Of Ice and Shadows

by Audrey Coulthurst

  “No,” she said. “It was a gift.”

  “What do you want to hear?” I asked. The fact that she didn’t play meant I could probably get away with playing something that wasn’t too basic, but I was fearful of giving away how much I knew of the instrument. I’d spent hours in daily lessons from the time I was big enough to reach the strings on a smaller harp as part of my royal education. It wasn’t a maidservant’s instrument.

  “Something simple,” she said. “Something that you can play without thinking about it too much.”

  I nodded, relieved. That was easy enough. Slowly, I began to play a lullaby—one of the very first songs I had learned. I kept the first verse very simple but began to ornament the melody the second time through. The instrument was powerful and resonant, and I wished for a room several times larger to take true advantage of it.

  “Don’t stop playing,” the queen said, “but I want you open yourself to your magic right now. Imagine that you can See the music with your Sight. Look around you as though you’re reading an audience, but keep your attention on your playing.”

  I did as she asked, relaxing my gaze and letting my fingers find the strings by memory. The sensation was entirely familiar and comforting, and my mind quieted as my focus narrowed to the music. All around me, objects took on a luminous sheen that grew into a brilliant glow. The queen was most radiant of all, haloed in blinding red light. My hands faltered on the strings.

  “Don’t stop.” The queen smiled, her expression so warm and encouraging that it looked foreign on her face.

  I slowly adjusted my focus a little more back to the music and kept playing, not wanting to lose my sudden ability to See. On top of the mantel, a sword hung, and it burned with a fire I sensed I could touch if I wanted to. A shining orb of silver metal sitting on one of the bookshelves also glowed with a different kind of energy, one that wasn’t familiar but felt a little bit like Eryk’s, who I’d learned had an Affinity for spirit. Excitement hummed through me. Finally, I felt like a fundamental piece I needed to master my magic was falling into place.

  When the lullaby came to a close and I let the last notes resonate in the study, my Sight faded away. Seeing the world with ordinary eyes seemed dull in comparison.

  “See, it’s not so hard if you approach it correctly,” the queen said.

  “But how did that happen?” I asked, still awestruck.

  “Most of the time you’re trying too hard. Magic is all around us, in every living thing, in all enchanted objects. You have to look beyond the ordinary to see it, but it’s not so much activating Sight you don’t have as it is using the sight you do have differently.”

  I tilted my head, unsure of her explanation.

  “Try looking at me.”

  I obeyed her.

  “Now look through me. Not with intent, just casually, like you’re more interested in the space around me. Now listen to your breath, and imagine that you are on a stage, about to play. The world is your audience, silent and waiting. Think about the notes you just played, and imagine how they felt, how they resonated, in this room.” When she wasn’t leveling fireballs at me, her voice was actually quite soothing.

  I had to stop my fingers from reflexively reaching for the strings in front of me. Calm slowly made my breathing deepen. It was surprisingly easy to listen to the world in this way.

  “Now, shut your eyes and inhale deeply. At my command you’ll open them again. You will do so slowly. But I do not want you to look at anything in this room. Look in my direction, but look through me, not at me. Be aware of all, and let all be aware of you.”

  She gave me several more breaths, after which I felt as though there was a strange hum in my head. Nothing irritating, but simply a presence in the back of my mind that I hadn’t noticed before. Magic tingled in my arms and hands, the same familiar sensation I’d felt since childhood.

  “Open your eyes slowly,” she said.

  I obeyed, letting my eyes open in the sluggish way that they did as I woke from sleep. The world came into semi-focus as a blinding riot of colors glowed and swirled and moved before my eyes.

  “I can See,” I said, then exhaled a deep sigh of relief and let the Sight slip away. For the first time, I believed I could do this. Now I knew what I was looking for.

  “So now you must practice,” she said. “Practice until the Sight is second nature, until it’s always around you and visible at the strength of your choosing. Play your instrument until you See clearly. Then practice without it until it comes just as easily.”

  “Of course, yes, I will,” I said. Maybe I could get better—it seemed as though hope finally existed.

  “I’ll have the harp sent to your rooms,” she said. “You’ll find more use for it than I do.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” I felt strangely touched, like someone wanted to see me succeed instead of fail and was giving me one of the tools I needed most.

  “Do you have any further questions?” she asked.

  I could sense the dismissal coming, but there were still things bothering me that raised questions only she could answer.

  “About Tilium,” I said. “One of the cult members was a boy I recognized as having been abducted from Duvey. I heard that young magic users are disappearing in the south, and at first I thought the Sonnenbornes were to blame. But then he turned up in Sigvar’s hands and it didn’t make any sense.”

  “Yes, the disappearances are a very high priority at the Winter Court,” the queen said, her voice grim. “But I sent Laurenna and Zhari a message after we dealt with Tilium. They’ve been made aware of Sigvar and are actively searching for others like him.”

  “But how did the boy get from Sonnenborne hands into Sigvar’s?” I asked. That was the component that puzzled me most.

  “It’s impossible to say. Sigvar was quite thorough with his mind magic. None of the cultists had memories of the weeks leading up to being absorbed into the cult.”

  “That’s frustrating,” I said, disappointed that she didn’t have more information.

  “It is. But having stopped him, we’ve armed Laurenna and Zhari with the information they need to make sure others like him are caught and punished more quickly.”

  I left her study somewhat reassured, but other worries descended again as soon as I returned to my rooms and had time to think. I ached to talk to Mare, to share my worries about protecting myself and my identity in Corovja. Somehow I’d expected my training to be more scholarly in nature—not a frightening series of battles leading up to a competition that would determine my apprenticeship. If Mare had come with me and it had been a choice we’d made together, maybe there would have been at least one thing in my life that felt like solid ground to stand on.

  I paced in front of the windows both from restlessness and to stay warm. Someone had built a small fire in my fireplace while I was at training that morning, but it had burned down to a few glowing coals. It would have been so simple to reach out and turn the coals to flame, but I didn’t dare. Even thinking about it sent a shiver of fear through me. My magic was so volatile that I was afraid to use it again today. Besides, it was becoming clear that I would need every last bit of it to protect myself.

  FIFTEEN

  Amaranthine

  EVERY MORNING IT TOOK A FEW MINUTES OF WAKEFULNESS to remember that Denna was gone. I hadn’t allowed the court to assign me another maidservant, so I always woke alone to the sounds of the merchants’ hall: footsteps up and down the hallway, the muffled conversations of other residents as they departed for early breakfasts or business meetings, and the clatter of wood being delivered outside my door. In those sleep-fogged moments, it felt and sounded like the world was going on without me, especially as Denna’s absence reasserted itself. In many ways it was. My incremental progress as an ambassador was surely nothing compared to what Denna was experiencing in Corovja. A whole new magical life was opening up to her, while my existence felt like it was closing in on me.

  Other than the oc
casional morning spent at the stables teaching Fadeyka to ride, I trained with the sword until I was so sore I could barely move by dinner each evening. The intensity of training provided a welcome distraction from missing Denna, and also allowed me to keep an eye on Alek. I most frequently sparred with Kerrick, one of the few trainees junior enough to fight me without being bored out of his skull. Every day I made it my goal to challenge him enough to wipe the ever-present smirk off his face, which wasn’t easy since he fought dirty and used his short, wiry stature to dodge me with grace. Regardless, it was nice to be in company that didn’t treat me like a princess or a leper—just an opponent. The salle was a simple place, and I liked that.

  “Want to come have a dram before dinner?” Kerrick asked as we wiped down our swords. “A few of us are going to Morwen’s.”

  I weighed the invitation against stalking Alek the rest of the evening, which was what I usually did after training—not that it had led to much. The man led a life as dull as his blade was sharp. After training he usually went to an early dinner, sometimes met up with other fighter types, and then retired to his chambers. The few times I’d followed him out of the Winter Court and into the city, it turned out he was going to buy scrap leather for armor repair or to get his blades sharpened.

  I watched as Alek stepped back from correcting the stance of one of the more advanced trainees. The woman executed her pattern with such swiftness and grace that I could barely see her blade. I sighed. As hard as I was trying, it would take me years to get that good. And I didn’t want to imagine the horror of still being in this hellsmouth years from now.

  “A dram sounds good,” I said, hoping I could get more insight about Alek from the other soldiers. Even though I wanted to retreat to my room and my brooding thoughts, there was more I could learn from the fighters.

  Four of us left the salle together, with Kerrick in the lead. Shazi was one of the other fighters who’d joined us, and who I’d since learned could reliably take down opponents in a few quick blows. Kerrick also introduced me to Harian, a tall man with wide shoulders who fought with a broadsword so big I doubted I’d be able to lift it. In spite of his imposing size, he had a sweet and innocent demeanor I couldn’t help but find charming. Seeing him and Kerrick walk together was like watching a stoat trot to keep up with a gigantic hunting dog.

  “So what’s with this intense training?” Kerrick asked me. “You’re later to this game than I am, and I can tell you from experience that overworking yourself won’t help you catch up.”

  “Why were you late to it?” I asked, ignoring his question.

  “My father expected me to take up the family business providing loans to merchants,” Kerrick said. “I always wanted to be a fighter, though. Never had the head for figures. Took him till last year to stop trying to make me into something I’m not.”

  “I never did what my father wanted, either,” I said. If he’d had his way, I would have been a proper princess like Denna, stepping in to help run the castle’s administrative and social functions until I was properly married off to someone of suitable nobility. I’d rather have eaten my saddle. Still, I felt some guilt now for going against him. He was dead, and there would never be an opportunity to prove to him that I could do something of value for the kingdom.

  “Nice that the streets are still clear,” Shazi said from behind me.

  “Sure, Shazi. Nice if you aren’t worried about the land,” Harian said. “Without more snowfall, irrigation is going to be a problem in Nobrosk next spring. My parents’ crop was poor last year.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” Shazi admitted. “I’m sorry. Maybe the queen will send some weather workers to help if things continue on this way.”

  As it turned out, we didn’t have to go far. Morwen’s, the drinking house the fighters favored, was just a few streets outside the residential district alongside the court. Shazi held the door, and we entered a room filled with a mix of round and trestle tables with stools. A musician tuned his lap harp in the corner as we found somewhere to sit in the back. I’d barely taken my seat when something brushed against my legs and made me jump.

  I peered under the table to see a large tabby cat making the rounds amongst everyone’s legs.

  “Is there supposed to be a cat in here?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” Harian said. “Morwen’s always has cats.” He glanced under the table and started talking in a baby voice. “Who’s under our table? Sir Basil, is that you?”

  I covered my mouth to hide a laugh.

  Kerrick raised his arm to flag down a server, who quickly returned with a round of small glasses filled with clear liquid that looked like water and smelled like it could easily catch fire.

  “To the health of the queen.” Kerrick raised his glass in a toast. The others followed suit, and I copied them, trying not to think too hard as I swallowed the liquid. It burned its way down my throat in a trail of fire that tasted like the compounds I used to polish the metal fittings on my tack. I was still choking on it when the server came around for our next order.

  “Does this place have any ale?” I asked the server, my eyes still watering.

  She looked at me as though I’d asked her to take off her skirt without so much as buying her a drink first.

  “Do you like barleywine?” Kerrick interjected.

  “Does it taste like that?” I pointed to my empty glass.

  He smiled. “No.”

  “Then yes, I do,” I said. In spite of its foulness, the drink had sent warmth spreading through my body far more swiftly than ale could have. It would probably be the bottom-ranked beverage in the Havemont distillers’ competition, but it did the job. Thinking of Denna and her homeland abruptly crushed me with sadness. Barely a moon ago I’d been dreaming of tasting spirits with her, so confident that nothing could ever separate us. How wrong I’d been.

  The server hurried off to fetch our next round.

  “Mare, you’re from Mynaria, right?” Shazi asked, her pale blue eyes curious.

  I nodded.

  “Shouldn’t you be spending your evening with the court?” Shazi retwisted her dark brown hair into its knot at the nape of her neck.

  “Well, my first night at a court party, I got challenged to a duel by one of the queen’s elite trainees.” I launched into the explanation, playing it for laughs instead of the humiliation it had really been. If I didn’t laugh at myself, I’d have to face all the ways in which I was failing as an ambassador. I hadn’t been able to make myself go to the few court functions I’d been invited to attend, and I hadn’t made a single ally among the nobility.

  “No wonder you ended up here with all the riffraff,” Kerrick said, chuckling as he sipped from his next drink. It was a deep caramel color, but the smell of it was still enough to singe my nostrils.

  “At least we’ll probably all be eligible for better posts after having trained with Alek,” Harian said.

  “Why is that?” I asked. “Indulge the stupid Mynarian.” I wanted to know why they all regarded him so worshipfully. He was a good instructor, sure, but it had to be more than that.

  “He was such a hero in my childhood. The tales we used to hear . . . ,” Harian said, his voice growing wistful.

  “A hero?” I looked at him like he’d shit a bird into his hand. Though it wasn’t the first time I’d heard the word applied to Alek, I didn’t understand. Alek was an accomplished swordsman and obviously had some powerful magic on his side, but he didn’t strike me as the heroic type. More the sort to let you fall on your own sword and then tell your dead body how to do it differently afterward.

  “Definitely in the south,” Shazi said. “We had songs about him. My mother taught me one when I was a child.” She hummed a few bars of what sounded like a drinking song. “And my father fought alongside him in the Battle of Eusavka River.”

  I tensed. “You mean the Sawmill Massacre.” That had been a battle on the Mynarian border that killed hundreds of our people. Before I was born, my father
had wanted to build a sawmill on the Eusavka at the border of Mynaria and Zumorda. He’d sent a group of craftsmen to begin construction, but just a few days after they’d broken ground, all but a handful were murdered in their tents as they slept.

  “Is that what they call it in Mynaria?” Kerrick asked, his tone curious.

  “It wasn’t a massacre,” Shazi interjected. “The Mynarians shouldn’t have been there in the first place. If they’d been able to build their sawmill on the Eusavka and dammed the river the way they wanted to, it would have cut off most of the water my village relies on for irrigation. Our valley is one of the most fertile areas in Zumorda, with a much longer growing season than the north. The kingdom relies on us.”

  “Leading a group of warriors over the river and murdering our people in their camp while they slept fits the definition of a massacre,” I said, doing my best to keep calm. The innocent craftsmen assigned to the project hadn’t deserved death for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “It was a last resort,” Shazi said. “Mynaria didn’t seek permission to build the sawmill. They’d already begun construction when our soldiers came to ask them to stop. They weren’t receptive to negotiations—I know, because my father was the one tasked with that.”

  “After the Mynarians refused to draw up an agreement or desist with their building, King Aturnicus sent horse archers to shoot at our soldiers from across the river,” Harian said. “There was no other way to stop them.”

  “So Alek used his gift to help his fighters cross the river,” Kerrick said.

  That part of the story at least seemed to be consistent with the stories as I’d heard them in Mynaria. “The Mynarian survivors believed that the water god had turned against them,” I said. If Alek was the kind of person who would wipe out nearly an entire camp of innocent workers, maybe Laurenna was right to hate him.

  Harian laughed. “Sounds like Mynarians.”

  “We aren’t all fools,” I said, defensively.

  “Of course not,” Harian said. “You’re here now, taking ownership of your own fate. Those are Zumordan sensibilities through and through.”