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BESSA

I didn't like the look on Mika’s face, but it seemed I rarely liked the look on Mika’s face these days. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. She was only doing what she thought best, even if her methods left a lot to be desired.

She stood at the head of the banquet hall and… Was that an arrow in her hand?

“We may have outlawed dueling in Frostvale,” here she shot me a look, “but we do still have weapons practice. In honor of the arrival of King Culm of Skyfold Pass and Zacan of Coalcrest, Sir Wyot and I would be honored to sponsor an archery shooting competition.”

A cheer went up around the room, hiding my groan.

“Jarth de la Silverwood, would you like to showcase your yew bows?” she asked. Clearly, he was her frontrunner. I think she just wanted more of his citrus and flowers.

Jarth stood up, all dignity and honor, and nodded gravely. “I would be honored.”

An hour later, a cup of brewed lemon balm tea in hand, Mika and I stood bundled in furs on the snowy bank of the old garden. I had to pretend to be cold, which was harder than it seemed, because shivering only made me hotter. A trickle of sweat ran down my back as Wyot set up targets near the far end of the garden walls. Faceless straw dummies stared blankly back at us.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Aye. You don’t want a wimp as a consort, do you?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You need someone strong. Capable. Like you.”

“I guess. And archery is how we’re supposed to determine such things?”

“Aye.”

The magician and the frog stood near King Culm of Skyfold Pass, who was dressed in furs with his traditional blue and yellow silk robes draped over the top, looking extremely annoyed, which tickled me for some reason. A marriage to Culm would mean the same as one to Zacan of Coalcrest—both would put me in a politically advantageous position with a strong kingdom where I would not have to leave Frostvale indefinitely. They were both older than me, Zacan by a lot, but as soon as I gave them an heir, I would be free to ensure the safety and growth of my lands. It would have to be an absolute requirement in the marriage contract—that I would spend the majority of my time in Frostvale.

So why did my heart sink every time I thought about it? Could they really be that odious if they were never here?

Mika elbowed me right in the ribs. “Go mingle.”

“Mingle? At an archery competition? You know you’re not next in line for the throne if one of those arrows accidentally goes astray. I’m leaving it all to Eska.”

Mika didn’t even dignify that with an eye roll. She did, however, jab me again.

Scowling and sweating, I made my way over to the suitors. I smiled at their bows and allowed King Culm to kiss my knuckles, his movements mechanical and stiff, no doubt a consequence of being frozen to his core. “King Culm, I’m so glad you made it. I hope you didn’t find the travel too hard from Skyfold Pass? The journey is long and fraught, I’m told.”

Before the king could open his mouth, the magician stepped between us, his little frog looking dazed and lost on his shoulder. “He did, but my king is much too generous to admit it. Honestly, all this talk of competitions and contests is below a king. I am not even sure why we accepted the invitation to shoot. Perhaps King Culm’s time would be better spent being himself. Indoors.”

Culm held up a hand, silencing his magician, but added no more to the conversation. Perhaps the king was wearied by the travel, which was completely understandable. The climate alone would have been a shock to the system—he went down a dry, arid desert road of spices and silks to a land where his breath froze in his mouth.

I could give him the benefit of the doubt, certainly, but my gut was telling me something else was at play. Eska also reacted strongly, and I could feel the soft vibrations of her low growl on my shoulder.

Jarth strutted as proud as a peacock, his silver hair mostly contained by the outrageously large wool cap that flapped around his ears.

“Is everyone equipped?” I asked. “Very good. We will start at thirty paces. After everyone has had a shot, we will move the targets back another twenty paces and so on until the last suitor is left standing.”

“Does your majesty want to try her hand at shooting?” Gillian asked, a small grin in his voice.

It was hard for me to decipher. Did he want to give me an opportunity to show off, or perhaps he wanted me to prove I was as capable a war queen as the Violent Tides required? My reputation must have preceded me.

“The longbow is quite difficult without training, but we’ve heard such tales of your prowess in war. I think we should all like to see it first hand.”

Ah. Definitely the reputation thing.

“Of course. Although you are aware I fired no shots in our war.”

“Reports from Frostvale were partial at best. Muddied, I think. A unicorn was involved?”

“The very same one from her birth,” Wyot piped up. Please, don’t let him wink at me. My brother was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. He was a six foot five walking, killer teddy bear. “She’s blessed.”

“Has the unicorn appeared a third time? Does it live in the woods here?” Rontu asked eagerly, peering through the trees to spot a white mythical creature against a backdrop of snow.

Mika shifted her weight. “We believe so,” she said, lying through her sweet teeth. “But unicorns are wild and free. We could no more call upon her as we could call upon Gelid or any of the other gods to grant us favors.”

“Finicky things, then, unicorns,” the magician sniffed.

“Bound by no man, I’d say,” Rontu retorted.

“Called only by a queen,” Jarth added for his one-up.

Before it went to fisticuffs, I decided to do something. Without a word, I strung my bow, pulled back, and arced the arrow up, up, up—and straight down into the straw dummy. It thunked into its heart and its head bowed, as if I had actually killed it.

For a moment, only the constant wind in the bare trees made any sort of noise, then a roar rose from the spectators. My people jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering. Rontu picked me up and twirled me around with unbound enthusiasm.

“Great shot, your majesty,” he cried, before coming back to himself and setting me down. “Forgive me, your majesty. That was brilliant, and I was excited.”

“It’s okay, Rontu,” I began, but my response got lost in the chaos.

“Foul!” a suitor cried. “No touching the queen without permission.”

“Unfair advantage!” cried another.

“I want to pick up the queen, next!” yelled yet another.

It took all of Wyot’s six-foot-five frame to get them back on track without a diplomatic incident, and they began shooting, one by one. King Culm even shot, although I wasn’t sure he could even see straight through his sleep deprived eyes.

I gave each man equal amounts of my time as they were eliminated, murmuring comments about the wind blowing their arrows off course at just the wrong moment or the sun appearing from behind the clouds to blind them at just the worst time.

Soon, it was only Gillian and Jarth, the favorite, left. Gillian’s bicep began to shake as he prepared to shoot at ninety paces. I could tell he wasn’t going to take losing well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ambrose walking up to the back door of the castle carrying a crate of carefully crafted beeswax candles for my coronation. His gait slowed as he approached, realizing something unusual was taking place in the gardens.

At that moment, Gillian’s shot went wide, flying wildly toward the castle, hurtling toward Ambrose.

“No!” I shouted, but the arrow didn’t touch him. Twenty feet from impact, something happened, something I couldn’t explain. I gasped at such an open display of magic. It had been so unexpected and so far away that no one else noticed. Only Ambrose and me.

I hoped.

The suitors gaped in silence, then began to argue, accusing the other of being bad marks and incompetent fools. I could feel chaos once again approaching.

“You must have shot it so far into the woods, it won’t be discovered in our generation!” I said, trying to break the tension with flattery. It was so sugary sweet, I nearly had a toothache, but I held the smile steady.

All of the suitors stared doubtfully at me, suspiciously even, but Mika–wonderful, beautiful, smart Mika–rallied them all together.

She clapped. “Frostvale will be in strong, capable hands with the likes of any one of you at the helm,” she said, and I had to avoid gagging at the thought. No one but me would helm Frostvale.

“Why don’t we reconvene in the Great Hall? We’ll have refreshments and bone-warming soup,” she added. “The bards will sing of Frostine. They say she still slumbers beneath the mountain, waiting for spring and her summer-born lover. Perhaps this is a sign of her return.” She looked around her feet as if expecting to see snowdrops where a frost goddess’s tears splattered the ground.

There were mutterings, talk of sending for their own cooks from far-flung homelands, but I ignored them. It was certainly not our cooks’ fault that they had only salt fish and barley to work with on most nights.

“Go ahead,” I said. “I must ensure my subject is unharmed. I will join you in a moment.”

Ambrose set down the crate that looked to be as heavy as me. He’d been holding it this whole time, and with every step I took closer to him, I had to fight the image of him holding me in other ways. Ways that included a lot less clothing. Together, we stood over what the arrow had transformed into. Between our feet sat a tiny yew tree, barely a sliver, but planted firmly in the ground, a tiny tuft of branches reaching for the sky.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice trembling. In the name of Frostine, please let him think it trembled because I was afraid of the magic we just witnessed in front of witnesses and not because of him.

Ambrose raised that damnable eyebrow, the one that knew I was trembling for him, but he said nothing about it. “Doesn’t your majesty know?”

“How could I? That was not my magic on display in front of the whole kingdom.”

He shook his head no. “I did not turn an arrow back into a twig, your majesty.”

“Well I certainly didn’t!”

He stared at me with that cool gaze that saw everything and revealed nothing.

I repeated myself. “I did not do that.”

“And neither did I.”

We stared at each other, and I knew I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, we weren’t just lying to the other, but perhaps to ourselves, too.

“I don’t think I did it,” I whispered.

“I don’t think you did it either,” he replied.

I frowned. “Then what do you think happened, Ambrose?”

He bent down and hefted the crate of candles over his shoulder, a grunt coming from deep in his throat as he flexed and strained with his heavy load. He turned to face me while balancing it. “I think, with or without Philip, magic is returning. I think, your majesty, that you are fulfilling your own prophecy.”