Cross the Silver Moon

by Jessica Daw

  He opened a heavy door. “This is the kitchen.”

  I had once been a frequent visitor to the palace kitchens in Edeleste, in the days before my banishment to the estate. When pestered enough, Cook had allowed me to stir the soup or knead bread dough, but it had been ten years since those days. Still, I remembered those kitchens to be enormous, interconnected rooms, with high vaulted ceilings and gleaming new equipment. It seemed wrong to even call this room by the same name.

  Like the rest of the castle, the walls were barren stone, smoke-blackened next to the fireplace, which was absurdly small, barely large enough for a child to crouch in, cold ashy logs sitting on its floor. A battered wood table sat in one corner, under one of the slot windows. I pulled my hood off and was immediately assaulted with bitter cold. Lovely. There was a rough black pot and a similarly-colored kettle, a pantry as battered as the table, a few burlap sacks, and little more. The overall feel was of bareness and an utter lack of welcome.

  “Is there anything edible in here?” I asked doubtfully, replacing my hood, as my nose was starting to ache from the cold.

  The isbjørn walked to the pantry, sitting and opening it with a foreclaw. With a muttered magic word, he removed a box, sending it to the table. Transporting things with magic was a basic skill most people had, but it was draining work and usually easier to simply use your hands.

  Decorum required that I wait for an explanation or an invitation, but I chose to play confident and walked to the table of my own accord, opening the box with a little trouble, my enchanted gloves stiff and my fingers within stiffer. Inside were squares of what suspiciously resembled wood.

  “Traveling food. Lightweight, lasts forever. Eat one, it should be enough.”

  I didn’t appreciate his tone, but was beginning to feel faint in earnest. I peeled one glove off my hand, a long and painful process. The isbjørn watched impassively. The chill in the room immediately bit my fingers, kept mostly warm by the quality of the enchantment on my gloves before that moment. The traveling food felt a lot like wood too. Grimacing, I bit a corner off, which didn’t take as much effort as I’d thought, more the texture of very stale bread than wood.

  The taste was remarkably similar to raw potatoes and dirt. It crossed my mind that this was a cruel joke the isbjørn had designed at my expense, but I swallowed the thing as quickly as I could shove it into my mouth, reaching for a second.

  “One is enough,” he reminded me.

  “May I give one to my horse? Or do you have hay hidden in this cupboard of a room?” My irritability had been fading, as the traveling food really did ease my hunger rather quickly, if it hadn’t entirely erased it yet. The irritability returned when he’d stopped me from eating another.

  For a few seconds, the isbjørn didn’t reply, then his sloped shoulders twitched in a shrug. “It should be fine to feed a square to the horse.”

  I proceeded to take the square, half-tempted to shove it in my mouth, but I carried it over to my exhausted Rune, rubbing his neck with my still-gloved left hand as I let him eat the square from my right. I heard movement behind me and deduced that the isbjørn was also satisfying his hunger.

  By the time Rune ate the square from my hand, the last traces of hunger had departed from me. How many squares had been in the box the isbjørn had brought out? Dozens, if not more. It was the first good clue as to who this shifter was—he was a traveler.

  “Is there a stable?” I asked.

  “Yes, through the courtyard.” He led me back into the castle and through the dark halls until we exited. A bleak courtyard greeted us, deep in snow, only a few strange shapes alleviating its flatness. The castle surrounded it on all four sides, two ugly stories of gray.

  Our silent group of three crossed the snow, cutting a line into its smooth surface. The isbjørn spoke a word and a door opened in the side of the castle. The stable was small and barren and had obviously not housed any creature for a long time, with the possible exception of rats.

  “We’ll clean it out later,” the isbjørn said before I could protest. “Your horse has done nothing to deserve poor living conditions.”

  “Unlike me,” I added to finish his unspoken thought, leading Rune past him. Some ancient scent of horses must have remained, because Rune seemed to recognize the place as his new home, choosing a stall and settling in. The isbjørn waited as I brushed Rune down as best I could with the decaying brush I found hanging on the wall. When Rune was relatively settled, I turned to the isbjørn. “Am I deserving enough to be shown to my room?”

  “Don’t play the wounded miss, Princess. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Show me to my room,” I commanded, scowling. The night on the back of the isbjørn was proving itself insufficient to combat my exhaustion, and the prospect of trying to stay awake for the rest of the day was far too daunting to even consider. I would rest, as soon as my inconsiderate, stubborn new companion showed me where I could lay my head. It seemed preferable at that moment to rest my head on the diseased floor of the stable, but he was already leading the way back into the castle.

  My room was up rickety wooden stairs on the second floor, in an unadorned corridor lined with closed doors. The isbjørn opened one with another Nyputian word. The room beyond wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be, and I’d been fully prepared for a dungeon. It was small, but by no means a closet. The main piece of furniture was a four-poster bed with heavy drapes that I’d need to keep out the cold. The only other interesting items in the room were a slit window in one wall, a fireplace, a very plain wardrobe, and an equally plain desk and chair.

  I set my bag down, the relief I felt at its absence underscoring my exhaustion, and sighed.

  “Do you need anything else?” the isbjørn rumbled from behind me.

  I whirled, surprised. “If it’s not too much trouble, I wish to be left alone. Assuming I have that privilege.”

  He blinked. “I have no interest in constantly being with you.”

  I stalked over and slammed the door in his face. “Leave me alone!” I shouted. The door had no lock, but there was nothing I could do about that. I felt half-mad, my emotions entirely out of control, energy spent. I didn’t even bother taking off my boots, collapsing onto the bed and immediately falling to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Isbjørn

  Report Number One

  For a moment, I stood outside the princess’s door, heart beating fast with anger. It was still an interesting sensation, feeling that massive heart beating so fast—I tried to focus on that, to distract myself from the anger. How many times had I already lost my temper with the little brat?

  Walk away, I told myself. There would be time to bring her into line later. This was why I usually traveled without companions. Other people were too irksome by half.

  Once in my room, I demanifested, sighing in relief. It was hard to hold the isbjørn shape as long as I had, especially with the amount of running I’d done, and my body was grateful to be back in its usual shape. I set my shifting mask down on the table next to my bed, sitting for a moment before picking up a quill to write a report.

  First Report

  We arrived at the castle safely. Helena insisted on bringing her stallion Rune, which is why we arrived later than I estimated. Thus far she has done little to impress me, throwing tantrums and spitting in my face twice. Other than that, the journey was uneventful. She makes no indication of having any idea who I am, and does not seem intent on finding out.

  I wrote the thing up twice, then walked over to my fireplace, starting a fire in slow motion to accommodate my exhausted body. Once the flames were more than sparks, I recited the smoke letter spell twice, sending one copy to King Aleksander and a second to the Vansen Council.

  Finished, I fell back onto my rear, drained after just sending two short letters. Sending smoke letters was tiring, yes, though usually I had more than enough stamina for it. I really was exhausted. I had just enough energy to stoke the fire, give myself a poor
excuse of a bath, and fall into bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Lena

  I sat on the edge of my bed, soft rays of morning light barely peeping through the arrow slit that passed for my window. I’d slept the whole day and through the night, boots and all. Now I felt a bit at a loss. I wanted to change, feeling grimy beyond expression, but as soon as I made to remove my parka, icy cold fingers grasped my neck as if to strangle the life out of me. There was a tiny fireplace in one wall, but I saw no wood. Even if there had been wood I didn’t know how to light a fire. Unless it was in the faces of leering suitors.

  Besides which, what I needed more than anything was a long, warm bath with lavender soap. Seeing as I had no idea how to procure soap, water, or a bathtub, that seemed unlikely.

  “Well,” I told myself, “you can sit here and bemoan your fate, or you can try to figure something out.” I scowled at my own speech, thinking I much preferred the idea of curling up in my bed and sleeping another hundred years.

  Then I remembered Rune. He hadn’t eaten as long as I hadn’t eaten, and I was hungry again—not as hungry as I’d been when we’d arrived at the castle, but it was probably the second hungriest I’d been in my whole life.

  I stood too quickly and black spots swam over my vision. I caught myself on one of the bedposts, shutting my eyes tight until the spots left. If only the same trick would work for the whole castle. If only I could shut my eyes tight enough and everything would disappear right back to the day when Espen left for Sikuvok . . .

  “Feed Rune, then feel sorry for yourself,” I said, doing my best to imitate Dagmar’s bracing voice she’d used when she felt a little sorry for me but still wanted me to do whatever it was I was supposed to do. Usually she earned an eye-roll for her efforts. This time, though, the advice was sound. Which I’d given myself. “I’m going insane.” Perhaps a good place to start reversing that would be to stop talking aloud to myself.

  I ventured forward more slowly this time and found my feet. I also discovered every single other muscle in my whole body, as they apparently had all made a pact to shriek at the top of their little muscle lungs with every movement I made.

  That was a surreal moment. There was no one I could call for help—well, except the isbjørn, and I utterly refused to call for his help. Especially now, with his words from yesterday sinking in. I remembered them very well, ingrained in my memory. Here, you are going to discover what it’s like to live without privilege. If you want to eat, you cook. If you want to bathe, you haul the water. If you want a fire, you find wood and you light it. If you want a clean dress, you wash it, and if you want a new dress, you make it. I was realizing I didn’t know how to do any of those things. I’d cooked as a child under supervision, nothing I could duplicate now. Hauling water? And was I supposed to chop trees down to get me a fire? I knew how to embroider, and I hated it.

  Dagmar is gone. Mother and Father are gone. Your beautiful estate that you thought was a prison is gone. August is long gone. They are all as gone as Espen to you now. You have Rune, you have a surly isbjørn, and your own resources. My inner voice was Dagmar’s voice. Normally I would have thrown a fit if Dagmar had given me that lecture, but as my inner voice had noted, Dagmar was gone. Surreal or no, I would have to do it all myself.

  First, that meant feeding Rune.

  I didn’t exactly remember the way back to the stables. It wasn’t as if the castle was as big as the palace in Edeleste, which I could navigate despite the infrequency with which I visited the place, but I hadn’t been in the most alert state when we’d arrived the day before.

  My shrieking muscles settled into a dull roar as I walked what I was fairly certain the whole of the second floor before finding a set of stairs, then walked the majority of the ground floor before finding an exit into the courtyard. Wind and snow had swept away most of the remainder of the prints the isbjørn and I had left the day before, but enough was visible that the final piece of my search was easy.

  The inside of the stable was every bit as revolting as I remembered it. I felt even grimier, if that was possible, stepping in. “Poor Rune,” I said by way of greeting. My horse was eager to see me. “Food,” I said, looking around, then swore under my breath. I’d come to feed him without any food. The only food I knew of were those traveling squares in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Rune, I’ll be back,” I promised, briskly rubbing his nose and then hobbling out as quickly as my battered body would allow.

  Finding the kitchen again required less searching than finding the stables had. I paid attention, too, trying to construct a mental map of the castle in my head. Simple enough—a square around the courtyard, two stories, turrets at the corners, if the circular rooms I’d wandered through were any indication.

  I was so focused on the mental map that I almost jumped out of my skin when the isbjørn said, “Good morning,” from the shadowed corner of the kitchen. Apparently I’d forgotten that he was an enormous predator and his speech was more like growling than actual speech.

  “Good morning,” I replied airily, and he snorted.

  “I saw you jump.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good job, big scary animal.”

  “Keep that up and I won’t give you the breakfast I made.”

  That silenced me pretty quick. I was hungry, and Father tried to teach me to pick my battles. “First, what can I give to Rune?”

  “Another traveling square is the only food I have fit for horses. There are oats, but I assume you’d rather have your horse on a diet of traveling squares than be on one yourself. I certainly would.”

  I pursed my lips. “Are you certain the squares are safe for him to eat?”

  He grunted, an impatient sound. “I made them myself, of course I’m certain.”

  “Just asking,” I said, holding my hands up in a don’t-attack me way. “Do I have permission to take him a square?”

  “Go feed your horse.”

  Still holding my hands up, I walked past him to the pantry and took out a square. I took it to Rune, who ate it with alacrity, and then returned. The walk between the kitchen and the stables was actually very short, only cutting a corner of the courtyard. I added that to my mental map, placing the stables near the southeast corner, and the kitchen on the east side.

  The isbjørn hadn’t moved far in my absence, though now a bowl of porridge sat on the table. “You use dishes?” I asked, standing near the doorway.

  Between his eyes, the fur folded in what I figured was the isbjørn version of a scowl. “It’s for you; I already ate. Besides, porridge isn’t exactly ideal for an isbjørn body.”

  For a moment I was taken aback, though he’d already said he’d prepared breakfast for me. It was one thing to make food for me as long as he was making it for himself. It was quite another to make a separate meal for me and serve it. The kindness made me uncomfortable, especially after my moment of woe is me, I’m alone in the world, I’ll have to do everything myself earlier.

  “Thank you,” I said uncertainly.

  “Sit. Eat. It’s already cold, don’t want it to congeal too,” he said brusquely. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the stables. Can’t keep the horse in that state.” Not waiting for a response, he left.

  Confused, I ate the porridge. Cold or not, it was the best porridge I’d ever eaten.

  I finished and sat for a moment, considering my possibilities. I could go and try to bathe, change my clothes, and figure out how to avoid dying of exposure without wearing my parka out entirely. Or I could go help the isbjørn clean out the stable.

  “Stupid isbjørn with his stupid desire to stupid help Rune,” I muttered as I made the short walk through the courtyard to the stable. Snow was falling lightly from a gray sky, disguising the angle of the sun, but I guessed it was still fairly early morning. “What time is it?” I asked upon arrival at the stable.

  I heard a distinctly human voice curse, then a stream of Nyputian words. The isbjørn appeared around the corner. “What are you doing her
e?” he asked angrily.

  He was just a human, I realized, mouth hanging slightly open. Gathering myself in a way that would have made Mother proud, I said, “I came to help.”

  “Help?” he repeated.

  “It may be foreign concept to you. It’s when one person does something to assist another.” He had just been human. If I hadn’t announced myself, I would have seen the shifter’s face. “And you didn’t tell me what time it is.”

  The same scowl he’d pulled earlier came across his face. He lumbered past me, peering at the sky. “Nearly eleven.”

  “Eleven?” This time I was the one repeating things with surprise.

  “We’re north. Not many hours of daylight.”

  North. I opened my mouth to ask a follow-up question, and the Binding on my right arm squeezed. No asking about where we were. Fine. “Hmm. Well, how can I help?”

  The fur above his eyes rose, the picture of a quizzical expression on an isbjørn face. “What can you do?”

  “If you’ll show me what to do, I can do it,” I shot back. I hated that question. Everyone always assumed that because I couldn’t work magic I couldn’t do anything, and the isbjørn didn’t even have the excuse of my iron cuffs, though he had to be aware of my recently restricted privileges. I hated it when people assumed I was a Useless but Beautiful Princess. As if beauty did me any good.

  Sloping shoulder shrugged. “It’s mostly just scrubbing. Quicker with magic, but I’m not much of one for cleaning magic, usually prefer to put in the time than to figure out more new spells and waste my energy on that.”