A Heart of Ice

by Phoenix Briar

  I do not speak for a long moment until Dena turns her head to meet my gaze, closing the window and sighing softly. She goes to the bed to gather my dress in her hands and unlace the brocade. “Gabriel was not especially close to her…but he loved her…and it was painful for him when she died.” She looks to me once more and asks me, “What was it like for you when your Dai’lyn died?”

  A sigh rushes out from my chest, and I look back to the fire, losing myself to its enchanting dance. “I was almost sixteen years old…my brother…Sage…was the one to bring me the news…it was in the middle of the night…and I was working on a new dance to perform at the mid-year festival.” Pain grips my heart, and I close my eyes. “Jay’let, my Dai’lyn, bought me a new dress to dance in for the festival…since I would be performing…I always wore it when I practiced, because it felt like he was holding me.”

  I open my eyes half way and stare lifelessly into the flames. “I do not think that I have ever cried so much…I did not eat for days, and it took nearly a year to get me out of my room.” It had been so long since I had thought of his death, since I had allowed myself to surrender to the emotions that still linger there. “Sage became my everything. Our mother died when I was a child, and my father belonged to the military. Sage adopted me into his home with his Dai’lyn and three little girls…almost eleven years ago…the Levosa were hosting a banquet, and I was requested as an honored guest to perform…while I was gone, plague struck the castle…my brother’s wife and daughters were killed…and then I became his everything.”

  For a moment, I say nothing, looking into the fire again. “We had nothing…no one but each other…for years…we were all the other had. We were everything to each other. We were never apart. I enlisted as an archer in the military when he became a Knight Protector…and I never danced with another again.”

  My eyes go back to her, burning with fire and hatred. “Claque murdered my brother. He slit his throat. I watched him die. And when he died, his sister—the archer, the dancer, the woman—died with him, and I became him. I sold my soul to become what I needed to be to survive, to have my revenge. I will make this war stop.”

  Dena sighs and looks down at the dress. “Come, Scarlet…your hair is brushed. Dress and we will go to the dining hall and find something to eat.”

  I obey quietly, leaving my hair down and pulling it over one shoulder. Dena helps me into the warm dress, then fits the brocade around me and ties it securely. She is courteous not to lace it too tight. I feel like swooning enough as it is without that contraption suffocating me.

  She smiles at me when she is finished and steps around me to look me over before nodding with approval and saying, “I did not ever think that an Inferno could be lovely, but you are a beautiful creature, Scarlet.” What a silly girl she is. How long has it been since I have seen myself as a woman and not a soldier? I pull on a pair of fur-lined boots, and we leave my room.

  I left my room only once before, to go to Gabriel when he had commanded of me that first day that I had woken. Aside from that small trip, I have seen nothing else of the Crystalice palace, and I find myself eager to explore. I am sore, and so Dena is mindful not to move too fast, but I do not complain as we walk out into the halls. The floor is a white and black marble; the walls are fogged crystal. Some of the windows are left open, and the view is beautiful: snow-topped trees in the distance, and a lake to the east with a surface like frosted glass. I stare and gasp in awe and wonder. It is such an odd place compared to my beautiful Inferno, lit ablaze with the eager flames, but it certainly has an appeal all its own.

  Dena smiles at me, patiently waiting every time I want to pause and stare out of the window, particularly in the west wing where a faint line of red appears on the horizon, a sign of the Inferno. For the first time since I arrived, I feel loneliness grip my heart, and I look longingly out at the horizon. I sigh softly and allow Dena to lead me down three flights of stairs—the first a spiral staircase, the second off to the side, and the third, a grand staircase that places us on the second floor of the landing right above the second grand staircase which leads to the main floor.

  Servants bustle about, and it is hard to go far without being noticed. Most of the Cerulean wear colors of purple and blue and green. There are a few browns or whites, and a wide variety of hues, but nothing like the orange-red velvet gown that I wear. Dena gives a quiet smile beside me, modestly dressed in a pale blue.

  We speak quietly of many things: the servants, the rooms, the history of the palace, and I listen with child-like interest, absorbing all of the information. I enjoy my time with her, reaching the dining hall where various lords and ladies sit around, eating a small snack. Some of the men are talking and discussing the changes in the market. A few people are scattered about, reading one book or another. A group of ladies sit around one of the largest windows I have ever seen—especially considering that the Den has few glass windows—talking and laughing quietly, each working on various crafts.

  One of the young women looks over at us and gasps softly, her eyes wide with interest. She quickly turns back to the others and calls for their attention as well, and soon, all of them notice Dena and I. Thankfully, few others in the room are paying them attention, and I blush, staring at them oddly. Their behavior is so…peculiar.

  Dena chuckles softly and murmurs, “Do not be afraid, Scarlet. They are harmless.” She smiles and heads toward the group, leaving me little choice but to follow. Some of the women go stone-faced, practically glaring. Others seem only curious, and some even mildly excited, particularly the younger women. There are six of them, two of whom look to be around Dena’s age, and the rest all seem to be around my age, only one of them notably older than myself.

  “Ladies,” Dena says softly when we come within a quiet speaking distance, claiming their attention, “This is the Lady Scarlet.”

  Dena then turns to me and names the women one by one: the two younger ones, Kella and Mairlayn; the three who seem around my age, Korintha, Adiea, and Welan; the eldest one, Julein. “Eh…a pleasure,” I manage, curtsying and managing a polite smile.

  Kella, Mairlayn, and Adiea giggle and smile gently. Adiea grins broadly and says, “Welcome to our home, Scarlet. We are all ladies-in-waiting to the two princesses. Julein is the only exception. She was lady-in-waiting to Princess Catherine Jan’tel who is gone from us now, Chelyah keep her.” The other girls all murmur solemn approvals.

  I glance to Julein, and find that the woman looks less than pleased at my appearance. She narrows her eyes and does not even bother to smile, instead cocking a brow at me somewhat arrogantly.

  Looking back to the others, I smile faintly and answer, “Thank you, Adiea…you are the first people that I have officially met, aside from Heather, since I have arrived. It is…pleasant to have your company.”

  “You as well,” Kella replies gently, smiling.

  “Cara!” a shrill voice calls, ringing with delight and startling the entire room. I swing around just as a small, pale-haired creature attacks my legs, burying his face against them. Laughing, I pry the young prince off of me and up into my arms. The pain of doing so nearly sends me to my knees. I suck in a breath and brace myself. My shoulder screams and my leg aches. I tremble a bit but hold him tightly. “Cara! Cara!” he cries, “You’re up! You’re up!”

  I coo at the young boy and cuddle him close to my chest, smiling at him, his little body freezing cold but a true delight to hold again. “I have missed you as well, Enté.” And where the little prince is…his father is never far behind. Sure enough, when I look up from the child, Gabriel stands in the doorway, watching me quietly with a stone-frozen expression hardened and cold. Come to find, the rest of the large dining hall is now watching me as well, now all noticing that the enemy is within their midst, a bright red beacon against an alabaster background.

  “Enté,” Gabriel calls, his voice a low but gentle thrum, “your manners, child.”

  The boy looks sheepish, and I smile gentl
y, setting him down; it is just as well, for I am in a small form of agony after swooping him up and holding him. I breathe much easier with the weight relieved from me. And then I notice the man beside Gabriel. Tall, lithe. His eyes are impossibly cruel and cold, his mouth in a grim line. Claque. I go absolutely still, not even breathing.

  “Beloved,” Dena coos affectionately, taking a few steps toward him and taking his hand in a fairly intimate gesture among Crystalice, then adding to the audacity by going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. The man looks to her with a gentle smile and a loving expression, and although he does not return her affections, he laces his fingers with hers and allows her to hold his hand.

  The young lady then looks to me, and suddenly seems very nervous, not as when she first introduced the young ladies, but hesitant, almost fearful. Finally, she sighs and looks me in the eyes, saying softly, “Scarlet…this is my Teir…Claque.”

  My breath leaves me in a great rush, and I sway uneasily for a moment, trying to find my stability. Claque turns his eyes on me—careful, guarded, trying to read my expression. When I finally gather my wits, my eyes lock on him with horror and rage. “You?” I hiss, balling my hands into fists. I watch Gabriel shift, spreading his legs further out to move into a defensive motion. “You are the man who murdered my brother! How could you have been the one! My brother was strong and well-trained! You are nothing more than a scrawny archer at best!”

  Claque watches me passively while Dena seems increasingly distressed, glancing from him to me. “Your brother was blinded by his anger, as are you. His movements were sloppy and poorly planned.” He shrugs passively.

  A sharp yowl explodes from my throat, and I lunge, but Gabriel is prepared, and he slams his body into mine, taking us to the ground. The women gasp or yelp, jumping up from their seats and out of the way. We hit the ground hard, Gabriel and I, and the breath is forced out of my lungs as Gabriel pins me despite my struggles. When I jerk up, he slams me back down, driving the breath from me. My crimson hair spills out on the floor, my chest rising and falling dramatically with my breaths, golden eyes on Gabriel.

  “He killed my brother, Gabriel!” I cry, screaming and trying to throw him off.

  When fur begins to ripple over my skin, Gabriel bends his head to my neck and shouts, “Go ahead, Cara! Shift! I will tear your throat out where you lay!”

  I struggle a moment longer but do not Shift. “He killed him!” I scream, fighting against him, but I have lost my fire, and Gabriel knows it. He relaxes his harsh hold on my wrists, bracing his hands by my head instead and watching me with anxious eyes. Tears pour down the sides of my face as heavy sobs rip through my body, and I push and pound my fists against his chest. He does not even seem to notice, my efforts growing weaker and weaker until I am simply left gripping his shirt. I tilt my head back and sob, letting out a terrible shriek. “He killed my brother…” I moan in agony, and I feel Gabriel stir, angling his body closer to mine, blocking the sight of my face from the rest of the room.

  “And you killed mine…” he whispers, a solemn reminder. I can speak no more, and Gabriel braces himself carefully, angling into me so that I clutch his shirt and hide my face against it, crying and gasping for breath while my body trembles and shakes. After a while, my energy is spent, and I fall lax against the floor, breathing shakily as tears roll from the corners of my eyes, wearily looking up at the ice-prince above me.

  Gabriel sighs, watching me without expression. “You have exhausted yourself, Cara. You need to go rest again.”

  “I do not want to rest,” I mutter stubbornly, trying to glare at him and resist him when he sits up on his knees and pulls me into his arms. He is cold, but not freezing, surprisingly, and he gathers me and the thick layers of my skirts into his hold easily. I do not want to subject myself to the torture of looking into the faces around me, and so I close my eyes and tuck my face against Gabriel’s chest while he carries me from the room. I feel the faintest impression of his hold tightening for a moment, but I am barely conscious after that. I come awake when the guards open the door to my room and Gabriel carries me in. I sigh and shift, sore and tired and irritated. I make a soft, whining sound in the back of my throat, but Gabriel says nothing, drawing back the covers and laying me down before pulling off my boots and tugging the covers back over me.

  “I would offer to help you out of your gown, but I did not think it prudent,” he murmurs quietly, a faint impression of a smile on his face.

  “Wise man,” I mutter irately, feeling surprisingly cold and uncomfortable when Gabriel’s arms leave me, replaced by the thick layers of covers, and I turn my head to him, opening my eyes slightly and watching him without speaking. He says nothing, his eyes meeting mine for a small time before he inclines his head and leaves, shutting the door behind him and leaving me to the welcome warmth of slumber.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gabriel

  By the time I return to the great room downstairs, chatter has filled the room. I hardly dare to listen to any of it. Denair is off to the side, speaking with her mate, looking fairly displeased with him. The women by the window are in an argument, although that isn’t surprising; they rarely get along. Apparently, Petara had not been far off when the whole mess started and came to regain some form of order, holding her young nephew. Kale is never far from her side, and he seems very displeased that she has picked Enté up when she shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a quill.

  Claque is the first to notice me, inclining his head to me when he and Dena halt their conversation. A moment of quiet passes, the man studying my face, trying to divine some sort of secret from it, evaluating my expression and how to proceed. Finally, he takes a breath and says, “My Senai is very adamant that I should apologize for the disruption.”

  I look past him to the young woman at his side who has her arms crossed. Until I had met Cara, Dena was the most outlandish, stubborn woman I have ever known. But knowing that Inferno now, Dena seems so tame, so quiet. Finally, I look back to Claque and sigh heavily, shaking my head. “You did not cause the outburst. It is her own nature.” Claque shrugs, having apologized to appease his Senai, not because he really believed that he had done anything wrong.

  “And what possessed you to throw the young woman to the ground?” Petara snaps, holding Enté snuggled up against her while he sucks on his thumb. Her voice is smooth, even. For years, I have been trying to persuade my mother and father to let Petara and Kale take the throne. Petara is the mistress of the castle, overseeing everything. There is nothing that happens behind these walls that she does not know about. She is well practiced in etiquette and mannerisms, and she knows the law like she knows how to breathe.

  I do not feel like dealing with this woman now, though. My nerves are on edge, and my head is still back in that room upstairs. Petara has such a mother’s heart and tendencies that she can make me feel shame and embarrassment like only she and my mother can.

  I shrug one shoulder, trying to play off the incident. “I know how her mind works. I know how she thinks. She was going to attack Claque, and I knew that if they engaged in a fight, she would kill herself trying to kill him.” Petara quirks a brow at me as though to ask why that would be such a bad thing, and I just sigh irritably and run a hand through my hair. “I do not have to answer to you, Petara. Leave it alone.”

  Petara looks at me with those haunting, violet eyes, a small, sad smile on her lips. Although she has a tendency to order me around and question me, she never challenges me, especially not in public. “Of course, Gabriel. I meant no disrespect.” But her eyes are filled with unanswered questions I know she will not ask.

  “Set the boy down,” I order, knowing that my voice is gruff. “You are going to hurt yourself holding him. He is old enough. Let him walk.” Petara sighs and sets Enté down, who begins to fuss and whine. However, a few soft words from his aunt are enough to soothe him.

  I wonder if I seem as distracted as I feel. I can see the people around me, watch their
faces, react to them, engage in conversation, but I feel so far away. My thoughts are on the loud red-head who disrupted my court moments earlier, the woman who, half-starved and sick, as she has said, was ready to challenge Claque with no hope that she would win—all in the name of a man she loved. I remember how she screamed and beat at me and then how she clung to me and sobbed until she could not move. And for the first time, I realize…she has nothing here. She has no comforts, no friends, nothing to bring her peace. And she clung to me because I am the closest thing to a friend she has. A man who nearly killed her—twice—a man who embodies everything she hates and who, I am sure, tries her every nerve.

  “Gabriel. Gabriel!” I look up, my sisters and their Teir watching me. Petara sighs and asks, “Did you hear what I said, Gabriel? I was going to take the young woman out tomorrow…see if I cannot…reach her. Dena is too young to know how to deal with her.”

  Denair seems quite ready to argue that, but she keeps quiet. To the world, she is calm and collected, but in her eyes, I can see the livid fury lying dormant. She has her arms crossed over her chest and is not even looking at her Teir. Although she is silent, Dena might as well be screaming at him.

  Looking back to my sister, I give a single nod, answering, “See if you can. She will be meeting with the queen in a few days…I would like to have her a little more…tame—to appease mother.”

  Petara smiles softly and answers, “I am an excellent teacher.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Scarlet

  How long have I slept? I cannot even remember. It is as though time no longer passes for me. Were it not for the rise and fall of the sun, there would be nothing to give me measure of my waking and sleeping hours. I dream of Claque. I dream that I am young again. I run through the battlefield to find my brother. I never actually found the soldier who did it. I arrived only in time to hold my brother as he died. But in my dreams, Claque is there, standing over my brother’s body. He is suddenly before me, his sword striking the killing blow across my throat.