Cross the Silver Moon

by Jessica Daw

  “I assume you know who Queen Qila is.” Magdalena was abruptly all business. I couldn’t figure her out, and stopped trying to.

  When she didn’t go on, I answered, “Queen of Sikuvok.”

  “Do you know much of her character?”

  I dug through my memory. “She is a warrior, and Father does not want to go to war with her.”

  A faint smile pulled at Magdalena’s lips. “No one wants to go to war with her, with the possible exception of the creatures that infest her savage land, and her own citizenry. As any good ruler of Sikuvok has been, she is a ferocious fighter, and rumors of her war-maging abilities are difficult to believe, if one does not know her. Her husband is old and sick and has not been able to fight for years, more or less confined to his chambers. She recently sustained an injury to her left leg that makes her walk with a limp.

  “Queen Qila has only one daughter, Niviaq. Niviaq is about your age. Mine too.”

  “I know,” I interrupted. I was growing impatient. None of this had to do with Kristian.

  Magdalena continued as if I had said nothing. “Now, Kristian has always been rather wild. He did not get along with his father, King Henrik. After Kristian’s mother, Queen Elin, died, King Henrik and Kristian couldn’t get along anymore. It was only a matter of time before there was an explosion. King Henrik agreed to send Kristian to Sikuvok, at Queen Qila’s request, to be trained as the future king of Sikuvok. And, of course, to become acquainted with Princess Niviaq, to whom he became betrothed.”

  I felt like a fist had been shoved into my stomach. Kristian was betrothed to Princess Niviaq? I was going to be sick all over Magdalena’s tidy desk.

  “Princess Niviaq is not like her mother. She’s a decent warrior, when she chooses to be. But her obsession is Luspe. Fashions, gossip, customs. Queen Qila doesn’t approve, but Princess Niviaq has a mind of her own. She was infatuated with Kristian at first, but then Lord Kjeldsen arrived.”

  Lord Kjeldsen. Espen. I was numb.

  “Kristian caught Niviaq and Espen engaged in . . . romantic activities, and declared that the betrothal was off. He left, rejoining Eirik in Nyput to fight.

  “Queen Qila was not at all pleased at this turn of events, as Lord Espen was betrothed to you—oh. I’ve been insensitive, haven’t I?”

  “Finish,” I ordered. Begged. My voice was raw.

  “Forgive me, I am usually much better at remembering such details. But Lord Espen could not marry Princess Niviaq, and Queen Qila was left without a more satisfactory heir than her own daughter, and Queen Qila would really prefer to see the line continued before she gives up the throne. Guarantee her dynasty through posterity.

  “Queen Qila approached Eirik to work out a new agreement. Eirik, being the brilliant diplomat he is, managed to work out a deal that could offer Kristian freedom without Queen Qila withdrawing her army from the war in Nyput, which would have been devastating. Queen Qila insisted that it was completely normal and natural that Niviaq had been tempted to stray by Espen’s proximity and that Kristian would fare no better in a similar situation. Eirik insisted that Kristian would not behave similarly. They devised a test. Kristian would live in a castle with a young lady for a year, and if he did not touch her, skin to skin, by the end of the year, Queen Qila would relinquish her claim on Kristian as Niviaq’s betrothed. If Kristian failed, he was clearly no different than Niviaq and had no grounds for breaking their betrothal.”

  I was grateful for the numbness that clouded my mind and protected me from fully understanding Magdalena’s words, at least on an emotional level. Rationally, I could draw conclusions. “Kristian failed the test. Now he has to marry Niviaq.” In a distant way, I was frightened by how flat my voice was.

  “At the present moment, yes.” I’d thought Magdalena was unaffected by all this, but her eyes were dull at that pronouncement.

  “Can’t Eirik do anything?”

  “He tried. He sent Kristian to vie for your hand.”

  “I failed him twice,” I concluded miserably, remembering that horrible day. How could I have known? I hadn’t troubled to make the slightest attempt to find out even the first thing about my suitors. Kristian had been there. What if I’d tried to get to know them? Kristian and I could be married happily in Vansland.

  But . . . I never would have lived in my castle with my isbjørn. And I knew all too well that I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him, not then, not angry and helpless as I’d been then. Still, it was hellish to realize that I’d condemned him twice.

  A hint of amusement touched Magdalena’s face. “He was not in the best of moods when he returned. He was clean-shaven—wanted to know why no one had told him his beard looked stupid.”

  Of all the idiotish things. My face burned. “I . . .” No defense for myself came to mind, not for that particular fit of immaturity. Besides, I had no interest in explaining August and his role to Magdalena.

  Gently, Magdalena said, “Eirik’s hands are tied. We cannot afford the loss of Sikken support, and we certainly cannot afford sparking a war with Sikuvok, which would be the inevitable outcome if we proved ourselves such unfit allies that we would not even stand by our agreement for a marriage alliance.”

  I moaned, bending over to rest my head on my knees.

  “Lady Helena?”

  “What can be done?” I whispered. It would kill me to sit here, letting everything Lady Magdalena had said sink in, poison that would steal the breath from my body and stop my heart.

  “I can do nothing. Eirik can do nothing. Sikuvok is too far to be reached in time to make a difference anyway. However, there is someone . . .”

  With tremendous effort, I dragged my head up to look at him. “Who?”

  “All I can give you is a rumor I heard once or twice. More likely than not, chasing after it will get you killed.” I saw the question in her eyes. Did I love Kristian enough to risk my life? I read the question as a challenge, and I rose.

  “I will do anything. Tell me.”

  She nodded. “First, though, you have to know that the Sikkens are not monsters. Niviaq would not make a demon of a wife for Kristian. She is not her mother. He would have a position respected by the world, even more so than now.”

  My spine turned to steel, my head lifted. “Are you saying he does not deserve a choice in something as personal as whom he should marry?”

  “In the eyes of most people in the world, yes.”

  “I asked if you believe that.”

  The pain in her eyes was well-disguised, but I caught it anyway. “He is my old, old friend. And I have never seen him as . . . agitated as he was when you were gone, and believe me, I have seen him in a great deal of agitation.”

  That made my heart thud. Kristian had not said he loved me, one of the thousand thoughts that had been attacking me since he’d disappeared before my eyes, from my arms. But his “old friend” seemed to believe that he had liked being separated from me as much as I’d liked being separated from him—that is, not at all.

  Still, that was not the central point. Kristian was having his choice taken from him. Someone—Queen Qila was disregarding any choice he had, and taking away his future and choosing it for him. Maybe he wanted it, or would come to want it. Maybe he didn’t want me as his future.

  I was the one to blame for him losing this test, this fight for his future. It was my own selfishness, my impulsiveness, my recklessness, my blindness. All of this had been tumbling through my mind since Kristian had disappeared. No one else would save him, which was something I had not thought before. I was the only one who could undo my mistake. I had drawn my conclusions. There was no question in my mind as to the course of action to take.

  Well, I meant that in the vague sense, because actually, I had no idea how to go about this course of action.

  “He deserves a choice. He isn’t a pawn,” I said softly.

  Matching my tone, Magdalena replied, “I agree.”

  “Where do I go?”

  Chapter Twe
nty-Three

  Kristian

  My head pounded before I was even fully awake. I was disoriented, a sensation I hated.

  “Are you awake?” A soft, girlish voice made me wince as my ears rang.

  An enormous effort, and my eyes opened. The scene that met my eyes made me feel very stupid for forgetting, even briefly, what had happened, and even stupider for being disappointed that the face hovering above me was not Lena’s. I couldn’t be lucky enough to wake to that twice.

  Not that Princess Niviaq was difficult to look at. She had silky black hair, flawless tan skin, pleasant almond black eyes, and a delicate mouth. Only her slightly overwide nose could not be claimed as classically beautiful, but it suited her.

  The old internal struggle awoke inside me. The battle between duty and desire, between following orders and independence. I had picked independence, often, before my father’s death, three years ago, and had paid a price of pain and isolation and fury at his hands. Afterwards, Eirik had been too busy trying to bring our country out of the state of despair caused by my father’s reckless and selfish reign, culminating with the war caused by my mother’s attempts to make right some of his more foolish mistakes.

  I’d been sent to Sikuvok by my father, and at first it hadn’t been such a burden. The Sikken warriors had taught me how to shift, something many of them were able to do despite its difficulty, as the harsh climate and the civil unrest of the country required strong warriors. And Niviaq was beautiful and flirtatious.

  Then my mother had been murdered in Nyput by rebels and Father had declared war and I’d gone and fought. I’d wanted to fight, but I’d methodically disobeyed my father’s orders. My disobedience had led to my capture by the Nyputians, and Father had died to allow my escape.

  Eirik had sent me back to Sikuvok, to ascertain that Tryllejor wouldn’t be left without a legitimate heir. That had been duty. I’d wanted to fight, to avenge my father’s death. However much we’d fought, he hadn’t been a bad man.

  Then I’d caught Niviaq and Espen, nearly a year after returning to Sikuvok. It had been my own fault—I’d paid her little attention, always off with the border guards. Still, it had burned to see my own betrothed kissing my childhood friend.

  At Eirik’s request, I’d gone to vie for Helena’s hand. No. I couldn’t think about that. My mind ignored me, replaying my reasoning.

  Fool. I was the greatest fool alive. I had thought it brilliant, when I’d returned from Vansland and Eirik had announced the insane test devised from Queen Qila, to choose Lena. Never in a hundred years would I want to touch that brat, who’d mocked me with so little consideration. Then, at the beginning, it had not even occurred to me that I could lose this gamble against Queen Qila.

  “I hope your trip was pleasant.” Niviaq’s accented Trylle combined with her use of colloquial little phrases had once been charming to me, in a vague sort of way.

  Duty or desire. Desire told me to shove the silk-draped, faithless princess away, to storm out of the palace, to abandon Eirik to the consequences, and find a way back to Tryllejor. Duty remembered the horrors of war, and how often the Sikken warriors had saved the less-experienced Trylle and Vansen warriors from the Nyputians. My freedom was not too high a price to pay in exchange for my country’s safety.

  “Pleasant enough.” Still, my voice was strained. I was lying on a very comfortable bed, the fabric imported from Alenza, the bedframe imported from Schattenland, the curtains imported from Sûrie. The room itself wasn’t overlarge—the last time I’d stayed here, I’d expressed preference for this room, as it was smaller, less places for people to hide. I hadn’t exactly come to Sikuvok full of trust for its inhabitants.

  “Mother used life energy from a qalupalik for the spell to transport you here.” A qalupalik—if memory served, they were human-like creatures that lived in the sea, long-haired with green skin and claw-like fingernails that liked stealing children. Practical experience had taught me to remember that one.

  “It was quite effective.” I felt strained, miserable, my head pounding. Lena was stuck in my mind, her face when she’d said she loved me.

  “Do you require anything? Some sort of refreshment, perhaps?” I’d confronted her, when I caught her and Espen. Clearly she was going to pretend that had never happened.

  “Water,” I said, hoping that would make her leave, give me a moment to gather my thoughts.

  She signaled to someone I hadn’t noticed, standing near the doorway. “Please send someone to bring Prince Kristian water.” She spoke in Sikken to address the servant, but I knew Sikken nearly as well as I knew Vansen, though my Vansen was fresher, having spent the last year speaking with Lena in Vansen. Still, my nearly two years spent in Sikuvok were not totally gone to waste.

  Her giggle rubbed me wrong, but I kept quiet. “We are without a chaperone!”

  Sikkens did not care about niceties like chaperones.

  “As we are engaged, I think it would be appropriate for you to kiss me.” Niviaq cast me a flirtatious look from beneath her coal-black lashes.

  I was still reclined on the bed, looking up at her. The battle continued, but I had chosen duty. Duty, duty, duty.

  Duty wasn’t quite enough to kiss Niviaq, not yet, not now, when I could still feel Lena’s mouth on mine. I understood I would marry her, and I understood I would not leave Sikuvok again, as Sikken rulers could almost never be spared long enough to visit any other countries.

  Understanding and application were two different things, when disgust at Niviaq’s behavior curdled in my stomach.

  Niviaq was moving towards me, and all I could do was watch, bound as surely as if I’d cut my palm and sworn to stay still. Duty, duty, duty. The words were a chant, louder than my heartbeat, they had to be stronger than my heartbeat.

  The servant’s return saved me. Niviaq looked angry for a split second, an expression that made it clear she did, to some degree, resemble her mother. Then the anger changed to a pout. “Another time, my prince,” she whispered, then turned to the servant, taking the water and turning back to me without a word for the servant.

  She took the liberty of placing one hand behind my neck and lifting the glass to my mouth, as if I were an invalid incapable of doing so myself. I swallowed the water. Duty. Her hands were rough on my neck, the hands of someone who knew how to do more than embroider and perform fashionable spells.

  Lena crowded my mind with characteristic force. My stomach rebelled, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if the water I’d swallowed was going to continue its way down or make a reappearance.

  Trying to be polite about it, I moved away from Niviaq, sitting up straighter. I still wore the same base layer I’d worn to retrieve Lena, wool pants and shirt. I’d been too tired upon arrival to change, and there hadn’t been a moment to breathe since. In Tryllejor, a lady would never have been in a room with me in such a state of undress, even with a servant present.

  This is not Tryllejor, I told myself harshly.

  That wasn’t the hardest part to accept.

  This is not your castle, and you will never see Lena again.

  My fists clenched against the emotions I couldn’t afford to feel.

  Duty. Duty. Duty. I would not forget. Not this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lena

  Weak light stung my eyes as I stared north. Snow lay thick on the ground, swirling like dust in wind I didn’t feel. In the distance, mountains rose, stark and white against the faded blue sky. Feeling dramatic and childish, I wished the sun away, hating it for stealing Kristian away. He was east of the sun now—Sikuvok, the land east of the sun and west of the moon. I would have to go beyond the realm of the sun to find him.

  My exhausted mind had no idea what that meant, stupid nursery rhyme, discordant in my head. It sounded like something from an epic poem, where all people feel is bravery and all they seek is adventure. I did not feel brave, and the last thing I wanted was adventure. If there was any other choice, I would have taken
it.

  I’d long since established there was no other choice. I’d cut off all my other choices when I’d kissed Kristian.

  The only consolation was Rune, standing beneath me, more reliable than the sun itself. My faithful stallion, strong and brave, all things I wanted to be and wasn’t.

  I cleared those thoughts from my mind. They would not help me get to Kristian in time. Magdalena told me the wedding was to be on the first day of the new year. She’d been invited, or rather Eirik had been, but there was no physical way for either to reach Sikuvok in time, save it were by use of an absolutely absurdly exorbitant amount of magic energy that couldn’t be afforded even in times of peace. “I could have left earlier, as Queen Qila pointed out, if I’d known Kristian better and realized he would not pass the test,” she’d told me.

  Queen Qila sounded charming as a peach.

  And I would never get to meet her if I didn’t start.

  Taking a deep breath, I urged Rune forward. I’d already bid farewell to Lady Magdalena, after thanking her for everything she’d done. I probably should have been more profuse with my gratitude, but gloom clung to me like water, except it didn’t dry off or drip away, refusing to leave me, however much I tried to rid myself of it. It wasn’t helpful.

  But how could I get rid of the knowledge that I’d lost Kristian, and my chance of regaining him was slim at best?

  The landscape around me was meaningless. North.

  It was so like my previous journeys with my isbjørn that, when I realized where I was, I wondered how I could have been so stupid as not to realize it.

  By then, the sun was lowering in the sky. I held in the wails and the screams that I wanted to let loose. I couldn’t afford energy for the kind of dramatics I’d displayed in the past, but I whimpered like a kicked dog. That was our home, breaking the horizon with stubbornness that had weathered ages of the world beating upon it.