by Jessica Daw
“And what?” I crossed my arms tight across my chest.
“We kissed once or twice . . . a few times . . . that’s all, I swear. And it’s not as if we were married, Helena, and besides which, it was an arranged marriage, it was more about the country than our feelings. Marriages like that don’t have the same rules. I thought you knew that.”
This idiot would not be convinced, and I couldn’t bear to hear another word, so I slapped him as hard as I could. “I was in love with you!” The words came out like shattered glass. It shouldn’t have hurt so much, but the pain felt borrowed. My devastated seventeen-year-old self deserved someone more worthy of mourning.
“It was Kristian’s fault!” he claimed wildly. “He practically abandoned her! She was lonely!”
“She was lonely?” I repeated disbelievingly. August had been right to be scornful of Espen. What an idiot. “And I was what? Enjoying the high life, alone on my family’s country estate, living for your letters, which were infrequent and short at best?”
He floundered for words. “I always thought you were more beautiful than Niviaq, or any other girl.”
I stiffened, catching what he didn’t say. Niviaq was not the only girl he’d flirted with—no, the flirting I’d known about. Maybe it had only been flirting with the others. “Do you love Niviaq?”
He licked his lips nervously. “Ah . . .”
“Just tell the truth, Espen,” I said tiredly. How had I ever worshipped this nincompoop? How had I resigned myself to never marry because I’d thought such a fool was dead? I would have mourned him my whole life, and he hadn’t even planned on being faithful to me once we were married.
“She’s much easier to be with than you—than anyone! Honestly, Helena, I never meant to do anything other than flirt. I didn’t want to fall in love and have the trouble of keeping a mistress when she was so far away.” Obviously it had never occurred to him to, say, not flirt in the first place since he was already betrothed and avoid the trouble of a mistress altogether. “But I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know she’s getting married to someone who’s much more powerful than you and will see you buried much more effectively than that tupilaq ever did before he sees you playing around with his wife!” My words came out fast, tumbling in my anger.
That news floored Espen, which surprised me. I hadn’t really believed he cared about the Sikken princess. Besides, I’d already mentioned her marriage—apparently he hadn’t been paying attention to what I said. “She’s . . . getting married?”
“To Kristian Bjørnes.” It burned to speak his name in that context.
“What? I thought the engagement was off after . . .”
“It’s on again,” I spat. “She’s smart to pick him over you. He’s better-looking than you, and better at magic, and smarter, and funnier, and more interesting, and actually has morals, and she should count herself the luckiest woman alive.” Smart-mouth me, hurting myself more than him. Or at least as much.
“Why aren’t you marrying him?” he asked, scornful.
“Why do you think I’m here?” I threw back.
His forehead creased. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you have a brain the size of a snowflake.”
“Ugh. Really, Helena, how old are you? This is exactly what I mean when I say Niviaq is easier to be around.”
I smacked him again, as it seemed more appropriate than throwing fire, which would have felt like flirting since I’d done it so many times to Kristian.
Kristian. I couldn’t bear to see him marry Niviaq. What would I do? Panic fluttered against my ribs, but I shoved it down, something I’d done often since he’d disappeared.
“You’re just proving my point.”
“You know, I was feeling sorry for you, being chased by that scary monster all this time. I should have left that beast to its work!”
“You make no sense! You still haven’t explained how you’re going to marry Kristian when Niviaq is supposed to marry him.”
Smacking Espen was so satisfying I wanted to do it again, but it occurred to me that it might be helpful to have him as an ally. A plan started forming in my head. “I’m not sure yet. I need to talk to him.”
Espen snorted. “Good luck with that. Neria—the capital of Sikuvok—”
“I know Neria is the capital of Sikuvok,” I interrupted, arms still folded across my chest.
He ignored me. “Is one of the most heavily guarded cities in the world, and the castle where the royal family lives is practically impenetrable. Queen Qila will never let you speak with your precious Prince Kristian.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Very mature, Helena,” he said witheringly.
“The wedding is three days from today. I have to speak to him soon.” Heavily guarded city. Heavily guarded castle. No weapons, no help. Time for another egg.
I spotted my pack lying on the packed-snow floor, and reached for it, almost running over Espen on the way. The ice cave wasn’t very big. I rummaged around in the pack once I was sitting again, back against the curved wall of the cave. Ruth’s wooden box wasn’t hard to find. I opened it and saw the empty shell of the first egg.
“Did a giant eagle pick you up and bring you to where I was fighting the giant?” I asked, picking up the gold-banded eggshell. It was beautiful, delicate, perfect.
“How did you know?”
“Huh.” If Espen hadn’t been brought to me, the half-baked plan I was going off wouldn’t work at all. “Question. Is Niviaq in love with you?”
His smile was smug. “Yes.” The smile slipped. “At least, she was.”
I hoped, for my sake, that she was still in love with him.
“What are you planning?”
Taking a deep breath, I removed the second egg. Sapphire blue with gold filigree swirling over it. Gently, I pulled it open.
A whoosh of magic stole my breath, and then a flood of fabric filled the cave.
“What on earth?!”
I ignored Espen. My first instinct was to be extremely annoyed at fabric? But I remembered the eagle had, in fact, been what I needed. Biting back annoyance, I began sorting through the fabric, which revealed itself to be three distinct dresses.
Unsurprisingly, they were all absurdly fabulous.
The first was a deep midnight blue, shimmering with equally dark purples and blacks, sparkling with stars. I had no idea how the enchantment worked, but the wearer would look like an artist’s dream of the night sky, long-sleeved and long-trained.
The next dress was diaphanous silver, light and glittering. The bodice was embroidered with swirls in a paler shade of silver, almost white. It seemed like it would float away any second, insubstantial as moonlight.
Third was a brilliant gold, bold and blinding. Its skirt was enormous, the bulk of the fabric that filled the cave, layers upon layers of embroidered golden fabric. Images of birds and flowers and leaves and vines, all in gold, danced over the whole of it. It glowed faintly, a chunk of sun cut free and burning for us in our little Sikken ice cavern.
“Does Niviaq like pretty dresses?” I asked, mind clicking away with ideas, all of them very foolhardy.
Espen looked surprised, but I didn’t know if it was from my question or still from the giant dresses that had burst from the tiny egg. “Yes, actually. There are very few seamstresses in Sikuvok, it is not a respected profession here, and most people are always wearing their winter clothes and have no need for fashion. It’s monstrously expensive to import dresses from Luspe, but Qila indulges Niviaq, occasionally.”
“Not too often?” I pressed hopefully.
Shaking his head and looking at me oddly, he said, “No, not often.”
I smirked at a stray thought. “I can imagine you—‘Beautiful Niviaq, I love you so much that when I’m married and you’re my long-distance mistress, I will send you the most fabulous dresses in all of Luspe!’”
Espen
was not amused. “Just because you are surrounded by more finery than you know what to do with doesn’t mean you should mock her.”
That made me snort. “You really did promise her dresses, didn’t you?”
His scowl answered my question.
“Well, enough fun. How close are we to Neria? Namely, the palace?”
Scowl deepening, he said, “I was brought here by a maniac eagle, I have no idea.”
I felt like I suddenly knew Espen. I had never guessed he was such a coxcomb, but so much more of his behavior was explicable after becoming aware of that. I was still mad at his flirtation with Niviaq and planned continuation of unfaithfulness, so I poked fun at him. “You’ve lived here for three years and you don’t know if we’re close to the capital or not?”
“It was the eagle!” he protested.
Valid reason, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Uh-huh. Well, do you think you could possibly find the palace and show me Princess Niviaq’s window? Or has the eagle confused you about that too?”
“Of course I can do that!” he said exasperatedly.
“Hmm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
It turned out we were quite close to the castle, which was not far from the sea, and, like Eirik Bjørnes’ castle in Tryllejor, was more of a fortress than a castle.
I decided with determined lightheartedness that this castle was not as ugly as the castle Kristian and I had lived in when I’d first seen it. It was at least ten times as massive, and though our castle had been relatively small it had been no cottage. This one stretched into the forbidding sunless sky, made of age- and weather-blackened rock, seemingly built with the single purpose of intimidation—which, considering what I knew of Sikuvok, wasn’t an entirely unreasonable assumption to make. Its spires were great claws, its walls sheer and unscalable, inseparable from the mountains that rose behind the castle. Even the windows had lines of spikes. Though a shrieking wind would not have been inappropriate, it would have been more comforting, especially now that I knew the winds personally, than the dead silence.
My lightheartedness hadn’t lasted very long.
No, I told myself as fears tried to creep in. I am Helena Nordskov. I will not be intimidated by a great old lump of rock. If it is the bleakest place I’ve ever seen, what of it? Bleakness cannot frighten me. I have walked on water and ridden on the back of the winds and I will not be frightened.
“I told you I could find it.”
“It’s enormous. I could have found it in less time.”
Espen groaned. “Were you always so disagreeable?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “Now show me where Niviaq’s window is.”
“You want to . . . bribe her with the dress?” He gestured to the starry dress I’d brought, folded over my arms, not knowing how else to go about carrying it. It probably wouldn’t have tempted the Sikken princess if it was crumpled from time in my pack.
“Aw, you’re not as stupid as I thought. Yes, that is exactly what I want to do.”
“What is your plan?”
“It involves me doing what I judge is best and you waiting like a good boy.”
“Are you going to try to stop the wedding?”
“I’m going to try to talk to Kristian!” I said shortly. “Then I’ll know if I’m going to try to stop the wedding or not. Now show me where her window is!” I felt like my heartbeat was going to bust my chest apart, and I was trying desperately to ignore my nerves. I couldn’t be polite to my idiot former-and-maybe-current-betrothed too.
“Fine!” He pointed towards the castle. “Second floor, third window from the north corner. Queen Qila keeps her curtains drawn, and most of this wing is unoccupied. Can you find your way back to the cave on your own?”
“Of course I can, but where are you going?”
“I can’t stay here.” I realized, belatedly, that he seemed nervous. “You forget that someone tried very hard to kill me, and that someone is likely in that castle. I have to be careful.”
“Fine.” I’d nearly forgotten about the token I held. That would come in handy later, when I didn’t want him squatting in the cave like a scared child. For now, though, that was precisely the most helpful position to have him in. If my half-baked plan came to fruition, I very well may require the element of surprise.
“You’ll be alright?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The words were grudging, but I meant them, sort of. Without him, chances of me dying alone in Sikuvok, never speaking one word to Kristian, were very high.
He left, and after watching until he disappeared into the gray-white wash of the wilderness beyond, I slowly opened my fingers, wondering which of us was less trustworthy.
All thoughts fled my mind as I saw what I had captured from the tupilaq. I had wondered why he wore a different signet ring, but it hadn’t seemed odd with all the changes that had overtaken him.
The metal in my glove glinted dully in the flat cloud-blocked sunlight, a painfully familiar iron ring with the Nordskov family seal. August Nordskov, my cousin, had created the tupilaq to kill Espen.
“How could you?” I breathed, as if the ring would answer for my cousin. Memories were rushing through my mind, rearranging themselves in light of this revelation even though I could not seem to process it. August’s proposal, his claim that Espen wasn’t worthy of me, his tendency to anger and violence, how much he hated Espen even before he met him. Then later, his adroit saving of my suitor debacle, earning him a place as my father’s heir, and his hasty marriage to the daughter of a powerful king.
I knew, even realizing all of that, that I couldn’t reveal him. He had been my only friend for so long, and I loved him as if he were my brother, even though he’d shut me out. Besides, I was fairly certain that he believed he’d done this for me, however foolish that belief was. I couldn’t ruin his life with this ring, sitting as if it were powerless in my hand. I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying him so completely. Because what possible outcome was there other than his utter social destruction? Espen Kjeldsen had been—was—popular and well-liked. Murder, no matter the excuse . . . August would never be forgiven.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to forgive him, not for a long time, but I couldn’t reveal him either. I buried the ring in my deepest pocket, using energy I couldn’t spare to seal the pocket closed.
All I wanted to do was drown in feelings, but I hardened my heart and went forward with my harebrained plan. Really harebrained. I walked to the window Espen had indicated, and started dancing with the dress, letting it shimmer in the weak sunlight.
Anyone who saw me probably thought I was insane. They were probably right. The only opinion I cared for belonged to Kristian—he’d seen me crazier. How would I ever find someone else who was like Kristian? Who knew me, inside and out, and . . . I wanted desperately to be sure he loved me.
I danced on, hissing “See me, pretty-and-flirtatious Niviaq.” If I was going to be insane, I may as well do it fully.
When I whirled, I saw a dark head leaning out the window. Not Kristian, who had thick white-blond hair I longed to run my fingers through.
“Where did you get that dress?” I sent a thousand mental thanks and apologies to Dagmar for dragging me through a thousand lessons on the Trylle language, which I had been unshakably convinced I would never, ever, ever use. Though apparently she had still realized I was a foreigner, addressing me in Trylle instead of Sikken. Oh, well. Likely the warrior-like Sikkens, who didn’t even have tailors or seamstresses enough for finery, didn’t dance around in the snow at twilight with fancy dresses.
I spun once more, making sure the dress caught the fast-fading light as well as it could, then stopped, looking up at the face.
Espen hadn’t been lying. Niviaq was beautiful, raven-black hair, liquid dark almond eyes, charming little bow mouth. Nose a touch overwide, but it served to make her look exotic and interesting.
“It’s not for sale,” I said in sing-song. Crazy people are harmless, especially when they�
�re half-starved, poorly-dressed wretches like I was just then. I willed Niviaq to believe that.
“I’m the princess of Sikuvok, I can afford whatever price you ask.” She was more fierce-sounding than I’d expected. Not a fainting daisy of a princess, then. At least not in front of a crazy person with a fantastic dress.
“Not for money.” I spun again, the midnight sky flaring around me.
“For what, then?” She sounded a bit breathless. It was a fantastic dress.
Thoughtfully, I slowly turned to face her. “An audience with the prince.”
She frowned, suspicious. “I can pass him a message.”
I shook my head. “I wish to speak with him, in person.”
“The queen will never allow an urchin like you in the castle.”
“And I suppose you must simply obey her will . . .” I sashayed a few small steps, left, right, left, flicking the dress with my gloved hands.
“I can get you into his room now, but he won’t be there until night. I’ll let you out in the morning.”
My chest seized at that thought. Last time I’d been in Kristian’s room at night, everything had been ruined.
“Well? Will that satisfy you?” Niviaq obviously did not have patience for crazy people with fancy dresses.
“It will.”
Her head disappeared, and I kept up my absurd dance until she ducked her head out a first-floor door, small and made of ancient oak, a dozen yards to my right. “Hurry!”
Surreptitiously, I pulled my hood further over my face, hoping the crazy lady wouldn’t earn closer observation from the Sikken princess.
The castle was just as intimidating within as without, the hallways dark and tunnel-like, impossible to differentiate from each other, a confusing, endless labyrinth. By the time she stopped by a door, I had no idea where I was, buried in the belly of a stone beast.
She shooed me into the room, then held her hands out for the dress. Reluctantly, feeling vulnerable, I handed it over. “I’ll let you out in the morning. Don’t let anyone else see you,” she instructed, and then was gone.
The room was swathed in darkness, a dying fire the only light. It was more elaborate than I’d expected, with a grand four-poster bed hung with heavy velvet curtains, and equally heavy drapes shutting out any last sunlight, a thick fur rug on the floor, two chairs by the fireplace, tables, dressers, a wardrobe, all sturdy as mountains. None of the colors were clear in the dark room, faded to shades of black and deep gray. I tucked myself into a chair by the fireplace, my knees drawn up under my chin, rocking as I waited. All I heard was my own breathing over the soft crackling of the fire, all I saw the fading red of the flames, the rest of the world midnight silence.