to Eirwen, the girl she swore that she would visit, but never had.
She had written the girl letters, of course, sent her an alchemical kit as well as her favorite tome on sorcery when Eirwen turned thirteen. She’d written to one of the best sorceresses in Alain to teach her. But she had not been able to visit.
Ismena drew a shuddering breath. Dagmoy was still speaking about the market for assassins, but Ismena had heard enough. She tightened her grip on the dagger and stepped up next to her.
Dagmoy glanced at her, her mouth opening in question, but before she could say anything, Ismena swung her arm around, burying the dagger in her stomach.
Dagmoy stumbled back, clawing at the dagger now protruding from her stomach. She hit a tree and slid down it making surprised gasping noises. “Wh-why?” she gurgled.
Ismena averted her eyes as she raised the potion to her lips and downed the contents. As soon as she had swallowed the liquid raced down her throat, numbing it. Was screaming with such an agony that it made Ismena wonder what it was that she and Dahlia felt as she took everything from them. Ripped their very essence from their dying bodies. Then her vision blurred and she collapsed to her knees. By the time that she regained her vision, Dagmoy was nothing more than a withered old woman with a shock of white hair on her head.
She stared at her in horror wondering why that had never happened to Dahlia. But then, Dahlia had been an immortal trapped in a mortal’s body. What if she had not been capable of aging? When she died, she had both beauty and youth to spare.
Dagmoy had nothing now.
Ismena swallowed against her bile as she stepped toward the girl who was once younger than her, but was now nothing more than a rotting husk, and yanked the dagger from her stomach. Blood covered it, all the way up to the handle.
She stumbled back, staring at the blood coating her hands. What had she done? It was one thing to kill an ice nymph and steal her beauty and magic, but Dagmoy had not been an ice nymph. She had been one of Ismena’s own, a sorceress. A citizen to her kingdom.
She had done what no sorceress had even dared to do in centuries. She had broken every sacred law, even more so than she had with Dahlia because she had told herself that she would never use the potion against her own. But her promises meant nothing and now she had stolen everything from Dagmoy.
She wanted to grip her hair, but her hands were still bloodied. She stepped to the stream and knelt to a portion where the ice was not clinging to the bank. Then she plunged her hands into the frigid water and washed the blood away. Then she washed her knife.
When that was all finished, she reached into her cloak with her numb hands and pulled out her Nytheran Mirror. Her gaze flitted over her features, but she could not find a flaw,
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Ismena released a breath as she stepped back into the stuffy ballroom. It was done. Dagmoy’s body would be devoured by wolves, or a wood cutter would come across it on his way to work. But no one would ever know what had become of the young sorceress from Alain. Nor would they know who the unidentified old woman found dead in the woods was.
No one save for Ismena, at least.
“Where were you?”
Ismena startled and turned at the harsh accusing tone, not at all surprised to see her stepdaughter standing there. She did not understand why, but Elisabeth had begun growing openly hostile toward her this past year causing a strain on their relationship.
“I was getting a breath of fresh air, why are you looking at me in such a manner? You act like I am up to something nefarious.”
“Are you?”
Ismena laughed, all the while her mind raced as she tried to figure out how the girl could know of Dagmoy. “Why w
ould you even suggest that?”
“I saw you, last year I saw you in the courtyard and you were controlling the snow.” Elisabeth’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have control over the winter elements just as I do. You are the one who created the winter. All these years I thought it was me, you let everyone think it was me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ismena said with a scoff. “If I controlled the winter, wouldn’t I have ended it by now? You know how much it has affected our people.”
“I don’t know,” Elisabeth said, doubt flickering in her eyes. Ismena suppressed her triumphant smile, but felt her triumph dissipate as Elisabeth continued talking. “I think I know you, and then you do something that proves that I truly do not. I know about the comb, Mother.”
Ismena inhaled sharply and glanced away.
“I know that Hannah stole it and then she disappeared. You were trying to kill me weren’t you? And if you’re willing to kill me, your own daughter, there’s no knowing what else you are capable of. Including creating this eternal winter and placing the blame on me!”
“You have quite an overactive imagination, girl,” Ismena said with a forced laugh.
“I’m not imagining things!” Elisabeth cried. “You’re a monster!”
Ismena stumbled back a step, Elisabeth’s words landing like a physical blow. “You don’t know anything about me,” she seethed as soon as she had regained control of her surprise. Except, in this one respect her stepdaughter was right.
She was a monster.
“I am inclined to agree,” Elisabeth spat back.
“What is going on here?”
They both startled and turned to see Stephan standing there.
“You two aren’t arguing are you?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips. He already knew the answer. It seemed that Elisabeth and Ismena argued about so many things these days, Ismena finally knew why. Because the girl had been harboring mistrust and resentment toward her.
Now that she knew the true reason, Ismena’s heart began beating in her chest in such a hard manner. She waited for Elisabeth to expose her.
Elisabeth shot Ismena a guilty look and bit down on her lip. Probably thinking of how ridiculous her accusations sounded. Ismena breathed a sigh of relief when the girl did not speak up. The last thing she needed was for Stephan to begin suspecting her. Especially when Dagmoy would turn up missing as early as tomorrow.
“It’s nothing, just a little misunderstanding,” Ismena said glancing at Elisabeth who had averted her eyes.
Stephan sighed heavily. “I love you both more than my own life. You know how it pains me to see you quarreling. Please, not tonight of all nights. It is a festive occasion.”
Ismena forced a smile which she turned to Elisabeth. The girl offered her a tentative smile in return, but doubt still clouded her eyes.
“Now, Elisabeth,” Stephan continued. “I promised everyone that they would hear you sing tonight.”
Elisabeth’s confusion quickly morphed to horror. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly...”
“It’s too late for that false modesty now. I know that you can sing well enough. The servants have already set up the platform for you to sing on.”
Ismena looked at Elisabeth who’s fair complexion was beginning to resemble green. She turned back to Stephan. “You go take you seat, I’ll join you in a second
Stephan looked warily between them before nodding. “Very well, but no more arguing.” With another glance between the two of them, he turned and left.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, stepping up to Elisabeth and reaching up to stroke at the soft hair on her temple.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to sing up there in front of… Mother, there are so many people in this room.”
Ismena grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You have a lovely voice, Elisabeth, just keep everything I taught you about singing in mind and you will be fine. If you think that you are becoming overwhelmed, look to the thrones where your father and I will be sitting and pretend that you are singing to us alone. You have done that plenty of times.”
Elisabeth smiled at her. “You think I’m ready though?”
“I know that you are ready. And I should know, I have quite a love for singing.”
Elisabeth’s smile fell slightly. “Mother… I apologize. It was wrong of me to accuse you of such things.”
Ismena placed a hand on her cheek smiling down at her kindly even though she felt empty. Because every one of those accusations were true. “There is nothing to forgive. Now go on, enjoy your night, Snowflake.”
Elisabeth smiled and wrapped Ismena in a quick hug. She closed her eyes and wished to hold onto her a little longer, a horrible feeling washing over her that this was the last time she would hug Elisabeth. But that was ridiculous. Still, she did not wish to let go, but then the girl was pulling away and hurrying to the platform.
Ismena sighed and strode across the room to the throne where Stephan was already waiting.
He smiled. “Is everything right now?”
“Yes,” she lied. Because nothing had ever been right, nor did she know how it ever would be again.
He looked her over more closely and frowned. Ismena froze. Had blood splashed onto her dress?
However instead of standing up and accusing her of murder, he simply asked, “What of your ribbons?”
“I decided that the dress looked better without them,” she replied stiffly as relief coursed through her.
Stephan laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You certainly make my life more interesting, woman.”
“Oh hush.” Ismena said as Elisabeth stepped up onto the platform. She began to sing and a stillness crept over the crowd as she enchanted them with a ballad of the doomed lovers Sigmund and Brunhilde. How they had loved each other more than life itself, but then Sigmund had been tricked into drinking a love potion from a sorceress that forced him to marry her. The ballad goes on to detail Brunhilde’s actions to regain Sigmund’s love leading to the death of all three, but finally when they reached the Otherworld, Sigmund and Brunhilde were able to be reunited.
It was a song that Ismena had taught her and she smiled at the peace offering. Or perhaps since it was one of the first songs that Elisabeth had learned, it was one that they were the most comfortable with.
She smiled, as she leaned back listening to the tale. Elisabeth’s voice was hauntingly sweet making the story seem even more tragic.
“Do you see the way Gerald Belton is looking at her?” Stephan asked, as the song ended and the applause began.
Ismena startled and looked over at Stephan. “No, why?”
“No reason,” Stephan said with a smile. “Except that I would not be surprised if she would be engaged by her next birthday.”
“She is fifteen,” Ismena said in defense.
“Didn’t your sister wed at sixteen? Just because we wed older does not mean that Elisabeth will as well.”
Yes, and her sister had led a short and tragic life. Stephan and Ismena had experienced their hardships, but they had also both survived into their fourth decade and after fifteen years of marriage, she would say that they had more than their fair share of joy as well.
“But Gerald Belton?” she said rolling her eyes, instead of speaking of the dark turn of her thoughts.
Stephan shook his head. “I don’t understand why you detest the Belton’s so.”
She shook her head but instead of answering she rose. “Come, shouldn’t we congratulate our daughter on her performance?”
Stephan sprang to his feet with a grin and they made their way to where Elisabeth was standing at the foot of the platform surrounded by a crowd of people. Ismena noted that most of them were young men and at the front was Gerald Belton. How far they had come from the boys who had mocked her as a child.
Elisabeth smiled when she saw them, clasping Ismena’s hand. “How did I do?”
“Wonderful,” Ismena said with a smile, kissing her ch
eek.
Stephan grinned at her. “You were wonderful, my heart, your mother would have been so proud.” He rested a hand on the side of her face. “You reminded me of her so much while you were up there.”
Elisabeth beamed as if his words were the greatest praise in the world.
Neither one of them noticed the smile that slid from Ismena’s face.
Elisabeth had reminded him of Dahlia? It was Ismena who was known for her singing voice, it was Ismena who had taught Elisabeth to sing, it was Ismena who stood there now.
Not Dahlia.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Stephan was still humming the tune of the tragedy of Sigmund and Brunhilde even after they had retired to their rooms.
Ismena grit her teeth despite the fact that it did not help her pounding headache.
“Now, was that ball really so bad?” he asked as he untied the front of his tunic.
Ismena didn’t reply she sat down heavily on the bed. Stephan glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I must say, it seems to have done you good. You were looking tired before, but now you look like you’ve gone back at least five years.” He turned back to the mirror and ran a hand through his white streaked black hair. “You must tell me your secret.”
He chuckled at his own words, not realizing that there was nothing humor filled about the secret of her youth. It was bloody and dark, and unholy. It was the fruits of her wicked actions.
He turned when she didn’t reply and sat down next to her, gently placing his hand against her cheek as if to check for a temperature. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t dare. So much swirled inside her and if she opened her mouth it would break out. Things that could never be spoken would be. She could never go back to her comfortable existence after that. Not after everything that she had done had come to light.
“Ismena? Daylight, what is the matter? Do you need me to get you the doctor?”
His old nickname for her, slipping through as it had sometimes done so during their wedding finally broke away the last shard of her heart.
A Winter Grim and Lonely Page 11