Page 12

12

AMbrOSE

Ambrose threw a bit of caution to the winter winds, allowing himself a smile to counter her scowl, which only deepened at his impudence. She still smelled impossible–of moss and humid summer days, of sage and bee balm, of tall oaks and fresh spring water.

She scowled, that is, until she saw.

Her hand went to her mouth, and her gasp held some sort of magic of its own the way it made his chest expand and his mouth go dry and his heart grow two sizes too big. Of course, it wasn’t only his heart growing too big, and how inconvenient it was for her to be so beautiful. How utterly annoying that she was turning out to be inescapably interesting. An accidental queen who rode in on a mythical unicorn and wept at the sight of a flower. Absolutely irritating.

There were still tears in her eyes when she finally tore them away from the garden long enough to look at him. They made her blue eyes bigger, more vulnerable, and Ambrose knew right there in that grove that he was the one lost in the woods. When she looked at him, he felt winded as if he’d been punched and he knew for the first time that he was truly seeing her and that it was only because she was allowing him to see her. She was allowing him to see that she felt vulnerable and grateful. It was a gift to watch her. When she spoke, her voice sounded gravelly, as if unused. “I’ve never seen a flower in real life.”

For a second, he thought he might explode, because this wasn’t his secret. This was only a taste. But this was what he knew he could safely show her without fear.

She looked frightened, and it was clear she was afraid to move, as if it might disturb the magic and turn everything back into frozen tundra.

“May I?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

She nodded and let her gloved hand slide into his own so he could lead her closer. “I have so many questions I can’t even pick one,” she said. “It feels different in here. Like… the air is thicker somehow.”

“Thermal vents heating a small space.”

“And the flowers?”

“My candles are magic, as you pointed out. Whether it is real magic or not is up to the discretion of the one who lights the candle, but I believe, much like many doctors and apothecaries believe, that flowers possess magic. Lavender to help relax,” he said, bending down to pluck a stem bursting with velvety purple buds. “Their healing properties are known throughout the seven kingdoms. Red-veined sorrel for digestion,” he said, plucking a green leaf with ruby-red lines running through it. “Peonies and chamomile for the head. Borage for coughs, violet for liver problems, and hyssop for healthy lungs. All of these herbal remedies also have the benefit of being beautiful flowers, perfect for distilling into tinctures, oils, and pressing dried into candles, which may or may not be magical.” He said this last bit lightly as if teasing. Teasing a queen no less!

Ambrose watched the queen take it in, wondering if she too was more than a beautiful flower, but a queen that could change the fortunes of Frostvale for the better. He traveled all this way to find out.

Bessa had been holding the stem of the plucked lavender to her nose, watching him point out each plant as she considered him and his illegal flowers. “Your magic is nothing more than herbal remedies?” she asked, directly calling for him to confirm, something he knew he should not do. Could not do.

“Magic is in the eye of the beholder, your majesty,” he said, offering her the bud of a damask rose, still tightly closed but with its brilliant pink petals ready to burst open.

“You grow flowers,” she said, shaking her head in wonder. “Real flowers.”

“Aye.”

“Is this real life or a dream?”

“It’s real.”

“And this?” she asked, taking the bud. “What are its properties?”

“Damask rose,” Ambrose answered automatically, almost needed to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden, unbidden image of the queen’s own rosy nipple buds and what they would look like bare before him, and what they would taste like, and how she would sound when he put his mouth over them. His voice came out only a little halting and rough as he thought about the cold, the river, the sky, iron chains, necks in nooses, anything to stop thinking about her rosy nipples. “Fragrance and beauty, your majesty. I admit, I took a few cuttings on my travels abroad and vowed I would have beauty for beauty’s sake once I found my home. When I discovered this thermal vent, the rose cutting was the first thing I staked in the thawed ground.”

“Your home?” she said in some surprise.

“There’s much to admire about Frostvale.”

“You must not feel the cold as bitterly as we do,” she quipped, and he was thankful for the distraction, even if her quick tongue made his pants stretch even tighter. He was starting to enjoy the tongue lashings.

“I feel the cold, but I have also felt heat, and I can appreciate what the grip of an endless winter can do to a strong people. Ice is thought to be inflexible, but we know differently. Ice can be many things, an insulator for our homes, carved into something beautiful, melted to make water. Art, warmth, life—ice is so much more than people realize.”

Bessa stared at him. He watched her swallow and turn away, and he wished he was a prince, a suitor to be so bold as to put his thumb on her chin and turn her back—to beg her to stare into his eyes a little while longer and give him truth.

“What’s keeping this barrier and this heat?” she asked suddenly. “I couldn’t see it at first. Your haven is perfectly hidden. Is it this yellow flower all around the edges?”

“That is tansy, and it’s known to repel pests, so it plays its part in protection. It’s also a nice bitter herb in a spring omelette after long winters of dried peas and salted fish.”

“The clusters of flowers look like buttons. How mesmerizing," she said, her hand drifting toward a bundle of them.

“I wouldn’t touch them. They can provoke a severe allergic reaction in some people, and it's said the old gods used them to make an elixir that turned their mortal favorites into immortal favorites.”

She gave a wry smile that made his body tense with pleasure. “Immortality is not a thing I’ve ever wished upon. But there must be something else to keep this so well hidden. Not that many come hiking this way.”

Ambrose nodded at a ring of candles along the outer edges of the grove. She walked closer, twigs getting caught in her long train, the only part of the forest floor visible in a hundred miles, except for where she had melted it on her way here. She knelt to run her hand over the tiny flame of the candle closest to her. He wasn’t sure if she could see the light gold links flowing from candle to candle, but he guessed that she could not by the way she didn’t trace their paths to the larger apiary he still kept hidden.

“So, you are magic,” she said, turning to squint up at him. She wouldn’t let it go. Couldn’t.

“You are magic,” he reminded her. “I am merely a warden of this place.”

She shook her head dismissively. “I can’t control it and it’s not mine. Fire is so unpredictable. One stray spark can cause a catastrophe. It is warmth, it is life, but it is not living. This, flowers and herbs and even a bee, this is living. Where is that bee going? Where did it come from? How can it… be?” She reddened, laughing a little to herself as if embarrassed. A queen. Reddening in embarrassment. It made a surge of protectiveness spike through Ambrose’s veins.

They both watched it flit from flower to flower. It ambled over to investigate her, no doubt smelling that ancient magic on her skin that so intoxicated Ambrose as well. More followed, curious enough to land on her for a second before searching for juicer petals. The bees had taken to her, clearly her ancient magic.

“At the risk of my tongue, on the contrary, my queen. Fire is extremely predictable. It’s humans who aren’t, and since you’re in charge of your magic, you have to be the steadying force who wields it.”

“Eska and I could accidentally set this entire grove on fire. Your flowers, your life’s work would all be gone in an instant. Even just thinking that—” Her shoulders suddenly shivered violently as if an involuntary shudder ran through her. She made a move as if to flee, just in case, and his heart cracked a little more. She would give up the good things to keep others safe. He was nearly certain of it now.

Ambrose held out his hands. She gazed up at him, not taking them yet, but holding still. As skittish as a forest animal. He moved them again, more insistent.

Sighing and letting the lavender drop from her nose, she leveled a look of mild annoyance at him that made his heart stir even more. He liked how her fiery exterior matched her fiery interior. Whether she grew up knowing it or not, she was made to be queen. Finally, she pursed her lips and took his hands, letting him help her to her feet.

“I guess if I trust you in here, that doesn’t mean much to you?” he asked.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she began, angling herself away. When she moved, he could smell her smokiness, her womanliness, her intoxicating scent. He wanted to breathe her in deeper, but he couldn’t risk spooking her.

“Then what are you saying, your majesty?”

She opened and closed her mouth, her brow furrowing.

Although cautious, he wasn’t afraid to prod her. She was certainly strong enough to stand straight without bending or breaking. “You’re scared of your own magic.”

“Of course I am! It shouldn’t exist! I shouldn’t exist. Philip was the one—he should be here, helping his people.”

“From what I’ve seen, Frostvale is better off without him.” Ambrose wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. Goad a fire-possessed woman into anger in his sacred grove?

But instead of anger and flames, she shut down. Whistling between her thumb and index finger, she called her fire fox to her side. Eska jumped gracefully into the crook of her neck, curling her tail around her body to blend in perfectly as a stole.

Despite her sudden indifference, Ambrose noticed she did not give back the flowers, tucking them into a deep pocket of her gown. “I will keep your secret as long as it is in the best interest of Frostvale. But make no mistake, Chandler. If my people have need, I will take.”

Ambrose knew she was as good as her word; the candle of courage would not have lit otherwise. What he didn’t know? If that was a very good thing—or a very bad thing.

But if the queen only knew the truths hidden here, she would bring the might of her kingdom down on his head, and he would be forced to flee, again.

Fear crept up his fingers and settled in his chest, but when the queen turned to face him with shining eyes, her lashes a thick fringe against her cheek, her words and the soft curve of her lips against the letters of his name nearly undid him and everything he must keep secret.

“That was exactly what I needed most. Thank you, Ambrose.”

And he knew he’d given her false hope. He didn’t understand why that bothered him.