by Lucy Tempest
Feeling perilously close to tears, I plastered a smile on my lips. “Are you going to show me giant snowdrops next?”
“No, I’m going to show you something you can only see here, but can’t touch.”
“The stars?” I asked mockingly, the cynical side of me resurfacing.
He smiled, and his eyes resembled the brightest stars in the night sky above. “Close.”
Before I could ask for more detail, the reindeer kicked off and we were shooting up higher, creating a draft powerful enough to unbind my hair, sending it flying behind me.
Soon we were so high that I felt we were leaving his realm, if not all of Faerie behind.
Awestruck at seeing the land from this unimaginable height, I forgot to worry anymore, could only watch breathlessly as we surpassed the mountain peaks and entered the clouds.
For endless moments, it felt as if we’d plunged into an intangible sea of ghosts.
Then we suddenly exited this indescribable medium.
And what existed on the other end was what truly defied description.
Chapter Twenty
On clear winter nights in Ericura, the stars were at their brightest, diamond dust sprinkled across a deepest-blue, velvet bedspread.
But I’d barely seen stars at the Winter Court. When they weren’t hidden by clouds, they were outshone by that coldly blazing moon.
Now it wasn’t only endless stars that I saw studding one half of the sky; it was waves of undulating, intensely emerald light that cascaded like celestial curtains over the other half.
My mother had once told me that the stars were minor goddesses, handmaidens to the moon goddess. But when they were fed up with the world of Man, they left the earth for the heavens, where they could help their mistress light up the night sky.
But no story explaining all sources of light, be it the sun, the moon, or the stars had ever mentioned these breathtaking waves.
It was like we were flying through an ethereal painting, where the artist had dipped their brush into luminescent green paint, tinged at the edges with hints of crimson, purple, and gold, and dragged it across their canvas of eternal night, creating a conflagration of heavenly light detached from any source. Intrinsically magical.
My eyes felt larger than the full moon above us with awestruck wonder as I asked breathlessly, “Is this some sort of magical, nocturnal rainbow?”
He shook his head, his silver hair and pale face reflecting the stunning lights. “These are the northern lights. You can only see them in the coldest corners of the world.”
“Are they here every night?”
He brought the sleigh to a hover right below a rippling arc, where the faded edges of the waves let a few stars twinkle through, and became tinged with a vivid pink. “Just in midwinter. Even then, it’s hard to predict when they’ll show up. But lately, I’ve found that I can sense their appearance.”
That fact sounded more alarming than magical. “Is that like how old people can tell when the weather’s changing?”
“Well, I am degenerating,” he huffed in self-deprecation. “Which is not what I wanted to be reminded of at the moment.”
“Kind of hard to avoid …” I bit my lip, tried to rein in my insensitivity, and only added to it when I said, “You still didn’t tell me about the curse.”
He echoed my exhalation as his lips quirked. “Can’t we just look at the pretty colors for a few minutes first?”
I nodded. And we did. Watched the stunning light show for endless minutes.
Bittersweet, that was what this experience was. He’d intended this soaring tour through his land to sweeten our moods, before they were soured by delving into his ailments.
I suddenly wondered if whoever was out to get him had something to do with his condition, too. Maybe they’d cursed him, but found this slow-acting, freezing process to be taking too long to kill him, and they wanted to get things over with faster.
If this was true, it made it even more imperative to find his would be assassin.
But if this wasn’t resolved by tomorrow, and Etheline found it an excuse to keep me bound, I would resort to anything to escape. I’d turn my leg wooden, and saw off my own foot.
Or maybe, in the event it was resolved and the Spring Queen still proved untrustworthy, I could ask Yulian for help. He’d understand more than anyone what it was like to be bound, and…
That would mean I’d owe him another life-debt. That might mean I’d never be free.
I liked him—more than liked him—and I both loved and hated that we’d led similar lives. But I’d squandered one chance at freedom for him before I even knew who he was. I’d be stupid to do it again now.
Right?
Conflict filled me to the brim, my thoughts, desires, fears, and urges colliding and scattering like shattered glass.
Yulian had a point when he said the depressing topics could wait. I would never get another moment like this. A magical sleigh ride through the stars with a fairy king, whose only desire of me was to just witness this otherworldly phenomenon with him. And here I was wasting it, tainting it.
Forcibly exhaling my disturbing thoughts, I refocused on the magical spectacle as the reindeer took us further through the emerald and crimson waves.
“How many have you brought up here?” I asked him, numb hands toying with the ghost apple whose melting had stalled.
“Not counting my deer? Just you.”
Heat spread in my spastic chest. A sensation that had always been unpleasant. But this heat was welcome, delightful even. Terribly cold as it was up here, the giddy warmth he inspired in me made me feel like a happily melting candlestick. He mirrored my slump so our arms pressed together, and, feeling quite daring, I rested my head on his shoulder.
I sighed. “I think it’s your turn to tell me a story.”
“If you want another one about overbearing mother figures, can it wait?”
“Believe me, that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to sour such a sweet view.”
“Sweet is an understatement,” he said.
Sighing deeper, I leaned closer into him, pulling an arm out from the cover. Holding it out, I watched as the waves danced over my skin.
“What would you call it then?”
“Dazzling.”
His deep, deep voice reverberated within my chest, sending this new pleasant warmth spreading to encompass my whole body. But it was his one word that tempted my eyes away from the sky to meet his. I found them already looking down at me. He’d meant me.
Warmth became heat that surged up to my face in a flush.
I didn’t know if I could get used to this, sensations long bound to painful experiences, now eliciting the very opposite, because it was him who caused them.
I didn’t know how long we sat there, ignoring the main attraction in favor of each other, while we breezily sailed above the clouds.
Breaking the silence, he gently touched my face with his gloved hand as he huskily asked, “What kind of story would you like to hear?”
I let my eyes flutter shut as I allowed myself a contentment, and a vulnerability I’d never imagined, resting my cheek in his palm. “These northern lights—do you know what causes them?”
“You’re in luck. I’ve heard at least five different tales from across Faerie explaining them.”
“Start with your favorite.”
I opened my eyes to find his burning blue.
For an unsettling moment, I shuddered, pulling away from his touch as I remembered the eyes in the mirrors.
“Are you all right?”
“Just a bit cold, expectedly.” I felt a pang of guilt that I answered his concern with a lie. But I still couldn’t tell him many truths, and might never be able to. “Go ahead.”
Seemingly unconvinced by my answer, he still nodded and directed the reindeer down a slow and steady decline through the sky. “My grandfather—mother’s father, Styopan—told me that these lights were the trail of Dawn’s chariot, as she r
ides across the sky, heralding the rise of the sun. Throughout the year, they’re blocked by the brightness of sunlight across the horizon. But in winter, when the sun god retreats to the depths of the sky to reside in his winter palace, he joins Dawn on her journey across a larger distance. These lights are what reaches us, making briefer days and longer nights.”
“Is this one of the reasons you made this sleigh? So you can follow Dawn’s trail?”
He ducked his head, seeming a little embarrassed. “It’s a stupid idea, I know, but I wanted to see if it could be done.”
“It’s not stupid, it’s amazing! Look at what you achieved, bringing us up here.”
“Most would say it was a pointless risk.”
“Most don’t understand risk because they can’t grasp what it’s worth to some people.”
His eyes rose, capturing mine. “What is it worth to you?”
“Right now? Everything. I have nothing left to lose.”
He exhaled deep and long. “I’ve long made my peace of living with despair. I only wish you never had to feel that way.”
Moved almost to tears again, I rested my head back on his shoulder. “We can only try to get the best result we can out of the risks we take.”
He turned my face up to him with a gentle finger below my chin. “What risk are you taking now?”
“I’ll tell you, as soon as you tell me your story.”
After holding my gaze for an intense second longer, he laughed, a rough, rusty sound, clearly something he hadn’t done for a very long time. “Fair enough. I’ll go first—but after we land.”
“Why only then?”
“So if you don’t like what you hear, I won’t risk you pushing me out of this sleigh.”
This only pushed my turmoil aside and had a laugh bursting out of me. “Considering risks are meant to be worthwhile, there’s no benefit to trying to fly this thing by myself. I’ll end up losing control and crashing into a mountain.”
“Or overcompensating, and flying so high you crash into the moon.”
I laughed harder at first, before I stopped, sneaking a worried glance at the moon above. “Has this ever happened to anyone who rode a flying magical creature before?”
“Not to my knowledge.” He wiggled one bedeviling eyebrow. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
I grinned again. “True, but let’s not be the first to upset the stars.”
He shrugged. “The stars are already angry with me.”
Though he still sounded lighthearted, that felt like a bitter jab at the Fates.
Commenting on that would only lead to the depressing discussion he wanted to postpone, so I bit my tongue as we descended past the thick layer of clouds.
Back above the realm, as we followed the river back to the city, Yulian told me the four other theorized tales about the northern lights, mostly stories from the Folkshore.
The people of the Northland Kingdoms believed them to be starlight that bounced off the shields of the eternal warrior-maidens who carried the souls of the slain up to heaven. The people of Arbore, where Bonnie and her beast prince came from, said they were dancing fairies, a fact easily disproven now.
Those in the region of Campania, my mother’s ancestors, said almost the same thing as Yulian’s grandfather, that it was the blazing trail of a day goddess, only visible in the longest winter days. A combination came from a place in the Folkshore that mirrored the Winter Court, where they said they were a bridge to the sun god’s realm that opened only a few times in winter.
Whichever was the true answer, it didn’t matter. It was still a sight I’d never forget.
Close to Midnight’s edge, the sleigh descended so close above the river that the reindeer were practically running on the water. I reached down a hand, let my fingers cut through the deepest green water, finding it surprisingly warm, at least compared to the lake I’d nearly drowned in.
Our flight picked back up over the city, finding deserted streets, dark shops, some lit windows, and smoking chimneys. The liveliest part in sight was the castle in the distance. It was clear those who’d been left in charge were keeping the ball going even in their host’s absence.
Circling the highest tower of the castle where his quarters were, the sleigh came to a halt before the open window we’d left through. Yulian disembarked first, then helped me back inside. I made sure to pet every reindeer on their fuzzy heads and thank them by name.
I sighed as they flew away, heading down to the stables. “Think I could ride just one by myself?”
Yulian reached over my head, and with a sharp gesture, the window pane he’d dissolved grew back, sealing us in. “How good are you at riding an earthbound steed?”
I thought of Oscar bound to my pumpkin carriage below, and wondered if there was a chance I could keep him as my own. He’d be the only other thing to belong to me, besides the slippers.
The slippers that had been indirectly given to me by Yulian, but made for someone else.
“Of the handful of times I’ve done it, I’d say, quite well.” I walked further into his quarters, feeling the ground dip beneath my feet as I got used to being earthbound myself once more. “But we can come back to that later.”
Reaching the large mirror, I twirled, watching my gown flare and glitter in glee, until the flash of the anklet beneath it brought me crashing back to reality.
Pushing the thought of the anklet down, I turned to Yulian, lifting my skirt high enough to show my slippers. “So, I’ve grown quite attached to these. Do I have to worry about someone coming to claim them one day?”
He shook his head as he took off his gloves and sauntered towards me. “I believe that’s my cue to start explaining.”
He came to stop behind me, towering over me as we indirectly looked into each other’s eyes in our reflections. I watched him with rapt attention as his hands started moving in tense gestures, and blue sparks played between his fingers, a different kind of magic than what had made my dress and hair.
As something started to form within the spinning sparks, he finally exhaled. “I told you I had the slippers made for my future bride. This all started a long time ago, when I actually had one.”
Chapter Twenty-One
My mouth went drier than the ashes Dolora had always forced me to clean.
I didn’t know why when I already knew he’d once been betrothed.
But as a knowledge learned through uninterested eavesdropping when I’d been in the Autumn Court, it had totally slipped into the murky corners of my mind.
At that time, I couldn’t have cared less about these people and their issues. I’d been too busy suspecting danger in every corner, and trying to wrap my mind around the existence of magic, to care about some faceless fairy man I was certain I’d never meet.
Except I hadn’t only met him, I’d saved him, been saved by him, been conscripted to protect him, then had surprisingly bonded with him. I had developed deep, powerful feelings for him faster than mushrooms sprung up in a fairy’s wake.
“Remember when I said my mother was a good match for my father?” Yulian sounded uncomfortable as his precise gestures mirrored each other, and the crackling blue light began chiseling what he was forming. “Enough to make up for my grandfather choosing a commoner?”
I nodded, schooling my face into a neutral expression of engrossed listening.
“Well, before my aunt disappeared, leaving my father to succeed her as my regent until I came of age, she wanted me to marry a princess. The plan was set in motion, but Princess Belaina of Autumn arrived after Isolda was gone. Belaina was the Autumn King’s niece, a trade-off for his daughter Rowena, who was his heir, and therefore unable to be anyone else’s consort.”
His words brought back my first night in Autumn, when Mr. Fairborn had told Bonnie her mother’s true story. My guts glazed with the guilt of being unable to reveal that I knew about this already.
“Belaina seemed like a great match. I had no complaints about the arran
gement. In fact, I enjoyed her company. She was very spirited, used to dangerous situations and finding the fun and fascination in new places and experiences. We had a brief courtship, then my father grew very ill. We couldn’t find out what was wrong with him, just that he didn’t have much time left, so we had to escalate our engagement bond. Soon, my father died in his sleep, and my mother in a fit of despair over losing him, threw herself out of a window—and I became king.”
I watched in dismay as his skin regained its frozen pallor, his lips becoming ashen. I couldn’t even imagine what it had been like, for him to lose both his parents this way, especially when they were supposed to be near immortal. And to have a whole kingdom’s responsibility thrown on his shoulders, and the necessity to get married at once, all at the same time.
Voice almost as emotionless as it had first been, he went on, “Then one night after the mourning period was over, I brought Belaina here, to discuss our wedding, her new life as Queen of Winter, and to give her my grandmother’s ring.”
He paused, and the heavy chill filling the room deepened, the layer of frost growing from the corners of the mirror now framing our reflection in the center.
He curled his fingers and the ice shape forming between them rotated. “I left her right here, to go get the ring, and when I returned, she was gone. I looked for her everywhere, but then I soon realized, even if I found her, it was too late. She had already irreversibly damned us both.”
My heart boomed. “H-how?”
“Fairy engagement and marriage bonds are magically binding. You break the bond, you experience the backlash of the broken spell. Belaina broke ours by abandoning me for a human man. I don’t know what the broken bond did to her, but this freezing is what it’s doing to me.”
So this was what he meant when he’d said a woman had cursed him.
“So you’re hoping someone forming another betrothal bond with you will break the curse?” I whispered. “That’s why you held the ball?”
He nodded as he halted his hands, and hovering over his palm was an ice figurine of a man. It looked exactly like him. As if he was telling me this was what he’d turn into if the curse wasn’t broken. A lifeless, icy statue.