Page 18

18

BESSA

A million things to do, a million worries in my world, and all I could think about was one: how to stop thinking.

Specifically, how to stop thinking about candles, because thinking about candles led to thinking about candle makers, and thinking about candle makers led to thinking about Ambrose, and thinking about Ambrose made my insides squirm and my brain deep dive into all sorts of things I’d never had time to think about before.

For instance, if Ambrose took his shirt off in his thermally heated grove to work in his garden. Or if he always bit his lower lip when he was in deep concentration, like that first time we’d met. And if he’d bite my lips, just a little, if we kissed and if it’d feel good. And don’t get me started on the fire in him when he’d taken the prophecy and destroyed it without a moment’s hesitation to protect me and the way he suddenly seemed so protective of me. He may not want me for himself, the thought probably had never crossed his mind, but he wanted to make sure I married a good man and not just a good trade deal.

Which was all, objectively, very bad.

I had way too much to do to worry about candles and their makers! I had suitors.

Honestly, Ambrose was probably just worried about the type of king I would bring to Frostvale, since it would affect him. Yes. That was probably it. I just didn’t understand why that thought made me so sad.

Despite appearances, my eyes were not on the papers on my desk, so I saw immediately it was Wyot before he’d even lifted his gloved hand to knock on the open door. “Bessa,” he said, briskly entering the chambers and going straight to stoke the fire over the flagstone hearth. “It’s so cold in here, how can you work?”

I tapped Eska, who was curled around my neck as usual, and sighed, standing up to stretch. I’d already told Mika, might as well let Wyot in on it. I’d wanted to spare him, let him think it was just the unicorn, just that once, and that all of Mika’s messages were nothing more than misdirection. But he deserved the truth. He’d deserved a lot more, but the truth was all I had.

Eska hummed, stretching her tiny black legs and paws, trusting me that she could move even though someone new was in the room. Someone who didn’t know yet. She balanced across my shoulders, her wet nose sniffing behind my ear, before yipping once. “Go ahead, girl,” I murmured.

I watched in satisfaction as Wyot’s eyes widened as my little fire fox pranced and wiggled around the room. A trickle of sweat ran down Wyot’s temple as Eska heated the air around us, although I was immune to it by now.

He rubbed it away with the back of his wrist, probably not even aware he was doing it, he was so captivated by the creature. “Bessa…”

“I know. Mika had the same reaction. You two are basically mirrors of each other.”

“I knew it.”

I blinked. “Knew what? About magic?”

“No,” said Wyot, beginning to pace and sweat rather profusely, slamming a fist into his palm. “That Mika was keeping a secret from me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. Magic is not the crazy part.”

“No, that’s plenty crazy,” Wyot said, now unbuttoning the top two buttons of his doublet. “I just knew she was keeping something from me, which never happens, but I thought she liked that new man in town, the chandler.”

“Ambrose?” I said, a little quickly. Shoot. Now I had to backtrack.

Wyot narrowed his eyes. “Okay. Which one of you likes the chandler?”

“Do either of us have to like someone?”

“I didn’t say someone. I said the chandler.”

“We’re trying to run a country that’s been frozen in the ground for a century. Maybe we don’t have time for romantic thoughts, dear brother. Not even about the chandler,” I said, lying probably to both myself and Wyot. Not my strong suit, so I turned my back to my desk and shuffled the papers like I was a psychopath or something.

“Right.”

Abruptly, I spun, my hands on my hips. “Magic fox of fire? Remember?”

“Uh huh.”

I groaned. Why did one’s family have to be so annoying? “Did you come for a particular reason or just to get under my skin?”

Wyot gave me a sour look, pursing his lips. “I came for a reason, thank you. A good one. Some of the suitors are getting antsy. They want to see you. Go on walks. Woo you. Submit their suits. You know how it goes. They are, after all, suitors. One little group baking project does not suit them.”

“And do we know which ones actually want to woo and which ones are only here because their sovereigns forced them or they’re looking to expand their harem?”

“Oh, you can be sure that all were forced. But some might actually be appealing, as far as arranged royal marriages go.”

I tapped my foot, hands still on my hips. “Well get out with it. Here’s where you say which one you want.”

Wyot bent down, still tracking Eska and shaking his head in wonder. He was only half-paying attention, and I could tell he was dying to pet her. Maybe even ask if he could borrow her every once in a while to play with. My brother was a giant kid at heart sometimes—until the war of succession hardened him. It was nice to see the relaxed side of him again. I relented and nodded my head. Eska bounded into his arms, licking his face all over.

“Oh gods, she’s so soft!”

“Focus, Wyot. Which suitor? You know I trust your judgement and Mika’s judgement infinitely more than any of my councilors’ judgement.”

“You shouldn’t even ask your councilors’ opinion on baked goods. Rune told me once he had no beliefs on croissants or cookies in general. Can you believe that?” Wyot asked, now rolling on the floor with the fire fox. “Zero beliefs on cookies. It’s absurd. How could you trust a man like that?”

“He once told me the silver lining of the frozen state of our kingdom was how healthy and frugal we ‘got’ to be. No extra sugar or chocolate, since it’s too expensive to import.”

We both shivered involuntarily at the thought. Our parents operated the bakeshop as well as they could, but the years had mostly been lean. Grains from our thermal farming gave us our meager daily bread with very little left over for sweets. Eska gave Wyot’s face one more lick, leaving a long red line that steamed lightly in the chilly air of my chambers. He sighed and handed her back to me.

“We can get back to the suitors in a second, but what are you going to do about all of…” He gestured up and down at me. “This?”

“Magic?”

“Yes, that,” he said, nearly too afraid to whisper the word, lest it would, like a forest creature, get spooked and go back into hiding forever.

“I have no idea,” I admitted, flopping back in my chair, Eska already curled around my neck again and snoozing softly, her breath a tickle against my skin.

“You have to show the people. Use it. There are so many rumors swirling about how you won the war. I’d always written them off, insisting you won by sheer grit and will.”

“I did.”

“I know. I was there. But if you could say you were endowed with this magic as the true heir of the prophecy…”

“And the original prophecy? It was pretty clear.”

“Yes, but now there is no evidence of it, thanks to that chandler that neither of my sisters have any feelings for.”

“You didn’t need to add that last part, Wyot.”

“Regardless, the point is that now we can say whatever we want. That you were gifted magic for winning the throne. I mean, it’s true anyway, isn’t it? Not the prophecy part, but all the rest.”

I moved my hands up and down like I was juggling two snowballs. “Um, basically.”

Wyot narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘basically’?”

“I mean yes, we finished the war by sheer grit. But do you remember the night before the last battle?”

“How could I forget? Your biological brother had vanished, the villagers were in disarray, me included, and you suddenly came galloping in on a white horse. I didn’t even know you knew how to ride?—”

“I had bruises up and down my thighs for weeks,” I interjected.

“Right. And you announced you were Philip’s long lost twin sister and rightful queen, which, granted, made most of us laugh. Sorry about that,” Wyot said sheepishly.

“Apology accepted. But then?”

“We realized it was not a horse and actually a gods-given unicorn , just like the night you were brought to us. I don’t think anyone could deny you were the chosen one in the prophecy after that.”

“Right.”

“Except, you aren’t, and only Mika and I—and that blasted chandler—know you aren’t.”

“Exactly.”

“I can’t pretend to understand it all, Bessa, but you do have magic and that was a unicorn. Even if the prophecy mentions Philip by name and you not at all. You should reveal it.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t a unicorn. It was fake.”

Wyot’s mouth dropped comically open. “You’re not serious.”

“As serious as the plague. But there’s more.”

Wyot looked green, but I kept going before he could stop me. “There was magic that night, but it wasn’t a unicorn. That is the night when Eska came into my life.”

“That’s how the fire started?” Wyot said in shock.

I nodded.

“So you never found an extra deposit of coal?”

“No, never. I started that rumor to convince the Frostvalens still fighting for Philip that I was blessed and I was the one the prophecy meant.”

“It wasn’t even magic from the unicorn?”

“Wyot. There was no unicorn.”

“I just… I can’t believe it.”

“No unicorn, it was Eska,” I whispered. “Eska and me. Philip had found me; he’d heard the rumors of my continued existence somehow and tracked me down and threw me in the dungeon. It was so cold… and dark. And none of you knew.” I shivered, picturing the thick ridges of ice on the floor that made it impossible to sit or stand in comfort. Death would have been slowly quick. “Then Eska came. She helped me melt the metal bars and escape. We rode on a horse that I stuck a stick on its head—a very convincing stick, mind you—and we rode into battle. Philip fled, we lit a big fire, and that was that. I gave my great speech about uniting Frostvalens and free warming centers at the castle and people were so cold and tired they basically just threw their weapons down and went home.”

Putting my palm to the back of his hand, I let curls of warmth slide down my wrist onto his skin. He jumped, nearly recoiling at the unexpected heat. “It’s not a rumor. Magic is back, at least for her. I’m not sure to what extent elsewhere. I channel it through Eska. If she were to leave me… magic would leave. I don’t think our people could bear to gain something so little, only to lose it again. So, we’re keeping it to rumors only. Little bits and bobs here and there. It gives them hope and gives me time to figure out what to do. If the unicorn from my birth actually did come back, it might be different, but she hasn’t.”

Wyot gaped a little, not saying anything. I understood. It was one thing to hear rumors of magic. It was quite another to feel its burn on your body. And not know how long it might last.

“What will happen if I show her to people? Show my true self?” I begged Wyot. “How will they react when they know I’ve been keeping this secret?”

“Why have you been keeping this secret?” Wyot asked.

I threw up my hands and let them fall dramatically. “Why does anyone keep a secret? Fear. What if other kingdoms got it into their heads that they could exploit my magic for their own ends? What if Eska gets hurt or leaves or is kidnapped?” Eska jumped up to nip my finger at that, rather hard. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m just voicing the fears that plague my dreams.”

“Isn’t that what those blasted suitors are doing now?” Wyot asked reasonably. “Enough rumors have circulated about you that at least half of their interest is mere curiosity.”

“I know, and I think a little curiosity is good for Frostvale. It causes uncertainty, which we can use to keep our kingdom sovereign for as long as possible. As tempting as magic sounds, they’re not sure yet if I have it. A does she, does she not situation can serve us well. But what next? Do I have to choose a suitor and then reveal my magic? What if it’s only Eska, and without Philip to fulfill the prophecy, there is no great influx of magic, no great awakening? What if this fire I have, what if this is it, forever?”

Wyot got heavily to his feet, his sword tip scraping the stone floor as he rose. “Bessa, I can’t tell you what to do.”

“I thought that’s exactly what you came in here to do.”

He snorted. “Since when have you ever listened to me?”

“Since forever. I don’t always follow your advice, but I do listen to it and have a good laugh sometimes..”

He grunted. “No, I can’t tell you what to do, and I don’t want to. I only have one thing to say.”

“What is it? You’ve finally picked your frontrunner?”

He shook his head, pausing at the door. “First, I think you’re underestimating your connection to magic. No one is that good at disguising a stick to look like a magical horn.”

“I don’t know… I’m pretty crafty.”

“No one,” he said firmly. “It was a unicorn. Has it ever occurred to you that it might have, I don’t know, changed its appearance to gauge if you were worthy? See what you would do? Bessa, magic was gifted to you for a reason. Blast the damn prophecy.”

“And second?” I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Second, none of them are good enough for you. Not as my queen, not as my sister. And you don’t have to choose. Magical unicorn, magical fire fox, unfulfilled prophecy, stick on a horse, or not.”

Wyot was too romantic. Wyot, who had once wooed a girl by learning to play the lute and then getting the pixie twins to accompany him singing down the street to a song he’d composed himself, thought I had a choice in the matter of royal suitors. That it was merely a question of my heart. He had no idea the pressures of queendom. I could no more never choose a suitor as I could never have an heir. Duty over desire forevermore. That was the price I had to pay for choosing Eska and choosing myself over Philip.

For me, there were no more choices, not really. I’d made the big one. I’d taken up the crown. Now, there were only delays. And I would delay, delay, delay. Perhaps Ambrose could craft me a candle of perpetual postponement. That would be grand.

There he was again, the chandler. Popping up every moment in my mind. I decided to take a walk to clear my mind. Sucking in deep breaths of cold air usually helped with that.

Wyot gave me a hug, kissing my lightly on the forehead. He might have been the youngest of us three, but in some ways, he was the most solid, the most reliable. I trusted his advice on all things. That was the problem.

I gathered my cloak and left my room, my hair unbound. Just for one day, I’d love to not think about the prophecy, Philip, or Ambrose. One day! I’d rather focus on how many trade agreements I could wring out of each suitor with this idea of perpetual postponement.

I was so preoccupied by thoughts of magic and duty and actively trying not to think of the chandler, I nearly fell over when an actual suitor popped out of a suit of armor as I wandered the halls, my mind a flutter. I finally realized the suitor was the suit of armor, wearing a steel breastplate that depicted two standing griffins rearing to fight over an orb between them.

“Ah!” I squealed, a bit of warmth flinging from Eska larger than I would have wanted. The suitor could hardly notice, bundled up as he was. To be honest, I couldn’t quite tell which one it was through all of the metal and furs. Not at first. It was only by the way he flourished a bundle of dried wildflowers, bowing low over them, one furred leg swept out in a deep lunge, that I knew who it was, although the effect made him look more like a lopsided bear than a courtly suitor.

The dried flowers had only retained a little of their fragrance, and I had to admit that even that would have made me swoon a week ago. Maybe even legitimately swoon, not just figuratively. But I had seen, touched, even smelled a real flower, my favorite being the little purple ones that Ambrose called lavender. He said he put them in his candles for peace and relaxation, and I believed him. Just remembering their intoxicating fragrance put me at peace. I couldn’t imagine the delight of breathing it in for hours. How lucky he was to have such magic to grow in a frozen world.

“Your majesty must be incredibly strong to withstand such temperatures in only a gown and cloak,” said the suitor. I was fairly certain it was Jarth de la Silverwood, and since he had access to citrus trees, it stood to reason his land grew wildflowers, too. And griffins were said to have roosted in the yew trees when they existed.

“My stole keeps me warm, Jarth de la Silverwood,” I said, inclining my head back. I continued my pace, however, and he kept up. “And you know the rumors of course,” I said coyly, looking over my shoulder at him briefly.

“Ah, I didn’t know your majesty spoke so openly of magic,” Jarth replied, grinning as he tried to keep up without completely entangling himself in his clothes.

I laughed, tossing my hair. “Not of magic, those are rumors spread between bored villages. No, the rumors of those blessed with shades of red for hair. It’s rare in Frostvale, and much like our tempers, it keeps us as warm as a furnace.”

“Red hair is indeed rare in Silverwood, too. It is extraordinary,” Jarth admitted. “I nearly touched it without permission when I first met you. Can you imagine? I can barely believe I’m admitting this to you now.”

“Your honesty becomes you, son of Silverwood. Thankfully, an international incident has been avoided, but just so you know, I would have given you extremely nice dungeon quarters. Rest assured of that.” I couldn’t help but be charmed by this boy, although he had no business being here. I wondered why he was—and why so early.

Jarth let out a laugh, all of his furs trembling with it. When he was done, he gasped, “I was worried you would be as frozen as the river you were born on, your majesty, if I may be so bold. But your graciousness in letting us stay has been illuminating.”

“Illuminating, you say? Including our meager nightly feasts and lack of courtly protocol?”

“As refreshing as the chilly baths.”

“And the deep earth turnip soup?”

“As invigorating as a simple walk to the privy every evening.”

I grinned and stopped walking. I couldn’t believe he’d mentioned the bathroom in front of me. So it was with honesty that I said, “Thank you for coming, Jarth de la Silverwood. I agree. It has been illuminating. Perhaps you could illuminate me further as to why you are pressing your suit in particular? Does Silverwood truly need more ice and snow for their freezers?”

Frostvale’s main form of currency was our endless supply of ice that we harvested in thick blocks and packed with snow and straw we processed from imported grain. Lovely to show off for the richer kingdoms, but not exactly essential.

“No, I don’t believe so. We have enough from our current trade agreement,” Jarth admitted, not quite meeting my eyes. He put his hands behind his back as if to walk that way, but found he couldn’t quite reach both hands together.

“Are you quite alright, Jarth?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“Oh yes. Quite. I did mention invigorating, right? I’m thinking of going ice skating tomorrow. Would you care to join me? Imagine! Strapping a blade to one’s shoe and firing oneself off across hard ice. It must be the most exciting thing in the world.”

I noticed the deft sidestepping, as if Jarth were performing an intricate dance move at a ball. He might be young, but he was more practiced in the ways of courts than I was. For the time being, I let him gracefully slither out of my question, mostly because someone began blowing a trumpet near the Great Hall.

“Whatever in the Ilex Isles…” I began, biting it off. More suitors. Of course. “Excuse me, Jarth de la Silverwood. I enjoyed our conversation, but duty calls.”

I heard him yell after me, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Tomorrow, then?” but I pretended not to hear.

Mika met me at the entryway where we both watched in fascination as trumpets heralded the entrance of the last suitor to respond to our coronation summons, King Zacan of Coalcrest. The king wore black velvet with the sleeves slashed to reveal ivory silk at the wrists. He walked slowly at the front of a large party, larger than I intended to house and feed for a couple of weeks. Behind him rolled literal oaken barrels, as large as a man with troll blood in him.

“The coal business looks to be booming,” Mika whispered, impressed against her will. Her face was going through a complicated set of maneuvers worthy of any court jester. “Are those… barrels of beer? And is that… a juggler dancing on them?”

Quickly, I scooted up to the official dais with a chair we were calling a throne for now. The Coalcrest delegates had spread through the room like a rolling veil of fog that had infiltrated the castle grounds. I wondered why the king would possibly entertain thoughts of a Frostvale marital alliance when he clearly wanted for nothing except an heir. Or was it also a show, similar to mine? Make them think you were rich, just long enough to impress upon everyone the very stupidity of ever thinking to invade—at least, that’s what I’d done. The Coalcrest countrymen were at least dressed more appropriately. They weren’t underdressed such as the Violent Tides, and they weren’t overdressed such as the desert-like people of Skyfold Pass and the more temperate Sunfalls and Silverwood.

A few maids spoke quietly together, discussing the giant barrels. They were from different villages, but had all answered Mika’s call for work at the castle and seemed to be meshing well so far. A Coalcrest man sidled up to them.

“They’re full of champagne. Have you tried it? Drinking a glass of champagne is like drinking a bubbling brook. Oh wait, I don’t believe you’ve ever seen one of those here, have you?” the man chortled. “Of course you haven’t! How silly of me. Tell me, I’ve always wondered if the piss would freeze in a stream the moment it left your body. I can’t say I’m not excited to try.”

“You forget yourself,” she said stiffly, swishing away. Another one lifted her nose, flouncing off, while the last just gave him a long look, long enough to be immodest, making even me twitch with uncomfortableness.

“I guess it’s true what they say about the women of Frostvale—as cold as their world,” he muttered loud enough for all to hear.

My hands fisted into my brocade gown. I sent a blast of heat to him so fierce, his face broke out into a rash and he ran off, no doubt to stick his face directly in a snowbank. I chortled, imagining his face melting the snow into a man-shaped hole of slush.

My sister, while impressed with the maids’ gumption, had similar thoughts, however, on the offering. “Besides the colored sea salts he gave to Mom, Gillian only brought frozen fish. It was basically just a free sample of what we get in our annual trade, although the creature was quite an impressive species, frozen solid with its eyes wide and unblinking. Rontu’s large loaves of bread and bags of grain were fine enough, but I really enjoyed seeing all of the scented sachets from Silverwood. What luxury! And a lute.”

“Jarth of Silverwood actually gave me these just now,” I interrupted, handing Mika the bouquet of dried flowers. I watched in pleasure as her eyes lit up, and she brought them to her nose to inhale deeply. “Keep them,” I told her.

“I could never!” she exclaimed, but not taking them from her face, her eyes now closed in concentration as if imprinting the scent in her memory forever.

“Of course you could. Anyway, I can’t be seen choosing favorites so early. It would be better politically for you to take them.”

Mika peered over the tops of the dried purple and pink flowers. “Well, if you insist. Politically, of course.”

“I do,” I said, wishing I could show her Ambrose’s thermal gardens. Eventually, I would show my whole kingdom. I just wasn’t sure how.

“Don’t look now, but I think some of the suitors are getting antsy due to the newcomers,” Mika whispered conspiratorially.

Like a battlefield bombardment, suitors arrived from every direction, all jealous of each other and all desirous of my undivided attention. I had to escape to the only truly safe place—at least, from suitors that was.