A Heart of Ice

by Phoenix Briar

  A bit dazed and confused, I bring up my own hand, half open, watching him. “Scarlet!” Heather calls in-between shouting instructions at the servants who have come out of the castle since our guards are exhausted. Heather berates our guards who try to help and sends them into the castle to eat and sleep while she puts the new servants in line.

  I toss my head over to her, crimson hair blocking my vision of the man on the cliff with another gusty wind. “Coming!” I call and hurry back towards the castle once more. Inside, people are moving about in a most haphazard manner, going this way and that. I have to duck and dodge at all the people moving about. Gabriel is nowhere in sight, so I have no means of finding any sense of direction. Darting up a stairwell, I try to escape the madness and somewhat succeed.

  Sighing, I start down the hall, hoping to find some sort of direction. This palace is much different than my fire-borne Den and the ice kingdom. There are so many windows, so open and loose. Instead of glass panes, there are bamboo door-like things hanging open, I suppose in case it rains. The castle is made of sandstone and quartz, featuring warm colors of pink and gold, and apparently feldspar as well. I run my hand over the walls, admiring the colors, the variance, the difference.

  “What are you doing here?” someone snaps at me. Her voice is sharp and curt, and I whip my head to take a look at its owner. The woman is thin and tall. She is wearing a dark red dress that is tied much too tightly. Her nose is so high in the air, I’m surprised that she can even see me, her pale blond hair tied up tightly in a bun on top of her head. “Answer me,” she snaps.

  I shut my mouth and glare at her. “There is no need to be so rude,” I growl at her. “I am merely lost is all, and I didn’t know who you were.”

  “I am being rude?” she huffs and takes in a breath. I prepare myself for the verbal lashing about to ensue. “I have welcomed you into the comforts of my home, you ungrateful little—”

  “Ah, the lovely Lady Cynthia,” Gabriel steps up behind me with a charming grin that I have scarce ever seen him wear.

  He bows at the waist and barely has a moment to take a breath before ‘Lady Cynthia’ opens her mouth again: “Prince Gabriel. That insolent little—”

  “Yes, yes, she is quite a little spitfire, isn’t she?” he asks and chuckles. “My most sincere apologies, my gracious host. It is the fever making her so ill. I’ll escort her to her room now and get her out of your hair.”

  Astonishment keeps me silent. That alone. I am stiff as a board and not daring to breathe, my eyes lock on Gabriel with anger and spite. He starts steering me away before I can say anything. My anger fills me up like hot water, and I cannot even hear what Cynthia is saying to Gabriel as he leads me off, down the hall. I follow stiffly, my face flushed with anger, my nerves buzzing, my blood boiling. I am trying so hard. I feel like I might pop from the anger swelling up inside me. But I make it to my room. Still, I don’t dare open my mouth. As soon as Gabriel shows me in through the door, I turn and slam it in his face.

  One big breath….let it out…and another…let it out… and three…

  Thirty five…another breath…thirty six…let it out. My breath comes out in a great rush, and I feel a little light-headed. So I plop down onto the ground in a most unlady-like manner, but no one is around to watch me anyways. I sit on the ground, leaning back against the wall, and I close my eyes, bringing up one knee and resting my arm on it. I mull over Gabriel’s words, staring blankly at the floor ahead of me. I am sure he was keeping me from deeply insulting our hostess and making my own life miserable, but did he have to be so…I grind my teeth and sigh.

  Finally, I take a moment to look around my room. It is large and spacious. There is a large bed against the far wall with light, sheer curtains pulled back and tied at the posts. There is a chest and an armoire, and a vanity with a looking glass. There is also a large set of double doors made of bamboo and reeds, it seems, leading out to a balcony from what I can tell. I push myself up off of the floor and begin to wander around. My bags are sitting beside my bed, and I haul my trunk up onto it, beginning to unpack. I hadn’t packed my own things since I’d had no idea what to prepare for, but Dena seems to have done well.

  I untangle myself out of the heavy, damp clothes I wore here and hang them up to air out. Standing naked in my room, I find a basin of water by the vanity and heat it carefully before washing what I can and freshening up my hair some before leaving it loose to dry. There is still a cool breeze in this area, but it is much warmer, and I no longer fear catching ill.

  Then, examining my clothes, I pull on a cotton chemise and a nice, cotton dress over it, lacing it up. It requires no bodice or corset, only enough to keep the chill of the wind from getting to me. I will still probably want a cloak if I go outside, but it’s sufficient for indoors. After that, I step into a pair of slippers that keep my toes warm without weighing my feet down as the boots had done. All in all, I feel worlds better, doing a little twirl in the open space of my room before sighing and flopping back onto my bed, laying back on it for a while.

  Finally, after I nurse my wounded pride for a while, I decide that I need to go find Gabriel and talk to him. Upon leaving my room, I realize that there is in fact a guard, just not at my door. “So which is it?” I ask him flatly, “Are you protecting me or protecting everyone else from me?”

  The guard, who I am not familiar with, looks uncertain before answering hesitantly, “A bit of both, I suppose. I am merely to report the comings and goings of everyone down this hall in order to best protect and serve its occupants.”

  “I…see…” I reply, nodding slowly. The formality of his language bothers me, but only because among my kind, that sort of formality is an insult. It means that you aren’t allowing someone to see your heart and mind, that you are holding them at a distance. And that just isn’t something you do, not even with a stranger. “Well, can you direct my ‘goings’ towards Gabriel?”

  He inclines his head. “Prince Gabriel is in his room,” he gestures to the door two doors down from mine. “And left specific instructions not to be bothered.”

  “Oh. Perfect. I’ll go check on him then,” I say simply and start that way.

  The guard looks startled and quickly speaks up, “But…the prince said he did not wish to be disturbed!”

  “That’s nice.” I move to the door before he can gather his wits to stop me. The guards at Crystalice are well enough used to my ‘antics’—as Gabriel calls them—to know how to deal with me. These Ocarine guards are going to need some training. I just smile and open the door, going inside and shutting it behind me.

  My eyes fly to the man in the room. His top half is wet, like he had dunked his head in water—and it seems that he had from the water splattered around the basin. He is shirtless, pale, standing by the window with his wet hair clinging to his back and shoulders, as if trying to keep cool. I wrinkle my nose. It is far too chilly to walk around half naked or wet, and certainly not both. Thankfully—or not, I haven’t decided—he has yet to dispose of his breeches, which are settled on his hips, although his shoes have been discarded beside the door.

  “Well…” is the only logical word I can form as I look him up and down for a long moment. Is that…pink on his cheeks? I almost laugh.

  “What are you doing here?” he growls at me, nervously thrusting a hand through his long, wet hair which now looks more of a medium gray than white.

  I grin and laugh a bit, walking over towards him. “Oh, don’t be so rude,” I tease him, smiling warmly. “I only came to say that I was sorry…” It is funny how much easier that has become in the while that I have known Gabriel. A few months ago, he would have had an easier time trying to declaw me.

  He seems to realize this, because he stiffens, startled by the admittance. And then he narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

  I give him an offended look. “See if I apologize to you anymore.” I frown. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry for slamming the door on you. I just didn’t
want to yell at you, and I felt like I was going to explode.” I narrow my eyes on him. “You really didn’t have to humiliate me like that in front of that shrew.”

  Gabriel sighs and says, “Cara…don’t call her that. She’s our hostess. Her son and I were good friends for years—”

  “Then I don’t see why I can’t speak plainly to her,” I retort, putting my hands on my hips.

  He sighs and walks over to me, putting his cold hands on my arms and rubbing them up and down. “Because,” he says with a heavy sigh, giving me a tired smile, “Speaking like that to her is an insult, and I don’t want you upsetting our hostess. It’s rude, especially after everything she’s done to try and make us feel welcome.”

  I scoff and frown but sigh when I look up at him. “I’ll behave,” I promise begrudgingly, fighting a twitch of a smile.

  Gabriel smiles and leans down, kissing the tip of my nose. “That’s my girl…” he purrs teasingly, probably to bother me, but the phrase has far too much warmth in it.

  I give him a nasty look and mutter dryly, “Do not call me that.” But I give an easy smile and tip my head back before he can move away, pressing my lips to his. A chill runs down my spine at the coldness of his touch, but I wouldn’t pull away for anything. He sighs—with relish or regret, I don’t know—but, he leans into me and presses his mouth to mine. His hands are on my arms, and he pulls me a little closer. I close our kiss and start another, leaning into him.

  He makes a sound—soft…deep—in the back of his throat, and it makes my heart flutter and my lips curl in a secretive little smile as they find his again, this time parting them, tasting him. He groans and I sigh, his arms going around me, pulling me to his chest. He is so cold, and I shiver as he holds me, but nestle closer as if that might bring me warmth. It doesn’t—but he is making my blood run hot with his kiss.

  There is a knock at the door and it cracks open. He gasps, jerking back from me. “Sire, dinner has been set.”

  “A-Alright,” he stammers, breathing a bit hard. The door hesitates, but then shuts, and Gabriel looks down at me with this lost, wanting look in his eyes, like he is drowning and he isn’t sure if I am here to save him or pull him under—maybe both.

  I smile gently, easily, letting him know it is okay. But…there is an intimacy there that I have not felt since Jay’let kissed me many, many years ago. “It’s okay…” I whisper and go up on my toes to gently and chastely kiss his lips once more. “I’ve got you…”

  “That’s what I’m worried about…” he murmurs in a husky voice before kissing me one last time and then holding me away from him. He gives me a rueful smile. “Get out of here, woman, so that I can get presentable for dinner.” I grin at him, having a feeling he isn’t talking about his lack of shirt but unwilling to look down and test my theory before I turn and laugh, flitting out the door and back to the hall.

  I leave his room and grin at the wary look that the guard gives me. I know that he can’t tell what sort of mischief that I caused—only that some was wrought. “Could you tell me how to get down to dinner?” I ask him.

  He raises a brow at me but then gives a single nod. “Down this hall, miss, there is a flight of stairs. Take those down to the second floor and down the hall from there, you’ll see the great room on your right.”

  I incline my head. “Much obliged,” I reply. I feel like I insulted him, but the guard seems more at ease then, and I continue on my way. The staircase is in fact a spiral staircase at the end of the hall. I did not see one when I first arrived, and I came up a different way apparently, else I was too upset to notice, and I remember spinning down the spiral staircase in the Den when I was little. I pause, listening for sound. But the hall is quiet. I grin with childish glee, beginning to hurry down the spiral steps as if I am spinning, just as I did when I was small at home.

  The only bad thing concerning spiral staircases is the lack of foresight they provide—as demonstrated when a solid figure suddenly appears in front of me, and, unable to stop without hurting myself, I run right into him just as I cry out in alarm. I jerk my head up and it hits something hard. The man takes a step back to steady himself, and large hands grab my arms securely. His grip almost hurts me, but once it’s clear that we aren’t going to tumble the rest of the way down, his grip slackens. I had been looking down at my feet as I was walking and, in my alarm, jerked my head up and slammed it right into the man’s chin. As such, I leave my head lowered and wince against the bump I know will grow.

  “Are you alright, lass?” he asks, and I look up, my face right in front of his as he is a step beneath me on the stairs. Yet, he is still somehow taller than me. These aren’t short stairs either, so he must be pushing seven feet tell.

  He has the most startling green eyes that I have ever seen, and he surely is not a Crystalice with his warm, tan skin, still pale among my people, but with more color on his skin than I have seen in months. I realize that I’m staring, mouth slightly agape, and I blush with shame and say quickly, “Yes. Fine. I-I hope I haven’t hurt your chin.”

  He had been watching me intently, as if waiting for me to speak, and when I do, he gives a slightly confused look before a smile stretches across his features, and he laughs, deepening my blushing shame. “I’ll survive,” comes the warm reply, a deep, low thrum. I smile hesitantly, feeling quite embarrassed of myself, and it is then that I realize that although his hands are still on me, they are not painfully cold.

  “You’re a Flora,” I say at last with some mild alarm, looking at his face again.

  He considers me with warmth and amusement in his eyes and asks ruefully, “Aye, an’ do you always say the first thing that comes to your mind?”

  I open my mouth, then shut it, blinking once or twice and watching him. “I see no reason not to.”

  I feel his hands release my arms, and I find my stability on the step above him, putting my hand on the rail once more. I look back at him, and he considers me quite curiously which is beginning to fluster and irritate me. “It’s just as well then,” says he, “I prefer a forthright companion. Forgive ma own rudeness, sweetheart.” He takes a step back and bows at the waist, and when he rises and looks up at me, I give an awkward curtsy on the spiral stairs. “My name is Alistair.”

  “Scarlet,” I reply, sparing him the lengthy title as he had done for me. I incline my head and really take note of him for the first time. He has curly, sandy blond hair with a warm tint to his skin. He wears brown breeches and a dark green shirt. “You’re the man I saw out on the cliffs,” I say, blinking and looking up at him. He is certainly handsome, and much larger than he seemed so far away on that cliff earlier today. This man seems to take up the entire staircase. He must be a Flora then, for I have never seen another man equal in stature to one of my own Inferno with the exception of the Flora who could be well on to seven feet tall, great beasts of men and quite terrifying too. Comes from having the second form of a bear.

  “And you are the red-headed sprite I saw running through the courtyard,” he remarks and chuckles to himself, musing at me.

  I blush and glare. “I had been trapped inside that damn carriage for days. You would dance and run around too.”

  “I’ve no doubt of it, lass,” Alistair replies, and then looks past me just as the sound of footsteps fill my ears as well. I turn my head, and here comes Gabriel taking the steps several at a time, messing with the cuff of his sleeve. Thankfully, he sees us just in time and stops, looking at me first, then past me to Alistair. “Gabriel,” Alistair greets cheerily before either of us can say anything.

  Gabriel collects himself and smiles brilliantly. “Alistair. I was not aware that you were staying here. It is good to see you, old friend.”

  Alistair inclines his head. “Och! Indeed. I take it, this little spitfire is yours then?” There is laughter in his voice, but it dies abruptly when my fist sinks into his stomach. He grunts and stumbles back.

  I shove him out of my way, not even looking at Gabriel, and I snap as
I storm down the remaining stairs, “I belong to no one. Least of all a man!” Neither of them come after me, although their murmurs, indistinguishable, linger in my ears until I am into the hall and nearly stomping down it to the dining room. Just outside of the large entry way, out of sight from its occupants, I pause and sigh, a hand on the wall.

  I open my eyes and realize then that someone is there. A little girl. I have never seen anyone like her before, and I know at once that she is at least partly one of my own kind. She is a small thing, and although I know she is at least Enté’s age, she looks much younger by the sight of her. Her skin is a rich, dark color, like cocoa, and her hair is black and straight, curling just a bit at the ends. Her honey brown eyes are large and look up at me silently, curiously, fearfully.

  I smile a bit. “Hello, little one,” I greet in a gentle voice, and the girl flinches and then looks up at me again. So that’s what Gabriel meant when he told me that the reason for naming Zsoka as Enté’s Senai was similar to him taking me on as his ward…she is an Inferno. “You must be Zsoka?” She gives a hesitant nod. I smile and crouch down in front of her, and she takes a step back. “I’m Scarlet…but you can call me Cara if you want.” She looks up at me with those large, honey eyes, and she doesn’t smile, but she looks on at me curiously until stomping footsteps draw our attention to the entryway where Cynthia emerges and stops just in front of us.

  “Ah, Zsoka,” she says in a curt voice, and Zsoka’s eyes fall. I look up at Cynthia and she looks down at her nose at the both of us. “Don’t patronize her, woman. She doesn’t speak,” she says to me, and then to the child, “Zsoka. You’re late. Come inside and sit down.” Zsoka, as if animated by a will not her own, moves silently past the both of us and into the room, out of our view.