Page 19

19

AMbrOSE

She had engulfed his thoughts ever since she’d stormed into his shop with her brother standing in as her Frostguard. It revealed so much about her, whether she’d intended it or not. How close she was to her family. How close they were to her. How desperate her situation at the castle was and how little she had, although what she didn’t have in royalty, she made up for in loyalty. That mattered; that was important. That was, perhaps, the most important thing about her.

And now she was storming in again, a wildfire dangerously close to burning everything he had worked for down to bitter ashes.

“Ambrose,” she said, huskily, he might have thought, if he was the hopeful type. “What are you doing?”

“Making candles, your majesty. Did you come to finish yours?”

She looked guilty. “I came to escape,” she admitted. When he raised an eyebrow, she clarified, “Suitors.”

“Ah, well I was about to deliver candles to the villagers. I can wait, however, if you want.”

“No, don’t let me stop you,” she said, her eyes lingering on his hands.

He tilted his head, watching her deflate in disappointment. “Would you like to come?”

She opened her mouth to decline, but then paused, nodding once, pleasure lighting up her blue eyes. “Yes. Please.”

Ambrose took her at her word, gathering the finished candles, their wicks white and shiny and magic shimmering throughout, although he wasn’t quite sure how much of it ordinary humans could sense. He handed her a wicker basket and they began setting the candles inside, stacking the pillars neatly in a pyramid shape until the basket was full.

“What are these?” the queen asked, bringing one close to smell. It was scented with wild frost roses and attuned with a single phoenix feather. With the feather, it would never burn down low enough to go out, although why this was so rarely occurred to the recipients. They never wished to question their luck or relay it to relatives in case it caused their own good fortune to go up in a single wisp of smoke.

Ambrose still had to speak carefully, although he was starting to wonder how long he could keep ‘omitting’ details of himself to the queen. Or how long he wanted to. “Some simply provide extra warmth when lit. They go to families whose homes aren’t as filled with warm bodies or those living alone, although there are a few houses whose outer shell of ice was damaged by winds in the last storm and they haven’t been able to pack more snow and ice on just yet, so I’ve made extra for them.”

“And the others?”

“They are for things I sense are needed. Compassion, guidance. I have a few candles that help provide enough of the right sort of light to grow food, even.” He picked one up that was mottled with bright yellow petals. “These have been helping some families grow small green crops in their homes, which has been helping with certain illnesses. Man–nor woman–was meant to live on seal meat and deep earth farmed grain alone, your majesty.”

“Indeed not,” she agreed. “The coronation ball is in less than a week, Chandler. Are you confident in your ability to continue supplying the villagers with candles and finish my own?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. Let’s go.”

Ambrose changed nothing. He didn’t skip any houses or shy away from difficult customers who demanded extra candles even when Ambrose knew the first ones burned just fine, not too black nor too smoky or too quickly. He did, however, tell Bessa to stay back at these houses, although that didn’t work, either. She marched up right along with him and the mere presence of the monarch on the street in front of most houses was enough to slacken the jaws of even the most difficult customers, including the rather-russet colored looking fellow who was as hard as the rocks he cut and shaped.

Dropian answered the door with a scowl, his hands fisted at his hips before he realized who stood next to the chandler. Immediately, he dropped into a bow. “Your majesty is making house calls?” he squeaked. “Would you care to see some stone work I’ve been undertaking in my spare time?”

Bessa didn’t even look helpless. She blinked once and smiled. “Of course, Dropian. I would love to see it.”

And that’s how they ended up spending a quarter of an hour staring at man-sized stones in various stages of development as the man shorter than the stones he hewed pointed out inane differences that most likely made a lot of sense to other stone workers, but not a thing to either of them.

Bessa politely extricated them both after the fifth carving of a water nymph pouring a jug of spring water over her body that was apparently meant to “lift the spirits” and “recall better times” in a way that made Ambrose fully appreciate what a consummate politician she was. He was oddly impressed as they purchased two crayfish and pike pies from a street stall, flaky and warm and full of brown gravy. But they jumped from the frying pan straight into the fire in no more than five steps down the valley road.

“Your majesty! Over here!” A ball of fur was waving wildly across the road near the Dancing Snowflake, flanked by four more balls of fur. Representatives of Sunfalls, no doubt.

Bessa gave him a bit of a helpless glance, before plastering a smile to her face and greeting the prince of Sunfalls graciously. If that young pup knew her even a little, he would have realized how fake it was. He didn’t, of course.

“Queen Bessa, I’m glad I caught up with you. We’ve been looking all over for you! The coronation is so soon and I feel as if we’ve barely had the chance to talk.”

“I’m sorry, Prince Rontu. It was never my intention to hide. I’m merely out and about among my people.”

“And what a good queen you are for it,” he said, voice thick with cold. “Gods, it feels as if my throat is closing up, trying to keep my tongue warm!” he said with some relish. “How can you stand it?”

“As we always have,” Bessa said. “The cold does not claim us.”

“Words don’t keep you warm, though. Do you suppose I might have a few minutes?” he asked. “I was hoping to try these out.” He held out a pair of skates, looking pointedly at Ambrose.

Ambrose bristled, but it wasn’t exactly ill will the young prince was pouring at him, not like Gillian of the Violent Tides. It was just the naivety of all royalty when it came to commoners.

“I’d be happy to join you now, Prince Rontu,” Bessa said magnanimously. “Although Jarth de la Silverwood has also suggested ice skating, so perhaps we should wait and make another group event.”

“Has he?” Rontu said lightly, as if he didn’t care. “Then we should absolutely practice first, one-on-one your majesty. Make sure we’re up to snuff. You agree, don’t you… who are you?” he cocked his head at Ambrose.

“This is Ambrose, the village chandler,” Bessa said quickly. “His work is magical.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Rontu smiled gamely, looking to the left and below where Ambrose stood, actively trying not to glower. They only walked for a moment before Ambrose could see her back stiffening in response to something he so gaily said. Ambrose felt his heartbeat, usually so steady, all the way in his fingertips when the queen turned around and strode over to him. Something was wrong. He could sense her rising anxiety.

“Are you okay, your majesty?” he whispered. “Are you afraid of Rontu? He’s a bit of an overexcited pup, but is there something else?” Ambrose twisted the ring on his finger, a nervous habit he’d never been able to shake. Especially not when a beautiful queen stood guilelessly in front of him, her eyelashes thickly fringed on her cheeks. Although, to be fair, this was the first time it had ever occurred. Queens didn’t typically stand in front of him, guileless or not.

“No, I just… I can’t stay long. You don’t have any real magical candles that keep rivers frozen, do you?” she whispered back. Louder, she said, “And you will be able to finish our royal order by next week, correct? Supplying the villagers is well and good, but this order does take precedence now.”

Ambrose gave a curt nod, understanding blooming in his chest like an ink blot on paper. “Yes, your majesty. I completely understand.”

“Do you?” she asked, her double meaning clear.

He nodded curtly, “I do.” Already, his mind was calculating a thousand scenarios, wondering how to help her. He’d seen her fire magic at work on snow; there was no telling what she’d accidentally do when ice skating. She might have guessed he had some communion with real magic thanks to her fire fox pointing her directly in his direction for the courage candle, but she couldn’t be sure. Ambrose knew it was not a good thing to reveal it, but one thing was certain, she wasn’t going to melt the whole river accidentally for some suitor’s sake.

Ambrose watched the happy couple as the prince was allowed to lace her skate, and heroically explain the mechanics of gliding on ice, as if she hadn’t grown up doing just that. He had his doubts, but perhaps there was a suitor up to the task of being good enough for Bessa. Perhaps one would be suited for a back-throne role and be truly content as prince consort.

Because Ambrose knew something in his bones, something he never thought would happen. His world had been shaken upside down and altered forever by just one glance—the way she’d looked at him in wonder in the gardens would be the last thing he knew he’d ever wish to see. He couldn’t possibly go on being the same man he was before. If there was going to be someone other than himself with Bessa—and there was, of that there was no doubt—then that man had better be worth it.

“Have you skated before then, your highness?” Bessa asked, Prince Rontu like a puppy at her feet, wiggly and excited.

“Oh no. It never gets that cold in Sunfalls. But the mechanics can’t be that difficult!”

Ambrose could practically hear her thoughts from a stone’s throw away. Oh really? her face seemed to say. Not that difficult! Please, do tell me how to do something I’ve always done!

Ambrose called up his forest friends, thankful for the thickening gray clouds rolling in overhead. Fat flakes began to fall, muffling the queen and prince’s voices, but also helping to hide what was surely going to be more magic than Rontu had ever seen.

Ambrose knew that what he was about to do had the ability to fracture their relationship, even possibly hurt her badly enough to make her turn away from him, order him into exile, but he knew he had no choice. She needed him and he had the ability to help her. Or, at least, his snow fox friend did. Qanuk wasn’t his, not in the way that Eska was hers, but like all forest creatures, the snow fox responded to his needs and was more responsive to him than a simple-minded chipmunk or quick-beaked sparrow. They were of an accord.

He hummed a deep, vibrating tune that reflected the noise of the burrows Qanuk hibernated in, coaxing him out, calling him forth. He could imagine the pristine white creature shaking off the snow first from his head, licking each paw, his tail beginning to twitch as his whole body woke up. Ambrose didn’t commune with Qanuk often, preferring to let the wild creature stick to his habits, but Bessa wanted her secret to stay hidden and this was the only way he could think of how to help. Within moments, the snow fox had answered his call, just as he had at the frost fair when Bessa had accidentally begun to melt the ice there. She was clearly feeling high enough emotions that she might melt the ice again.

Qanuk blended against the deepening white of the snow storm, bounding across the glassy river. Where his paws touched the softening ice, silver plates of thick ice appeared, the snow helping to hide his maneuvering. The river was a sparkling blue mirror where Quanuk stepped, eerie and beautiful, and completely safe for the queen to skate across. She glided with great, long strides, her legs eating up the distance and making Rontu look even more like an excited pup than usual in his choppy short steps that was his attempt to keep up.

“I’ve never seen so much ice before!” he kept shouting, his breath coming out in white clumps of cold air.

Ambrose had to turn his back finally, unable to stand seeing them, knowing in his heart that this was one of the suitors to fear—if he had any right to fear a suitor at all. He walked a ways into the woods, Qanuk working the magic, as he wanted to get lost in the swirling whiteness. There was something going on with the trees, however, something that demanded his attention. Ambrose, who could feel all the veins in a leaf, suddenly felt as if the entire forest was a super highway of movement.

He removed a glove and placed his hand directly on the icy bark of an oak tree, which wasn’t so very icy at this moment. He yanked it back, turning his hand over in wonder, before quickly biting off his other glove and placing both hands on the tree’s center.

He could feel its heart beat. The tree was waking up. Sap was running. Dryads were stretching. The entire forest was waking up.