Lord of Snow and Ice

by Heather Massey

  Muscles bulged in Stellan’s jaw. “You might ask instead why it was so long in coming. Let’s just say you would have tasted its wrath long ago if not for my efforts.”

  Clarysa drew her hands to her chest as pride swelled within. Stellan had protected them for nearly all of his life. My darling, why didn’t you say something sooner? She chafed at the impenetrable wall surrounding his heart. She wanted to fling herself at him and beg forgiveness. She wanted to do it right now! But the debate below continued, and she dare not sabotage Stellan’s efforts. Though dramatic and forceful, they were obviously sincere.

  Her father was peering at the stalwart sorcerer with obvious misgiving. “How is it that you, and only you, have the knowledge to fight this so-called ‘Pestilence’?”

  Stellan’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, I am quite intimate with its origins.”

  Edward sneered. “Why, because you had your devil’s hand in its creation?”

  The accusation cut deeply. Clarysa pulled at her hair in distress. She should have known Edward would cause strife.

  Stellan stepped forward, furrowing his dark brow. “No, I did not,” he said, “but my father, King Renaudas of the Western Wastes, did.”

  Clarysa recoiled in shock as a collective gasp arose from the people below. This was certainly news to all of them, and it was quite possible the worst news they could have received. When Stellan had told her his father had been involved with Pestilence, she should have insisted on more information. How could one man possess so many secrets?

  Since birth, every Aldebaran citizen had been taught to despise and distrust the sorcerers of the Wastes. Tales told to little ones often recounted how they had the heads of serpents and frequently devoured their young. Adults whispered among themselves how they brokered deals with the Devil himself, and deserved to be put to a miserable death. Clarysa had heard the stories too, but believed little of it, much to the chagrin of her instructors–and her family. Lionel had been the only other exception.

  But now she realized the depth of Stellan’s “predicament,” as he had called it. Her falling in love with the heir to the throne of the Western Wastes spun dizzying ramifications, none of them good. In fact, they were downright awful. Regardless of Stellan’s origins, her love remained true–even if he despised her. However, there was still the daunting issue of her father.

  “You,” her father spat out, “you are the spawn of the maniacal demon of the Wastes.”

  “Yes,” Stellan replied calmly. “I am the son of the Black Mage and a descendent of the people your kind pushed out into the wastes to die a dog’s death all those years ago. I am also the only hope you have of survival if we act together.”

  The King gripped his armrests. “Why would you do this?” he said. “Why break with your brother warlocks?”

  “Because, Your Majesty, contrary to what you and your people may believe, we are not all alike. I have no intention to stand idly by while thousands of your people are slaughtered, even if that is what you believe of me.”

  Silence fell over the room as the King stared at him intently. A number of his advisors dove forward, clamoring for his ear. Hushed whispering echoed throughout the court. Clarysa strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything.

  The King waved them away. “So what, exactly, do you propose?”

  “An alliance.”

  Again came the excited gasps as everyone began talking earnestly among themselves. Clarysa bit back a squeal of excitement. Had her brief friendship with Stellan truly helped make a difference?

  The King held up a hand for silence, but before he could speak, Edward leaped down from the dais.

  “An alliance for what, pray tell? So you can spy for the Black Mage and the rest of those necromancers?” Edward squared off, facing him. “I find it highly curious you always seem to make an appearance whenever there’s an attack.” He turned and smiled coldly at the King. “A mere coincidence?”

  Clarysa groaned. You idiot! That’s not true and you know it!

  Edward spun around pointed a finger at Stellan. “Why not answer, warlock? After all, it was you who chased those monstrosities here. You planted them so you could turn around and play the hero.” Edward’s voice turned menacingly low. “I know what you’ve really come for, pauper, and you shan’t have her.”

  “Edward!” her father bellowed. Next to him, her mother frowned.

  But he ignored them. “We don’t require your tedious superstitions or childish parlor tricks. Leave here at once!”

  Stellan stayed rooted to the spot, looking sardonically amused. “I came to offer the King my aid, and the King has yet to answer. Do you seek to supplant his rule so soon?”

  Edward bared his teeth at the cutting remark, one that perhaps hit entirely too close to home. “You dare defy me in my father’s court?”

  “Yes, I do, for the sake of those who aren’t such fools.”

  In a flash, Edward drew his sword. Stellan did the same. A face-off erupted between the two. The crowd turned restless.

  The pair began encircling each other, mongoose and cobra. Guards looked urgently to the King for instruction, waiting for his command to intervene, but he merely watched the men with a torn expression.

  Edward thrust forward, a move Stellan airily deflected. Faster and faster their swords clashed, a blur of clinking metal and arcing limbs. Each a master of swordplay, each intent on defeating his opponent. Other audience members rushed forward, forming a circle about the two. Soon, the number of onlookers swelled to fill the room.

  Oh, no! Clarysa ran from her post. Once on the first floor, she bounded into the court from a side entrance. Pushing aside bodies, she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Stop it, Edward. Don’t!” But they seemed not to hear her. She had to find a way to stop them before either was seriously injured. But how?

  A sword? No. A shield? Clarysa quickly dismissed the idea, for she had never been allowed to train and would be hopeless at wielding one. But there must be something I can do! Fear seized her heart as Edward became more and more vicious in his attacks, his features twisted into pure bloodlust. If Stellan’s blood were spilled…

  Clarysa couldn’t bear to finish the thought. She headed for the fray. A guard grabbed her arm, but she shook him off and charged ahead. She dove between the dueling pair as Edward angled forward with another thrust.

  Cursing, he compensated with a side step, but his sword tip tore her right sleeve in two. Clarysa grunted as the resulting injury burned a streak of painful fire up her arm.

  Edward glared. “Get out of the way, you fool!”

  Clarysa raised a fist. “Not until I’ve knocked some sense into your head!”

  Her brother hesitated but briefly. “Very well. Side with the devil warlock then!” Edward drew back his sword for an imminent death stroke.

  “That is enough!” The King’s voice boomed. “Edward, Clarysa, you will stand down at once!”

  A contingent of guards flew between them. Edward backed off but not without hurling a scowl toward Stellan. Clarysa glared at her brother, arm still raised, her chest heaving. “You may be firstborn, but you had no right to threaten him. I am so sick of your judgmental, arrogant–”

  Something tightened about her wrist. Ironclad. It was a hand. Stellan’s hand. His intense green eyes poured into hers, and her anger melted away. Clarysa opened her clenched fist slowly and lowered her arm.

  She stared at him, oblivious to the guards surging around them like a restless tide. “Prince Stellan, on behalf of the Aldebaran royal court, I apologize deeply for the threat to your life. Are you all right?”

  Stellan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. Then he gasped, and seized her right arm. “You’re hurt!”

  Clarysa glanced down. A trickle of blood seeped from the torn slit of her sleeve. She had barely noticed it. “I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. It was a small price to pay for Stellan’s life. Clearing her throat, she turned to face the King.

  “Father, I must protest E
dward's madness. Prince Stellan comes to offer protection, and this is his welcome? A ridiculous display of arrogance and stupidity?” She motioned angrily toward her brother, now sulking in a dark corner. “How shall we greet the enemy when they are crawling up onto our door? By flinging the gates open and welcoming them inside? Because that’s what we’ll be doing if we ignore the Pestilence threat. Stellan saved my life, and Lionel’s, and countless others! How many more times does he have to risk his own before you’ll trust him even an ounce?”

  Leopold stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Then he raised a hand for his advisors to circle round.

  Clarysa inched closer to Stellan while they deliberated. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she whispered.

  Stellan only gazed at her, his expression unreadable. At least he was looking at her, but for how long? Clarysa wondered with a sinking feeling if he was simply being polite.

  The King spoke. “Prince Stellan, I will grant you this temporary alliance, but only until this ‘Pestilence,’ as you call it, is eradicated from Aldebaran. Once the task is complete, the alliance shall be dissolved! Now come with me to the war chamber.”

  Clarysa smiled triumphantly and held Stellan’s arm, intending to lead the way. Here was her chance to make amends!

  But he refused to budge. “In a moment, Your Highness. With all due respect, there is one other matter I wish to discuss.”

  The King sighed, but resumed his seat. He listlessly motioned for Stellan to continue.

  The sorcerer’s black-gloved hand pushed Clarysa aside as he fixed his gaze on her parents. He did so without even a smile or a bow of the head. The act made her feel very small. Alone. No matter that the court overflowed with people, she might as well have existed in a void. Biting her lip, she backed slowly away as insight dawned. Stellan wanted nothing more to do with her–and he had made a public point of doing so.

  Of course he intended to speak with her parents further. He would need financial support for his crusade against Pestilence. What folly to believe he had come for her as well. No, you’ve ruined everything, admonished the voice in her head. Edward was right, you’re nothing but a deceitful interloper. She remembered her spiteful plan soliciting Stellan to drug her parents, and the rush of shame prompted tears. Trapped within a cocoon of guilt, she couldn’t escape the damming thoughts. No wonder he left, you spoiled, immature brat!

  Clarysa didn’t dare cause Stellan any more pain. She turned toward the court entrance. As she did so, her peripheral vision caught Stellan as he dropped to one knee. Yes, well, I suppose a healthy dose of humility will open our coffers wide for you. Farewell, dark sorcerer, and may the gods of fortune smile upon your quest. But her heart didn’t share in the diplomatic thought. No. Her heart was dying a slow, sure death, and she deserved every bit of it.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, splashing over her trembling lips. As she reached the entryway, Stellan spoke. Clear and sonorous, his voice rang out. “I’ve also come to ask for Princess Clarysa’s hand in marriage.”

  The onlookers’ response sounded three times more shocked than before. Clarysa halted, pressing a hand against her chest. Surely she had misheard.

  She took a step forward and then paused. Hadn’t she? Because if not… She risked a glance over her shoulder.

  “Never!” Edward shouted as he started for his sword again. “We’ll never admit the demon child of Renaudas into our family!”

  Clarysa spun around. Damn you, Edward!

  One of her sisters fainted. Meanwhile, Clarysa felt as if she were leaving her own body. Her breath all but vanished and she grew lightheaded. She stared ahead at the man in black, his head bowed in supplication. It took every last drop of self-control to prevent herself from careening about the royal court in excitement. She hadn’t heard wrong. Edward’s reaction was proof enough. In fact, things couldn’t have been more right. He wants to marry me! Joy slammed into her like an avalanche.

  Her father, however, sputtered and choked like a dying torch. He passed a ring-studded hand over his face. “Young prince, you…you ask far too much of me. Far, far too much.”

  Clarysa immediately snapped to and fastened her gaze on her father. Oh no! Moving stiffly, Stellan resumed a standing position.

  “How could I possibly allow such a union? Do you have any idea, any at all, how a marriage to a necromancer such as yourself would impact our royal line? Our ancestors would rise from their tombs in protest!”

  “Let me split this cur in half, Father,” said Edward, holding his fully drawn sword before him, “for his appalling affront to your good name.”

  “She will not bring some devil dog into our family! Think of my reputation, Father!” said another sister.

  “Father!” cried Clarysa. She rushed forward to stand by Stellan’s side. “This is my life we’re discussing, not some mere political transaction. I love him, Father! And I wish…I need to be with him…always! Do you hear me? Always!” She reached out her hand, seeking his. To her great amazement, he clasped it tightly.

  The crowd spit forth a new round of reprimands. The most vociferous were from the nameless advisors grouped all about the King as if hungry pigs at the trough, each vying for attention.

  As the verbal melee continued unabated, Stellan remained silent, his expression unmoved. He stood as if a statue. Nary a muscle twitched in his face. Clarysa couldn’t blame him. The Aldebaran royal court was a formidable foe, and he had taken a monumental risk in declaring his desire for her–mind, body and soul. His vulnerable appeal wrought fresh tears from her eyes. All she wanted to do was throw her arms about him in a never-ending embrace.

  Her mother rose and bade all to silence. She placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Perplexed, her father stared at her.

  Clarysa watched with bated breath. What are you going to say? Her mother met Clarysa’s gaze briefly before turning back to her husband.

  “Our daughter has chosen Prince Stellan whether we approve or not. So I must ask you this–does not your impassioned blood flow in her veins? Great ambition marks your sovereignty, yet you express surprise that similar ambition marks her love.” She turned to Stellan. “And he,” she said, indicating the sorcerer, “he has maintained the royal decorum by making his proclamation in public before the King. By his very right, he deserves fair consideration. Tell me, young prince, is her hand worth so much that you will renounce your family and the corruption for which they stand?”

  Clarysa stared at him expectantly.

  Stellan bravely met the Queen’s gaze. “It is.”

  “Will you promise that no harm will befall her by the hand of you or any other warlock?”

  “I will.”

  “There, Leopold, my husband and king, you have your answer.” Looking satisfied, her mother resumed her seat.

  Clarysa noted with wonder the persuasive look that passed from her mother to her father. The Queen noticed her gaze and flashed a brief smile in her direction. She then leaned toward her husband and added a few final words. “Her mind is made up. Tell me, would you have us lose a daughter or gain a son?”

  Her father sat with a brooding expression. Several uneasy minutes passed. A deep silence permeated the room as he contemplated his decision. After a long time, he finally spoke.

  “So be it…Stellan. You and Clarysa may marry. And now to the war chamber, if you please.”

  The words were low, unenthused, but they came–oh, they came! Clarysa feared she would faint from excitement. She gave Stellan an exuberant smile. He stared back, appearing flush with relief.

  Then Clarysa remembered all was not reconciled. Her words came out in a mad rush. “Stellan, I’m so sorry for my inconsiderate statements. I never meant to imply you’re a coward. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. And I’m sorry I suggested–”

  “Clarysa,” he interjected with a squeeze of her hand. “It’s all right. Don’t torture yourself.” His emerald eyes swam w
ith tenderness.

  She sobbed sharply, even as her parents’ entourage moved past them. “You’re being so kind, when I’ve been so horrid.”

  “That’s not true.” The prince glanced briefly toward the doors. “I must go, but I wanted to tell you something. Look at me, Clarysa.”

  Wiping her face, she glanced up.

  “It took some time, but I realized you were right. Old fears were holding me back, and it prevented me from being the man you deserve. Could you have confronted me about it using a little more tact?” His lips curved in a half smile. “It would have been easier, but the truth is I might not have taken your words to heart as strongly. You’ll have to forgive me–I’ve never done anything like this before. But from now on, whatever happens, we’ll find a way through it. I wanted you to know.”

  He drew her to him in a tight embrace and delivered a kiss so intense the act knocked the breath from her. Relief and happiness tore through her entire body, followed by an unparalleled surge of arousal. It was unrealistic to think the kiss could go further right here in the court, but she parted her lips anyway. Stellan slipped his tongue into her mouth for a warm, shivery, glorious moment.

  All too quickly, he pulled away. “I’ll see you later,” he said before turning about sharply to follow the King.

  Clarysa stared after him, nursing the hand he had squeezed the entire time in his earnestness.

  While Stellan sat huddled with her father and his top commanders in the war chamber, Clarysa wasted no time making wedding preparations. After bandaging her arm, she set a date for three months hence. Messengers sped off in every direction. The first, of course, was dispatched promptly to Lionel in Belleressort.

  Happiness filled her every fiber. She paused by a window, gazing out onto the grounds below. Pestilence was still out there. With such a threat looming over the Five Lands, a wedding seemed like a trivial matter. But the event would bring hope, as well.

  Clarysa shuddered. She would stand by Stellan regardless of the outcome–even if Pestilence struck at the height of their wedding day.