by Jessica Daw
“Vansen?” I repeated.
Katu nodded, watching my face carefully. I wondered what he saw there. “She speaks Trylle as well, but not Sikken, as far as I can tell.”
“Who is she?”
He cleared his throat. “She never offered her name.
“Katu,” I said warningly. “Surely you have a guess.”
“I assumed,” he said carefully, “that she was the Vansen princess. She is very beautiful, blond hair and dark eyes.”
The stone in my chest couldn’t contain my heart at those words. It leapt, then plummeted. She was going to get herself killed. She was going to start a war. I had to see her. She’d been in my room? “She . . . screamed?”
Katu nodded. “Cursed violently, in Vansen, Trylle, and, if I’m not mistaken, Nyputian.”
This was bad. This was very bad. My heartbeat was pounding a rapid tattoo against my ribs, the skin of my palms tight and tingling. “Will she come again?”
“That I cannot say, my lord.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lena
Niviaq took the sun dress, which outshone the pale coin of the actual sun behind the constant cloud cover. “Kristian will think I am very lovely in this at our wedding, don’t you think?” she asked with a pointed smile.
I couldn’t reply. I was beginning to be afraid. What if all this was for nothing? What if Rune had died for me to get so close and then fail? What if Ruth’s gifts served no greater purpose than to clothe Niviaq in the height of fashion for her wedding to Kristian? And save Espen, so I could return and marry him and live in misery, knowing what love was really like?
That wasn’t fair. Espen had been patient while I’d sat staring blankly at the walls of the ice cave. He’d convinced me to eat and hadn’t asked about Niviaq. He’d walked with me as close to the castle as I let him come.
My blood was cold and sharp, my heart squeezed into a fist of fear. Last night had nearly killed me, yet here I was, following Niviaq through the tunnels of the castle lit with dim torches that cast more shadows than light, flickering and blue. The princess’s footsteps were whispers, and mine overloud, like my heartbeat in my ears, like my dress swishing about. I’d never hear someone walking up behind me over all the noise I made in my own head. My thoughts were screaming at me to turn around. My heart was already broken, and I was afraid that another night with an unresponsive, corpse-like Kristian would break my mind too.
We reached his room, and I couldn’t have been more terrified to enter a torture chamber.
Then she locked me in and it wasn’t a torture chamber, it was a mausoleum, the fire of embers and ash nothing more than an empty promise of warmth and light. It was so cold in there, bitterly cold as I sat, curled in my chair whose color I didn’t even know, the room filled with the silence of eternities and the darkness of the stony core of the earth. The dark felt so vast and the air so finite, a cave, an abyss.
No time could exist in my abyss. The fire flickered on the verge of extinction as long as I stared at it, the same as it had done the previous nights. So whether it was hours or ages before the door opened I couldn’t say. Logic said an eternity couldn’t have passed as I waited, but it felt as if one had. I tried to remind myself of Ruth’s egg, which I’d brought as a final desperate measure that night, but I couldn’t convince myself it could really help.
I couldn’t bring myself to watch as the too-loud guards brought my Kristian in, though I couldn’t help but hear the sound of him hitting the bed like so much dead weight. I winced and stared at the fire, if the pit of embers could be called a fire.
My heart started shaking when the door closed behind the guards, leaving me alone with Kristian. Where had this coward come from? Had love made me into this girl who couldn’t stand up from her chair, who couldn’t even look? But the very thought of looking made my whole body seize up. My breathing was uneven and too quick, shudders and spasms instead of actual breaths, but I couldn’t seem to control my lungs. For the thousandth time since I’d walked into my isbjørn’s room, tears started falling down my face, cold as ice, as my own weakness incapacitated me.
Then, impossibly, I heard a single word. “Lena.”
I gasped and buried my face in my hands, crying hard now. I really was going insane, imagining him speaking to me . . . or . . . but that or would be my undoing if it wasn’t true.
A hand, heavy and warm and large and excruciatingly real, fell on my shoulder. “Lena?”
“Are you really there?” I sobbed out, not lifting my head.
There was a pause. The hand lifted from my shoulder, and I heard something moving. Then, gentle but firm, my hands were pried from my face and taken in one of those absurdly large hands, the other soft on my cheek. A massive form was crouched in front of me, outlined by the firelight, white hair falling into the face that looked up at me. Gray eyes stared into mine. “I’m here.”
A sound I’d never made before escaped me. I tried to launch myself from the chair but my legs were numb, so I fell into Kristian. He caught me, kneeling back and holding me in his lap, and kissed me with all the fervor and heat that I couldn’t summon, swallowed by emotions, so I sat limply and cried the first tears of joy I’d ever cried. They coursed down my face, warm and cleansing.
When he pulled away to look at my face, still supporting me, I saw, to my surprise, that his eyes were wet too, though he was laughing. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
I was laughing too, and I hugged him as tight as I could before backing away so I could see him again. The light in the room was almost nonexistent, but it was enough to see his face. Though I’d only seen it twice before I had it memorized, and still couldn’t look enough at it. At him. “You thought you’d never see me again?” I asked in a croaky voice. “I don’t recall being the one who was swept away at dawn’s first light.”
He laughed again, deep and rich and full, filling every empty space inside me and wiping away pain I hadn’t thought I’d ever be free from. I noticed again that he’d let his facial hair grow out and started crying again because that first day—our first encounter—seemed something I’d heard in a fairy tale in a world that no longer existed.
“I missed you,” I whispered as I leaned forward to hug him again, my arms around his broad shoulders and my face tucked into his neck. His arms encircled me and I’d never felt as safe as I did in that moment, surrounded by Kristian.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He pulled away, looking at my face. “Why did you come?”
I hadn’t expected that question. “I . . . wanted to talk to you.”
His eyebrows folded, the expression so like my isbjørn. It distracted me—I leaned forward and kissed the fold. “What about?” he asked, and I moved back.
“Um . . . your wedding.”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“I know. Everyone said I wouldn’t make it in time.”
“How did you get here?”
“I met Magdalena. She was very helpful—she sent me to Ruth.”
“Ruth? You’re not making much sense, Lena.”
Hearing him say my name was delightful, and I squeezed him tighter for a moment, feeling gloriously happy. “Ruth, the mystery woman that shows up when people are at their most desperate. She said you’d told her rumors about her.”
“She shows up when people are dying,” he said sharply.
“Well, yes.” I didn’t want to meet his eyes.
“And Magdalena sent you to her?” Definitely angry.
“Yes. And I found her.”
“Lena! What happened to you?!” Now he was squeezing tighter, tight enough it should’ve been uncomfortable but wasn’t.
Still, remembering sobered me somewhat. I began tracing patterns on his shoulder, giving me somewhere to look other than at his face and something else to distract myself with. “I had to kill Rune,” I whispered.
“You had to . . . oh, Lena, I’m so sorry,” he whispered back.
I found out I still had a
few tears to cry for Rune, especially with Kristian, whom Rune had loved so much. I tucked my face into Kristian’s shoulder, only for a moment. We didn’t have time for me to sink into despair, not now. “It’s alright. He was . . . he was such a good horse.”
“I know.”
“Carried me such a long way.”
“I know.”
I sniffed, nodding, and pulled back to see his face again. “But after that I found Ruth. I had to run across a river, though,” I said with a smile, trying to let the silly desire to impress Kristian put at bay the pain of losing Rune.
“You ran across a river? In a state when you were ready to meet Ruth? You had to be on the brink of death, Lena, that’s the rules of meeting her.”
Suddenly I became suspicious. “Have you met her?”
Gray eyes became shifty. “I, uh . . .” He sighed. “Yes. I have.”
“What happened to you?” I asked, more upset than I should have been, with him safe and whole in my arms.
“I was wounded in a fight with . . . another isbjørn. And I was alone, hunting, like always. I would’ve died if she hadn’t found me.”
“Oh,” I said softly, the three-sentence story giving me a whole new perspective on Kristian’s past.
“Now you, what happened so you met Ruth?” he insisted.
I shrugged. “I was starving, and probably dying of exposure and exhaustion too.”
“Starving?” he asked incredulously.
“She found me, like you. I’m fine.”
“And then what? She magicked you here?”
I snorted. “I wish it had been that simple. No, she sent me to find the east wind. Who took me to the west wind, because the east wind wasn’t strong enough to get me here. Surprise—the west wind wasn’t strong enough either, took me to the south wind—they’re all brothers, by the way. South wind couldn’t make it here either, so he brought me to the north wind, who looks like a dragon all shot through with lightning, and he brought me here.”
“You . . . rode the winds?”
The awe in his voice pleased me very much. I was amazed by how calm I felt, how happy and at ease and warm. The feeling had been so distant, so inaccessible, since I’d learned who my isbjørn was and lost him. “I did.”
“And then, what? How did you get into my room?”
“Ruth gave me three eggs that she said to open when I needed them most. I got here, and I was attacked by a tupilaq—do you know what that is?”
“Avenging monsters,” he said, and I very nearly kissed the concerned fold between his eyebrows again. But I was in the middle of my story, so I carried on.
“Exactly. It turns out that . . . someone . . .” I couldn’t keep the truth from Kristian. “Don’t tell anyone, please, but my cousin, August? He’d designed one to kill my betrothed, Espen Kjeldsen. I ran into it when I landed, and since it was designed to kill Espen and not me, I was able to kill it. But before I knew I’d succeed, I opened an egg, and this giant eagle flew out. I thought the egg was pointless, but I killed the tupilaq, and then the eagle brought back Espen!”
“Espen? Wasn’t he dead?” Kristian didn’t exactly look pleased at discovering his childhood associate was alive.
“Everyone thought so. Anyway, he helped me get in here, though I used another egg, and it gave me three really pretty dresses, and Niviaq traded them for an audience with you, except the first two times you were asleep and I couldn’t wake you.”
“How could Eirik let you set off on that journey?” he asked, arms clenching around me, matching his tense jaw.
“Well, he wasn’t there, it was Lady Magdalena.”
“Magda? She sent you to Ruth?”
I shrugged. “She couldn’t have stopped me,” I said, placing a hand on that tense jaw.
“Why? Why did you come? I’m engaged to Niviaq, I’m marrying her tomorrow.”
That jolted me. “Oh,” I whispered, my hand dropping from his face. I scooted away from him, huddling up against the chair I’d half-fallen out of in my eagerness to get to Kristian. “So you’re going to marry her?”
“What do you expect, Lena? Did you think I was being kept prisoner and you could come free me? I could have escaped if I wanted to.”
“You . . . want to marry her?” I’d tried to prepare myself for this eventuality, but it was slamming into my chest like a million rocks.
“Niviaq isn’t a bad sort,” he said, and I didn’t know what he felt, afraid my judgment was clouded by what I wanted him to feel. I’d certainly read his embrace and kisses in the past hour wrong.
“Do you love her?” I couldn’t look at him, gaze on my hands. Faint silver patterns of frost were forming on my skin. I had never seen that happen before to me. It had been a while since I’d used magic, and I was feeling more than I could bear.
“I . . .”
No. This wasn’t me, not anymore. I wasn’t some fainting damsel to be put off so easily. I had gone through abject misery to get here, and I wasn’t going to let him go so easily.
The frost on my fingers melted, and I met his gaze boldly, feeling terribly exposed but strong too. “Do you love her?” I repeated, forceful this time.
“Lena, I . . .”
“I love you, Kristian!” I was half-shouting. I was furious. “This is my future too! These are my decisions too! So don’t you dare lie to me. We only have a few hours, and you have to tell me the truth!”
“You think you love me, but you thought you loved Espen! He’s back—marry him. He’d be better for you anyway.”
I slapped him, then grabbed his face and kissed him, hard. Before I found out if he responded or not, I pushed him away. “Don’t lie to me! If you don’t love me, say so.”
“What makes you think you love me?” he insisted. “Lena, I know I’m attractive, it’s why Niviaq chose me, and she’s not the only female who’s fancied herself in love with me. You may just be attracted.” I could tell his resolve was breaking, despite his big words. His hands were fisted, his spine stiff, white hair in chaos, belying his attempt at a calm expression.
“I love you because of you! It may not have occurred to you, but I spent a full year with you without ever knowing what you looked like as a man.”
“And yet you never said you loved me until you saw my face,” he countered. Then I understood. He really was afraid I didn’t love him, because he loved me.
That realization drained a lot of my anger and indignation. “How could I have realized I was in love with an isbjørn? Kristian, I spent the whole three weeks at August’s wedding in Edeleste thinking of you. I wanted nothing more than to go home, because our castle, it’s home to me, when you’re there. No one else understands me like you do, and I don’t understand anyone like I understand you.
“I know what you’re doing now,” I said, as inspiration struck. “You want to protect your country from Sikuvok and Queen Qila. You want to do the right thing, even if it costs you your happiness. You won’t risk them for me, and I love that about you. You’re noble, much more than you think. I know you’re afraid of your flaws, and I’ve seen how you struggle to overcome them. You were kind to me, even though you chose me because you thought I was such a brat you’d never fall in love with me.”
He reached out, engulfed one of my hands in his, eyes closed, mouth drawn in pain. “Fine,” he said, voice raw. “I love you. But what does it matter? I still must marry Niviaq. Even if it kills me to think of it, you must marry Espen. He’d be a better king for Vansland than I.”
“Are you going to give up so easily? That is not the Kristian I know.”
Head jerking up, his eyes met mine. “What choice do we have?”
“We fight!”
“Lena, we can’t—”
“We fight smart, obviously,” I said, and when a smile tugged at the corners of his serious mouth, I smiled too. “I actually have an idea, you know.”
“Your last idea involved you starving yourself to the brink of death.”
I waved my
hand, dismissing the pain I’d gone through. I’d paid the price, I was here now, and I was going to move forward. “This is a better plan.”
“Explain.”
I outlined my plan, blindingly aware of how inadequate it was, hearing it for the first time as I spoke. “Essentially . . . you know that part of the wedding ceremony, where the groom can ask the bride to perform a task?”
“Yes, though in Tryllejor it is expected that both can ask the other to perform a task.”
“Hmm. Do you know if both perform the task here?”
“Likely it’s the same as Vansland, since many of their traditions are borrowed from Vansland.”
“I know—Vansland conquered Sikuvok and ruled it for quite a while, of course they borrowed some traditions.”
“Regardless, I am familiar with that part of the ceremony. What is your plan?”
Blowing out a breath, I gathered my thoughts and continued. “Remember how hard it was for me to do simple servant tasks when I first got to the castle? I’m assuming Niviaq is the same.” I gave him a questioning look.
“Likely not as severe, but yes.”
Giving him an eye-roll, I carried on. “One task I’m sure she hasn’t done is remove wax from fabric. You ask her to do that, she’ll fail. I’ll come do it, and . . . then the engagement’s off.”
“Queen Qila will be furious. She’ll never let it stand.” Kristian sounded disappointed saying that, as if he’d hoped I’d have a good plan and I’d let him down.
“I know,” I said quickly. “But . . . I thought if we offered up the alternative of Espen marrying Niviaq, and then I could marry you—if you want, but probably not right then,” I said hastily, cheeks burning.
“I want to marry you, don’t be foolish.” Those words were balm or music or warmth, dream come true, even better because he carried on as if they were a side note, a statement of obvious fact. “But how can we be sure Niviaq will agree to it?”
I bit my lip. “Espen seems to think Niviaq was in love with him.”