Reardon
Reardon knew he was right. Even without Barclay’s vision, he would have been certain that his destiny was upon him—saving his kingdom, saving this kingdom, and finding a love of his own at last.
No casual touches with Barclay brought forth any new insight, only the occasional frown and Barclay once again reminding Reardon to take his cold-resistance draught. Still, Reardon remained confident as the days passed. The nights were what he looked forward to most, spent in the arms of the king.
They didn’t always connect as deeply when they were together, especially not if Reardon was sore, but there were so many other wondrous pleasures the king could show him. The touch of his hand or mouth on Reardon’s skin, on his sex, was enough to drive Reardon to rapture time and time again.
Soon, the last few days of his two weeks had come and gone, no fanfare needed since he’d already discovered the castle’s secrets, and he was nearly concluding a third week before he realized it. The king had yet to allow Reardon to spend the night in his bed again. He hoped his song might finally sway him.
Everyone knew about his nightly visits to the king. Once, the fletcher even sat beside Reardon at lunchtime and asked him straight out in a hushed voice, “Have you seen the king yet?”
Reardon forgot sometimes that only the court knew the king’s true face. Even Oliver, who had been here since the beginning, hadn’t been present before the curse.
“Not yet.”
“And it doesn’t bother you, being with someone you’ve never seen?”
“If you had no sight to see your wife, would you love her any less?”
Oliver reared back, but then gave a small smile. “Not even a little.”
Reardon could be patient, but the problem now was that his song was finished, and he still had no idea how to woo the king with it.
“You should ask Branwen,” Nigel said, close to completion with his own epic .
“I don’t know if I’ve read any of his books, since he doesn’t use his own name. Are they really that good?”
“Like a veritable god of romance giving advice.”
If Reardon hadn’t seen Branwen working on a book with Caitlin, he never would have believed the fiery master of arms could write verses of passionate love stories. Even so, he found him later that day like kismet, standing in the hall outside the library doors.
“Don’t you want to go in?” Reardon asked.
The brightly burning behemoth turned toward him like a giant floating flame. “And risk a neglectful touch turning the whole place to cinders? Don’t be a fool.”
Reardon went to him, leaving the customary few feet of space, and peered inside the library. The grandness of it still took his breath away even when he remained in the hall. “Basking in its presence then for inspiration?”
Branwen grunted, and it came out like the snort of an angry bull. “It’s better when you newcomers never learn that.”
“Don’t be bashful. Being a poet or a bard is a great calling. I don’t have much skill for writing myself, only song and performance. But you tell the tales . That’s real power. I was hoping the kind of power that you might be willing to share?”
“Meaning?”
“Do you have any advice as a great writer of love about how someone might woo their love with a song?”
Bright flaming eyes danced like flickering candles. “You want the words?”
“I have the words from another clever poet, and the tune now as well. I know I want to sing it in private, when it’s just the two of us, but I’m not sure… how.”
Branwen’s expression shifted, showing telling signs of a smirk within his flames. “For Jack.”
“Yes. The intimacy of his touch he allows, but when I speak words of love, he rebuffs me.”
“And he will keep rebuffing you. What you need is to put the two together.”
Reardon looked at him with a furrowed brow.
“If Jack responds to the carnal over the romantic, then give him both. Look for a book called… Heatwave —” Branwen nodded inside the library. “—with a dark red spine. Second row on the right, four shelves in, about eye level. Somewhere around… page 120, you’ll find the example you’re looking for.”
“One of your books?”
“I never said that.”
“If it is one of yours, Caitlin’s the one who scribed it, yes? Perhaps it’s time you used some of your own romantic advice.” Reardon didn’t wait for Branwen to refute that but turned to enter the library and followed the path he’d been set upon.
Heatwave was the only book with a red spine on the shelf he came to, and a couple pages just past 120 came a very romantic and graphic depiction of a songstress teasing her warrior love. The scene made Reardon blush like no other he had ever read, because he knew he’d have to be the one leading to make the seduction work.
And he had to do it blindfolded.
“I remember that one.”
Reardon’s head snapped up from the pages, and upon seeing Josie floating before him at the end of the stacks, he clutched the book to his chest as though it were a lewd painting.
“One of Branwen’s steamier ones.” Josie smirked, ever the breathtaking statue come to life. “Don’t be bashful. I’ve used those books for encouragement myself, but not every evening should be spent in one’s bedchambers. Mostly. Tonight, I’d like you to have dinner with me and Barclay.”
Reardon’s embarrassment faded to confusion. “I will always happily sit with you.”
“I mean privately, in my rooms. I hardly get any time with you alone—when I don’t have to keep my distance.” She looked down at her shimmering form with a sad wilt of her smile. “Unless you were planning on using your… encouragement tonight?”
“Oh, I’m not quite ready, I… I don’t think….”
“Then it’s a date. Please?” Josie had a subtle hypnotism about her, sweet yet dangerous and impossible to say no to.
“A date.”
Jack
Jack had been debating following Reardon less frequently. He couldn’t use the excuse of keeping an eye on a potential traitor anymore, and it was obvious that Reardon knew Jack was watching, making it all seem pitiable and needy. Jack didn’t need Reardon. It had just been so long since he had something worthwhile to occupy his time.
Earlier, Reardon had promised to still see Jack for their nightly audience but had informed him that he would be late, taking dinner in Josie’s chambers. Like any other night, Jack should have stayed in his rooms. Sneaking out after nightfall was risky. Anyone might see him, even in the tunnels, but curiosity won out in the end, and he found himself as drawn to knowing more about Reardon as he’d been when he snuck into Reardon’s room that one night to place Pillars of Virtue on his bed.
They only had a few chapters left before the end.
Vulnerability hollowed out Jack’s stomach as he slipped into his icy throne room and scurried for the door to the tunnels like an anxious rat. At least Zephyr couldn’t suddenly appear as he often did during the day, but Jack still listened with cloying paranoia before turning any corners on his trek to Josie’s room.
He made it without incident, the only voices he heard being those of Josie, Barclay, and Reardon once he removed a stone to steal a peek.
They had already eaten, only Reardon left picking at a last crust of bread and drinking from a goblet of wine, while Josie gave a beginning trill on her lute. They had set up a small table to dine, Josie having pulled her chair to the middle of the room to sit while she played and Barclay turning his chair around to join her in song, as Reardon watched.
“Beyond the dense, dark wood Lies lands forever night; Shadows fall—and claw—and rend To see to travelers’ end .
“Oh lands possessed by demons’ thrall, The Shadow Lands take all.
“The king once sold his soul To rule forevermore; Twisted form—he stalks—and lures To further grow his horde.
“Oh lands possessed by demons’ thrall, The Shadow Lands take all.
“Beware beyond the wood For monsters made of men; Darkness falls—and out—they come To make you one of them.”
Josie laughed as she ended on a warning trill, Barclay’s singing cutting off abruptly to laugh with her.
Most of the songs that spoke of horrors in neighboring kingdoms had been passed to Jack’s people from Emerald, like dark tales of the Ice Kingdom, of the Mystic Valley, or of unknown countries and people beyond.
But songs of the Shadow Lands had been known here even before the two hundred years of the curse. No one ever ventured beyond the wood down the hill from Jack’s castle. The Dark Kingdom was always only whispered about.
“Do you think it’s true?” Reardon asked, not laughing with the others but looking suddenly sick and setting down his wine. “They never attack. Never threaten. Trade comes through sometimes, in carriages pulled by black horses with no driver. Emerald’s people fear its magic, yet just like the offerings made here, the trade is taken, and we send our own supplies back.
“What if their king does make monsters of anyone who reaches him?”
“You believe in ghost stories?” Josie laughed again, setting her lute beside her.
“Forgive me, but I am talking to a woman made of gold during the day,” Reardon said, and Barclay fought a snicker behind his hand.
“Fair enough,” Josie admitted.
“But like you said,” Barclay spoke up, “they’ve never posed themselves as a threat. Perhaps it’s all stories, like what Emerald thinks of this kingdom.”
“But those stories are true!” Reardon exclaimed. “They’re just nicer here than we thought.”
Josie bowed in thanks for the appeasement.
“I only worry because… that’s where I sent the real offering for this year. General Lombard and the soldiers had fallen asleep. I’d stolen an extra key from Lombard’s quarters before leaving the city. They cover the cage once it’s out of view of Emerald so the offering can’t appeal to their pity during the journey. It was easy to let the sacrifice out and take his place without anyone noticing.
“If I’d only known what I was going to find here, I would have simply joined him instead of sending him into the dark.”
Jack could never regret his decision to trust Reardon. The young prince was a good ruler already, worrying over a past he couldn’t change and a single subject he could do nothing to protect.
“You didn’t know,” Josie reminded him. “It only does you credit that you blame yourself anyway.”
Reardon smiled, however somberly, and then reclaimed his drink after a moment of silence. “Barclay and I used to help put together the alchemy packages for trade with the Shadow Lands. Remember? Master Wells would sneak experiments in there just to see if there’d be any response. It’s a wonder he was never given up for sacrifice. It still angers me that he turned you in. I refused to see him or stop by the shop after that.”
Barclay mirrored Reardon’s somberness, but without the bitter edge. “He was scared. Everyone’s always scared back home. My family too.”
“You forgive him? You forgive them ?”
Josie returned her chair to the table to be nearer to Barclay and hooked her hands around his arm.
“I can’t hate any of them,” Barclay said. “If somehow our positions had been reversed, my friend, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to do what you did—standing up to your father, seeing me to the gates, showing up here to rescue me.”
“You would have,” Reardon dismissed, as if all he had done wasn’t a monumental collection of feats.
“Maybe, but I don’t know how to use those fancy new swords of yours,” Barclay said with a warm chuckle. “I’m just a scientist.”
“ Just . I doubt anyone here who uses your potions or is blessed by your visions would say you’re just anything.”
“Even so, I forgive Master Wells and my family. I forgive your father and General Lombard too. That doesn’t mean I ever want to see any of them again.” Barclay chuckled like before, turning to look fondly on Josie. “This is my home now.”
She kissed him, a tender press since there was company so near, and Reardon looked on with a reverent longing that Jack had seen many times before, even when Reardon’s eyes were covered by a cloth .
“When the curse is lifted,” Reardon said, “your city will grow, and it will become home to many more again, blossoming into the kingdom it was always meant to be.”
“And where will the Emerald King fit into that,” Josie volleyed, “so many leagues from here?”
“I… hadn’t thought about that….”
No, Reardon hadn’t. Jack had been trying to tell him, but Reardon wouldn’t—
“I’ll just have to call both kingdoms home. Or maybe we could grow so vast together, we’ll combine into one great empire.” Reardon beamed as he said it, Barclay laughing at the jubilant notion and Josie looking serenely wistful.
Reardon was just a dreamer.
Always a dreamer….
“What about you two?” Reardon asked. “Would you marry soon?”
Barclay promptly choked on his wine.
“Sorry!” Reardon scooted closer when his friend’s coughing prompted Josie to smack his back. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”
“No,” Josie said, “it’s just…. Barclay already asked me.”
He what?
“Do, um… people not marry here?” Reardon’s cheeks flushed with color. “I thought Oliver—”
“They do.” Barclay cleared his throat before continuing. “But Josie… she wants to be wed in sunlight. I understand. I can wait. Or we can live an eternity just as we are.”
There were obvious reasons why Jack had never argued against his sister’s choice of companion after two hundred years watching the other court members find love. Barclay might be slight and far from a nobleman or a warrior—everything about him would have angered their father, which honestly made Jack bless the couple more—but Barclay was a powerhouse where it mattered and in all the things that made Josie happy.
“It’s selfish,” Josie said, resting her head on Barclay’s shoulder.
“Don’t be silly,” he assured her.
“Besides,” Reardon added, “it’s doable. When I break the curse, Jack can marry you in the garden, no ice statues anywhere in sight. You’ll see.”
“Would that suit my fair princess?” Barclay asked against Josie’s soft brown hair.
“Only if Reardon puts some of that gold embroidery into my wedding gown.”
Reardon erupted with a joyous laugh. “And Jack and I can wear our matching doublets in attendance!”
Jack had always known that his silly little prince meant those doublets with yellow and white gold embroidery for them.
“You called him Jack,” Josie said.
“I did. Now, if only I could muster the confidence to do so beyond… um… being impassioned.”
Barclay and Josie snickered.
“When are you going to give Jack his doublet?” Josie asked.
“When I can see him in it. You two are as much an inspiration as any bardic tale or book. But I better not keep the king waiting.” Reardon tipped his goblet back to finish his wine.
“You could , you know.” Josie snickered again.
“Yes, but even after a few hours, I… miss him. Either form of him. Is that pathetic?”
Yes.
“No,” Josie countered Jack’s thoughts, smiling in her bliss. “It’s familiar.”
Reardon rose to take his leave, but since the happy couple had gotten quite comfortable at the table, he offered to put Josie’s lute away for her. When he returned to them, he asked, “I never noticed, but your lute has a bit of patchwork to it. For decoration?”
“Oh, um… it had to be mended once. A year ago, actually. When a certain someone snuck into my room his first night, I hit him with it.”
“What?”
“After that thief all those years ago, she was scared!” Barclay defended. “Luckily, I wasn’t knocked out and hastily explained that I’d only gone to her because she seemed the most likely to listen about my visions and that they’d already shown me the castle’s secrets. I was scared too, but while she kept me at a distance at first, she listened and agreed to keep my secret from the others until my two weeks had passed.”
“It was the smart thing to do,” Josie said, “but I also missed having someone around at night. I asked Barclay to come back every evening so I could keep an eye on him. That was my original intention, but he’d tell me stories about Emerald, about his experiments, about his favorite tales and songs, his dreams and fears, his visions, even the ones he had about me. I was smitten long before I realized.” She kissed him lightly again, lingering this time far longer.
Familiar , she’d said. That story of a slow decline was familiar to Jack too.
“The night Barclay’s two weeks were up, when he was officially initiated as a subject of the Frozen Kingdom,” Josie continued, “I stole him away for the rest of the evening and never regretted it.”
They stared adoringly into each other’s eyes, Reardon overcome with that longing look again as he made his way to the tunnel exit. “Good night, my friends. I am very happy for you and agree wholeheartedly—no regrets.”
Jack was so weighted down with guilt from Reardon’s unwavering faith in him that he almost forgot he was currently standing in the tunnels Reardon was about to enter.
Nearly stumbling over his own feet, Jack hastened away, never before so relieved that there was no ice trail the way he had come from.