He stepped out onto the landing of an immense staircase leading down. As he began to descend, Josie floated out after him to get in front and lead the way—and she did indeed float, for her feet did not touch the ground.
“Which friend is yours?” she asked over her shoulder, keeping pace a few lengths in front of him. “A recent offering?”
“From last year. Barclay, House of Numara.”
“Barclay?” She stopped, and Reardon had to catch himself from walking into her. He worried for a moment that something was wrong, that something had happened to Barclay, but she smiled. “Of course. Reardon ,” she said knowingly and continued on without another word.
There were other landings they passed, leading to hallways and more doors, but she brought them down and down, around and around, winding toward the ground floor, where the din of the some two-hundred attendants of this castle could be heard wondering where the sacrifice could be .
By the bottom of the staircase, Reardon’s hair and clothing were wet from the frost having melted. He felt like a drowned dog, grimy from almost three days travel and restless sleep. It was as warm in this castle as any other, maybe cozier than it should be, considering the chill of the Ice King’s chamber.
And it was grand, so grand and beautiful, with tapestries and archways and furniture that belied what Reardon had seen upstairs. Only the Ice King lived in drab darkness. The rest of this castle was a wonder—as were its people.
“There he is!”
“Josie brings him!”
“Oh, he’s handsome!”
“And armed ! Relieve him of all that immediately!”
Reardon was swarmed, feeling the onset of panic, even if he had discovered a different sort of kingdom than expected. Some of the faces were familiar, from the last twenty years or so, a few even looking at Reardon in recognition as well, but there were also elves and half-elves. He’d heard that in ages past elves lived hidden in his kingdom, but he’d never seen anyone of elven blood before, the race most known to be born with magic in their veins.
It was said they’d hidden their ears with magic too, for it clearly gave them away, the full-blooded elves slimmer, with long, tapered ears stretching away from their heads, and the half-elves closer to humans in appearance but still with prominent points to their ears and an extra shimmer in their eyes.
Reardon was so stunned, taking it all in, that he didn’t think to fight back as he was divested of his sword belt.
“Are they sending us nobles now?” A woman with dark skin and intricately pinned hair sneered at him as she inspected his sword. “What’s your crime, darling? Bugger a few boys?”
“ No ,” Reardon exclaimed, stricken by her coming close to guessing the crime that would have condemned him had he been the real sacrifice. “I’ve never—”
“Reardon!” a familiar voice shouted, and Reardon’s head snapped around so fast, he didn’t care that some wild-looking half-elf with very strange clothing had just snatched the bejeweled dagger from the sheath on his ankle.
“Barclay! ”
The others parted, Josie watching from a safe distance up the staircase, as Barclay appeared, barreling toward Reardon to throw himself on him with enough force that Barclay’s feet left the ground. The embrace felt more sound and secure than any Reardon had experienced since Barclay was taken.
“Oh, my friend, I’ve missed you.”
“I told you not to follow me,” Barclay chided once he’d finished squeezing Reardon. “But today is the day of the offering. Does that mean you did it? You finally convinced your father to stop?”
Reardon looked down in shame, holding tight to Barclay’s forearms to keep him close. “I tried so many times, but he wouldn’t listen. I traded places with this year’s sacrifice to come free you.”
“What is going on?” a new voice boomed over the din of the crowd.
The other voices stopped, and anyone who hadn’t slunk away did so now, all save Barclay, who kept an arm around Reardon’s waist and turned to face outward as if to ward off some great threat.
Then Reardon saw why, because what came forward through the wide berth the humans and elves of the castle had created had to be another creature of the curse.
Just as the king was made of ice and Josie of gold, this man, big and burly and menacing, was made of flames. He seemed mostly nude like the Ice King, but a long vest hung from his shoulders, made of his element just like Josie’s garments.
Reardon leaned into Barclay. He’d rather turn to ice or gold than be burned.
“Why are you clinging?” the flaming man demanded of Barclay. “Who is he?”
“This is Reardon, Branwen. My friend.”
“Not the sacrifice?”
“Not technically, but—”
“Then what is he doing here?” Branwen demanded like the roar of a forest fire.
“Calm down,” Josie spoke over him. “Prince Reardon replaced the sacrifice. Your temper doesn’t have to be as fiery as your face, you know.”
Reardon didn’t think he could ever get used to reading expressions in elements, but Branwen looked like burning fury. “Jack knows about this? ”
“He does. I’ll take the prince back to him once he’s had a moment to collect himself. Maybe we can clean and clothe him too, make him more presentable. Jack’s temper isn’t any better than yours these days.”
“How many cursed are there?” Reardon asked in wonder after Branwen grudgingly backed off.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” a whispering voice said from nowhere and yet right at Reardon’s ear.
He jumped, leaning against his smaller friend again as something began to form at his other side, an outline around a figure that didn’t seem to be there but was, like an apparition.
The phantom appeared slight like Barclay and young, though Reardon knew most of the people here were well over a hundred, if not two hundred, years old. This new cursed creature was fully clothed, but his garments were all transparent.
“I’m Spymaster for his royal high-horse up there. Zephyr if I like you.” He grinned, his not-there eyes boring right through Reardon.
“What happens if you touch someone?” Reardon asked.
“Poof,” he said with a pop of the P. “But don’t be too worried, pretty prince. There’s only one more of us, though he might be the most shocking .”
Reardon frowned, suspecting hidden meaning in the word—but also not liking being called pretty. While once he’d found the compliment flattering, now it reminded him of those awful men in the alley.
“Go on, Barclay,” Josie said, “get him tidied up so we can return him to my brother. Everyone!” she shouted louder, since the crowd had started to titter again. “Make sure the cart is truly gone and that everything is sealed up tight. Nothing changes about the welcome feast unless the king deems it so, and so far, he has not made up his mind. Go!”
Everyone scattered, loyal to their princess, as any good servants would be. She then favored Reardon and Barclay with a warm smile.
Reardon was whisked across the large foyer of the castle with Barclay still holding his waist, leaving Josie behind and the wisp of the Spymaster, and then passing the smoldering Branwen. One more who was cursed, Zephyr had said, which made five in total with the king. What a lonely place this must have been before it was filled with sacrifices. No wonder they welcomed them.
There were so many rooms and corridors and staircases smaller than the one that led to the Ice King’s chamber, Reardon would need a guide for weeks to learn this place. At long last, having passed many of the bustling servants preparing for this supposed feast, they arrived at a long row of more closely spaced doors, and Barclay brought him to one that remained open.
“This was to be the new sacrifice’s quarters. It’s yours, I guess, until the king decides what to do with you.”
It was still spacious for a servant’s room, even with its own privy, bath, washbasin, and access to running water through a pump. There were clothes of varying sizes for men and women in an open wardrobe, and the bed had a beautiful patchwork quilt in bright colors and patterns.
“I feel like an honored guest in a noble’s house, not taking the place of a servant for an enemy king.” Reardon spun about to take it all in. “You all have rooms like this?”
“We do. Though they’re becoming less abundant. They’ve remodeled several old guardrooms and larders in recent years. We make do.”
We , because Barclay was part of this kingdom now, not Reardon’s.
As he turned to his friend, he could see how healthy and happy Barclay looked, maybe more so than he’d ever been in Emerald. He no longer had to pretend here, and he was clearly cared for. His clothes looked brand new, and there was an extra ruddiness to his brown cheeks.
“We should get you cleaned up,” Barclay said, indicating the bath, which someone had already filled with hot water. It looked very inviting, given the chill that had set in after meeting the Ice King and with Reardon’s clothes left damp. “Go on. I’ll find something in your size from the wardrobe.”
Reardon did as he was told, stripping off what he’d thought was his plainest outfit, though everyone had still recognized his station. He left it all in a basket near the bath. The water was absolute heaven after three days on the road and a brush with being frozen.
“What will they do with my weapons?” Reardon asked after he’d sunk his head below the surface to warm his chilled hair.
“I’m sure you’ll get them back. They only take such things until they’re sure there’s no threat. Branwen will oversee it all. He’s master of arms and used to command the king’s army—when they had one.”
“With Josie as princess and Zephyr the…. Spymaster? Sounds ominous.”
“It’s a more daunting name than the truth. Zephyr merely watches and listens to be sure there’s no unrest. He isn’t as sinister as he acts. Most of the time.” Barclay appeared from behind the bath, bringing a dry robe and some soap and oils that he set on a shelf within Reardon’s reach.
Reardon utilized the items to clean himself as his friend sat, close but keeping his eyes averted. “You’re all servants. Does that mean they force your labor?”
“Nothing like that. We just have our place. A place we got to choose . I’m finishing my apprenticeship with Liam, the king’s wizard, and Widow Caitlin. She was sacrificed a decade ago.”
“Did you say wizard? Magic instead of alchemy?”
“Liam uses everything. I’ve learned so much this past year, Reardon. Magic is a wondrous thing that can work alongside alchemy to create and heal, not only destroy. You’re right to challenge your father.”
“I know, I just wish challenging him was enough. Does all this mean you have no desire to escape with me?”
Barclay looked up at him fearfully.
“We can go,” Reardon whispered, resting his arms on the edge of the bath. “Right now. Convince my father together. Tell him everything about this place.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’re a prisoner?”
“No. I could go, if I wanted. Everyone is free to leave if they choose.”
“Then you don’t want to come home?” Reardon’s arms dropped back into the water. “Your family stayed silent like all offering families do, but I’m sure they miss you.”
“You’re sure? Really?”
Reardon hadn’t actually seen them—Barclay’s parents and older brother. They always ducked away if they saw him coming. “ I missed you. If I can convince my father of the truth, wouldn’t you want to be free of this place? It’s remarkable, the people too, but it isn’t your home.”
Doubt was the only clear emotion on Barclay’s face as his gaze drifted, but before he could say anything, the door opened.
The creature that entered was indeed shocking , for he was a storm in motion, made entirely of lightning. He entered with a crackle, and all the hairs on Reardon’s body outside the water stood tall and tingling.
“Would you hurry up?” His voice snapped like lightning too. “Clean, dry, dress. These aren’t complicated tasks.” He too had attempted clothing, but only a robe. Anything else wouldn’t have held its shape. He also had a face somehow, even eyes, separate from the other sparks of electric light that made up his form, though Reardon wasn’t sure how to describe it other than magic.
“Sir Liam?” Reardon asked, hiding his body behind the tall back of the bath.
“Liam is enough.”
“As court wizard, serving Josie and Jack? Do Branwen and Zephyr shorten their names and titles as well?”
“Branwen is Bran to some, but if you call Zephyr Zeph, he’s likely to take you to bed.” Liam laughed—at least Reardon thought the crack was a laugh, though he was busy blushing at the comment. “Formalities don’t stick around here long, so don’t expect me to call you Highness . Now hurry up. Your next audience with the king requires our assistance.”
Our was revealed as Liam entered fully and a woman came in behind him with long brown hair and a steely expression, who Reardon took for Widow Caitlin. She carried a potion bottle with a glowing blue substance swirling inside.
He couldn’t be sure if her cool expression was simply her demeanor or directed at him as prince of the kingdom that had shunned her. He vaguely recalled when she was chosen, because it had been around the time of his mother’s death, and she was one of many called witch that year.
“If you want to avoid frostbite every time you’re in the king’s presence, you’ll drink this,” she said simply.
They made no move to turn away, simply stood there waiting for Reardon to get out of the bath.
He ducked down lower.
Barclay scrambled to bring him the robe so he could step out without giving his audience as much of a show.
“Thank you,” Reardon whispered.
There was a dressing screen at least, where Barclay had already draped some suitable clothing—basic trousers and a shirt and doublet, with a pair of leather boots. None of it was frilled like a noble would wear, but it was of far better quality and color saturation than Reardon had ever seen on the commoners of his kingdom. Whoever made their clothing was a true artisan. He rather liked the deep red and marigold of his new garments, trimmed in leather to match his boots.
“Do you need someone to help tuck your cock away too?” Liam called when Reardon had yet to emerge from the screen.
“ Liam ,” Caitlin said in a reprimand.
“Please, he’s a prince. As if he hasn’t dipped his wick in a few brothels.”
“He hasn’t,” Barclay defended, but Reardon did not want that conversation to continue.
Summoning his courage, he stepped out from behind the screen and approached the wizard, careful not to get too close. He imagined that someone who touched him would be struck down like a bolt had come from the heavens.
Caitlin came forward to hand him the potion, and he drank it swiftly. He expected it to be cool, but it burned down his throat.
“This….” He coughed as he handed the empty bottle back to her. “… this will protect me against the Ice King’s touch?”
“No, but it’ll make it more bearable to be near him. The effects will last a few hours. You’ll know when it starts to wear off, though I doubt he’ll keep you for that long.” Her unfriendliness certainly felt personal with the way she stared him down, but he had little to defend himself with, other than being too weak for too long to stop any of this.
Reardon wondered if there were potions to protect against all the elementals in the castle, but their proximities didn’t cause as extreme results. Around Josie there was a slight metallic taste in his mouth, Branwen made him sweat, Zephyr made him lightheaded, and Liam made his ears tingle and his hair stand up.
The Ice King was far more potent.
“Come.” Josie appeared, floating in the doorway. They all floated in their own way, Reardon had noticed, except the king, who made everything quake with his steps. “Jack grows impatient.”
Reardon looked to Barclay, but he’d barely opened his mouth before his friend pounced upon him once more for a tight embrace. Then Barclay gasped, a common enough occurrence when he touched someone, but Reardon hadn’t heard that sound in a year.
“A vision?”
“I… I don’t know how to explain….” Barclay pulled back, stunned but difficult to read.
“What did you see?”
“I can’t say. ”
“Barclay—”
“I can’t say!”
It was then that Reardon realized… he was going to die here. Barclay was never good at hiding his emotions. But if Reardon was headed to his execution, then he vowed to make his time here count.
“It’s all right.” He coaxed Barclay to return to him, and when he didn’t move, Reardon breached the space between them and hugged his friend again. “I love you, and I am so glad I got to see you again. I’ll be back soon.”
Without waiting to hear Barclay’s response, Reardon moved for the door, past the lightning wizard and his sharp-eyed assistant, to follow Josie back through the castle.
Reardon paid less mind to the servants they passed, moving quietly behind the golden princess, lost in thought. He could salvage this, even if he was destined to decorate the Ice King’s garden.
“Your hair’s still damp, sweet prince,” Josie said once they returned to the grand hall that connected to the main doors of the castle and the bottom of the staircase that led to the Ice King’s chamber. “That won’t do around Jack, even if Liam and good Widow Caitlin gave you some protection. Bran!” she called to the fiery man, who was as large as any normal soldier Reardon had ever met, though not as looming as the Ice King.
Branwen seemed to stomp as he moved toward them, but he too floated, flames pulsing from his body when he came to a halt. “What? Can I turn this brat to ashes yet?”
“No. Just a small little puff, dear, to dry his hair.”
Did she mean—?
Branwen snarled like an angry dragon, and Reardon jolted backward as a burst of heat nearly licked his hair with flames, leaving his face hot and his hair completely dry.
“Using me like a bloody barber,” Branwen grumbled as he walked away.
“Not quite. We’ll need Zephyr for that,” Josie said with a scrutinizing frown at Reardon’s dried locks falling into his eyes.
“At your service.” Zephyr’s voice preceded his appearance again, right at Reardon’s side, where he puffed a breath, like blowing him a kiss, and the madness of Reardon’s hair was suddenly tamed.
“Much better.” Josie turned to the wall behind them and touched a dull stone with the tip of her finger, turning it to shimmering gold and reflecting Reardon’s image back at him as clear as a calm pool .
The finest barber in all the Emerald Kingdom couldn’t have done better.
“No following us the rest of the way now, Zephyr,” Josie said, continuing toward the side staircase they had descended before. “You know Jack hates it when you stick your nose where he hasn’t ordered it.”
Zephyr’s translucent face pouted, and then he vanished on the spot.
The ascent to the Ice King’s chamber seemed longer than the way down, as Reardon’s stomach filled with encroaching dread. “Jack can’t be his given name. What is it short for?”
“Crowned King John of the Sapphire Kingdom, but that was a very long time ago.”
Sapphire . Reardon had never heard this place referred to as anything but Frozen.
Their journey ended abruptly before Reardon could ask any of the questions that had arisen within him. He’d felt the increasing cold as they drew closer to the frosted doors, but it wasn’t as unbearable thanks to the wizard’s potion, even with only a simple doublet instead of his furs. Once inside, he found his feet didn’t slip as easily either.
At the very end of the large room, the Ice King sat with a door on either side behind him. Reardon wondered where they led. The throne the king perched on was magnificent, covered in crystals of ice, yet he lounged in such a carelessly human way.
The throne was so large that he must have barely filled it as a human. Now he took up the entire thing and had to kick his legs over one side of the arm to fully support him—though maybe that was merely how he preferred to sit.
“All pampered and catered to, little prince?” he called down the expanse that separated them.
Josie stepped aside, and Reardon moved forward. As he approached the throne, he soon no longer felt Josie behind him but dared not look back to show weakness.
“This doesn’t mean you are safe,” the king warned, “or that you are welcome in my home.”
“Jack, is it? Far better than ‘Ice King,’ I suppose.”
The king frowned.
“I’ll call you Majesty until we trust each other. But on that day, I will call you Jack. ”
“Is this a game to you?” The Ice King straightened. Reardon stood almost directly before the throne now, chilled and shivering but without any creeping frost on his hair or clothes. “What do you hope to accomplish?”
“My father is wrong for what he does, but seeing this curse on you makes me wonder if he is right about magic’s corruption, despite all the wonders it can do.”
“Magic alone did not curse us!” the king roared. “One person who wielded it did, and I brought her wrath upon me myself.”
That gave Reardon pause. There was so much he didn’t know. “You could tell me your story.”
“It is a long one, little prince, and I grow weary of your presence already.” He stood, crunching down the steps between Reardon and the throne and bringing a gust of icy wind with him.
Reardon sensed how close he was to death but stood his ground. “I only want to bring my people home.”
“And where are they supposed to go? Home , you say. The thief who almost lost her hands because she was starving, the man who lusted after the wrong noble’s son, your friend who has visions—do they have a home to go back to when their own people cast them out as villains?”
“ I didn’t.”
“Good for you. You only cared once it finally affected someone you knew.”
Reardon’s fists clenched to be called a heartless coward, but he’d called himself worse this past year.
He also couldn’t overlook the example of a man and a noble’s son.
“I suppose you’ve taken in all the corrupted, haven’t you?”
“You call them corrupt ”—the Ice King stomped another clawed foot closer—“yet ask for leniency?”
“I only speak as I was taught. I don’t agree with it. I don’t believe they’re corrupt. Not any of them. I don’t want to. If my father understood—”
“He’d still keep up the status quo. Your kingdom shuns what they don’t understand because of my curse, yet they don’t even remember the time before.”
“So tell me! Let me know the truth so we can learn from our past instead of continuing to repeat it.” Reardon stepped forward—too close, he knew—but like before, instead of reaching out and ending him, the Ice King backed away. “You’d really let them all go, wouldn’t you? If they wanted it?”
“They don’t, but you are welcome to ask them, including your friend.”
“Then I am not a prisoner either?”
“That is up for debate.”
If Barclay had seen Reardon’s death in his vision, it couldn’t be now. Not yet. “Give me the chance to prove I will go back and change things for the better. I’ll stay for as long as it takes, but once you believe me, once you know me and I know you, let me go.”
“And what if I never believe you? You’re the prince. You could bring an army to my door after learning my secrets.”
“If you never believe me… then you either have another servant or another statue to crush. But that means you take an audience with me every day.”
The king scoffed, turning to stomp back up to his throne and throw himself onto it with an elegant ease that should have been impossible. “Sounds frightfully dull.”
“Yes, I can see your calendar is quite full.”
He rumbled with laughter like a brewing winter storm.
For a long stretch of minutes, he stared at Reardon with his uniquely human eyes—different from his companions. The Ice King was more tied to his humanity, even if he’d lost the feeling of it in his heart, and more cursed and tortured because of it, perhaps.
Yet still he said, “Fine. But make no mistake, little prince, if you prove unworthy or attempt to betray me, I will not hesitate to turn you into frozen rubble like that thief.”
All Reardon could do was return his stare and wonder—What was this curse? Why had it been cast? And what had the king been like before it changed him and his kingdom? He had to know, even if a mysterious and frightening future stretched out before him.
Love, death, and blue eyes in a sea of white.
Whatever that might mean.
“You have a deal, Your Majesty.”
Jack
After the prince left, Jack rose from his frozen throne and lumbered toward the door behind him at his right. The path there led throughout the castle, to intricate passageways only meant for the royal family. These passageways were also frozen due to continued use, but they allowed him to keep watch without forcing his cold on those who served him.
Branwen kept the castle warm and bright. Liam kept everyone healthy. Josie kept them happy. And Zephyr kept Jack informed of all he ever needed to know. Still, sometimes he preferred to see for himself.
He went to the servants’ quarters, where he knew they had set aside a room for this year’s sacrifice. He did not have doorways into every area, but it was easy enough to remove a small stone brick somewhere unseen to spy on Prince Reardon and young Barclay.
Barclay was… fine. Jack had barely spoken to him in the many months since his arrival. He barely spoke to any of them. That was for his advisors to attend to. But Josie liked Barclay, and he hadn’t raised any fuss or trouble with the others. He’d been learning the ways of alchemy and magic from Liam alongside the healer, Widow Caitlin, making a fine addition to their community, a simple man who was unfortunate enough to have been gifted something the Emerald Kingdom feared: visions. His powers required touch, however, and for that, Jack was grateful.
He didn’t want to know anything of his own future, spanning endlessly before him.
Watching Reardon and Barclay talk, alone in Reardon’s quarters, all he overheard them discuss at first was Reardon’s deal with Jack, and then what each of them had been up to during their year apart.
“You see. Just two friends happily reunited.”
“Maybe.” Jack didn’t bother turning to face his sister, who’d come from the other end of the passageway. “Barclay is inconsequential, but that prince….”
“What are you thinking?”
“In the end, he’ll try to kill me again. If he does, I’ll kill him first.”
She laughed, softly so as not to be overheard.
Reardon was beautiful, energetic and bold, and not as afraid as many others, even some who’d been in the castle for decades or more. Jack could admit that he found him captivating, but his heart was as much a block of ice as the rest of him. That wouldn’t change. That would never change. And neither would the hard-heartedness of others, the Emerald Kingdom included, even if their prince proved soft.
No, nothing would change, but whatever happened when Jack and Reardon began their “audiences,” he hoped the end he foresaw did not come too quickly.