Page 23

23

BESSA

The next morning, I slipped out of the castle before dawn. Like an addict, I had to smell the flowers again before I dealt with the stresses of the day. I had to touch the velvety soft petals of the sage plant and feel the fuzzy heads of the sunshine-like chamomile. I had to immerse myself in Ambrose’s secret world. Surely he wouldn’t mind.

I lifted up my thick layers of silk and brocade and confidently stepped over the invisible line of protection candles Ambrose kept around this garden. There was a soft pulse followed by a gentle give as I went through them and entered his sanctuary. Well, I was queen, wasn’t I? This was for the good of my people, so really, I was merely ensuring my kingdom was up to standards.

I thought it would be easy to visit the garden after the first time. I thought I wouldn’t make a fool of myself, that the greens and purples and blues wouldn’t make my legs weak and my mind like soup, but the moment I stepped through Ambrose’s barrier, the endless variation of color tightened my chest, curled through my lungs like creeping vines, and took my breath away. Already, there were trees, some bearing blossoms that would soon bear some sort of fruit, small and hard at first but waiting for the opportunity to grow fat and juicy. And another bee! I spread my arms and spun. Somehow, even the bees had found their way home.

I should be thankful there was no one around to see me act so foolish, except for Eska who had already leapt ahead, melting snow as she ran. It only took a few moments before I toed off my boots and sank my feet into the warm soil, gasping at the totally foreign sensation. It was so soft and loamy-smelling. Little mushrooms erupted around my fingertips, their gray caps more like velvet than any of my velvet gowns.

Someone cleared their throat, and I whipped around, my heartbeat pounding in the tips of my fingers and toes. Instead of slowing down when I saw who it was, it actually sped up, as I became acutely aware of my dirty feet and bare ankles. “Ambrose! I’m sorry, I…”

He crossed his arms, waiting, but I had no good response.

“You felt me break the wards, didn’t you?” I sighed. “Should have known.”

Ambrose echoed my sigh, coming across the wards as well, stopping for a moment to prune and pinch back dead buds and encourage new, more vigorous growth. “To be fair, magic is new to all of us. We don’t know what we don’t know.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you.”

Ambrose lifted an eyebrow, the opposite side of his mouth quirking up. “An apology from the queen. I’ll remember this day forever.”

“I’ll rescind it if you keep going,” I threatened. “Town proclamation even.”

He held up his hands in a surrender gesture, but the half-smile stayed put. “I would never dream of teasing your majesty. Not anymore, at least,” he amended. “And I would prefer if you came whenever you wanted or needed to come. It helps alleviate the guilt.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said quietly. “How to bring it all back.”

“You keep the faith of the old gods?”

I shook my head, bowing down to smell chamomile or feverfew—I still couldn’t tell the difference. “Not exactly. I keep the faith of magic.”

“And I keep my faith in you,” he said.

We were both quiet, and Ambrose let me wander through the brilliant rows of purple, pink, and even blue flowers. I had never imagined such variety in one color. Never considered it before.

“I won’t stay long,” I replied, already moving towards my boots, but staring longingly back at the beds of flowers and hanging hives of activity.

“Whenever you need to go,” he answered. He clearly noticed my reluctance and slow progress at a simple boot buckle. “Did you know that bees prefer blue shades?” Ambrose asked. “They can’t see red.”

My eyes widened. “I never once thought about what a bee sees,” I admitted. “How did you learn so much? Did someone teach you? Was it your parents?”

I noticed the lines around his mouth tightened. “No, they didn’t,” he agreed. “But it was in their blood and mine, as well. I think my family used to keep bees, and when I started, that knowledge sort of seeped into my being.”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“For some, it does. I merely started paying attention to what the animals were telling me. They never lingered long on reds or pinks, hopping right over to the cooler colors.”

“You’re very observant, then.”

Ambrose began to amble again through the rows. He ran his fingers over the clumps of lavender. “I have noticed a preference for the lavender lately, which is making most of the current batch of honey more earthy than floral. On my journey here, I went through Sunfalls and traded for a few apple seeds. I’ve finally found the perfect spot to plant them. I think their blossoms will add a certain sweetness to the next batch.”

He gestured to the trees I’d seen earlier, unsure at the time what sort of fruit they held in their buds. Apples. We traded for a lot of them, easily stored and easily shipped as they were. But a freshly picked apple? My mouth watered, but I masked it by saying stoutly, queenly, “You were in Sunfalls?”

“I’ve traveled a bit. But I am happy to be in Frostvale,” he said firmly as if the subject was closed. He was closed, shut as firmly as an iron door.

“I was merely curious, Ambrose. I don’t think you’re some spy.” Eska snorted. Ambrose didn’t respond. “Right?”

“I could no more be a spy than a sailor. I get seasick just thinking about the sea.”

He did appear a little pale around his mouth, and I had to stifle a laugh at his very serious expression. He seemed to ground himself by kneeling among the flowers and getting his hands dirty.

“It’s pure living magic, flowers,” he said, still weeding. “They’re not just some pretty thing to snip and set in a vase. Their petals could offer my candles so much life, the beeswax a clean source of light, and the honey… Well, I would love it…”

“What? What would you love?” I urged at his silence. “Tell me, Ambrose.”

“Okay,” he began slowly. “I hope to have enough soon that you won’t need a trade deal for our sugar source. That we can supply our own. It will certainly upend and disrupt the current climate, but I noticed our sugar trade partner didn’t even send a suitor. So perhaps that’s a good thing.”

“That would be a feat. Frostvale would certainly be the talk of the Isles after that. It remains to be seen whether it would be a good thing or a scary thing. We’ve been through enough wars that I fear I don’t have the stomach for any more confrontations.”

“I have complete faith that your diplomats will work to secure an advantageous trade without cause of war.” Ambrose stood up, dusting the dirt off of his pants. “Your brother wandered into my shop the other day.”

My head went up sharply. “Did he?”

“He did indeed.”

“Not for candles, surely?”

Ambrose barked a laugh. “That was his excuse, but no, not for candles. We ended up walking a bit to forage and he… well, it might be easier if I showed you.”

He beckoned me down a forest trail where they had clearly been walking through the shin-height snow, weaving a trail. “Wyot actually spotted these.” Ambrose knelt in the snow, a clear damp depression where it had inexplicably begun to melt, far from the warded vent, far from me, far from Eska.

I knelt beside him, my dress ballooning around me before I tamped it down around my ankles. The rest of the snow melted around us as I did, but it was clear what was already there. “I didn’t do that,” I whispered, afraid to scare the neon green seedlings that had bravely sprouted through a crack in the ice, stretching for the sky.

“I know,” Ambrose whispered back, his deep voice vibrating in my sternum. “But something did, and I have no idea what.”

Urgently, I grabbed his arm, a jolt of awareness at what I’d done in touching him racing through me. “We have to protect them. What are they? Oh, I don’t care, I just want them to grow!”

Ambrose stared at my fingers wrapped around his bicep as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it—or me—but he pulled his gaze up to my face. “Ferns,” he said. “They will carpet the forest floor. See how they’re curled up in the shape of a shell?”

I nodded, wordlessly.

“Magic is melting the snow. And you are responsible.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Even if you’re not the one prophesied to bring back magic, you are still doing it. You’re making the opportunity for it to thrive and venture forth by sheer will. You are doing this. You just have to keep being you.”

“Ferns,” I said, trying out the word on my tongue. I liked how it made my teeth graze my lower lip when I said that, and from the way the chandler stared at me, he was also having some feelings about my lips. Self-conscious now, I stopped repeating the word ferns, which didn’t even sound like a word anymore, and pursed my lips.

I saw color flare under the collar of his thick, woolen cloak, and it made my own neck burn as hotly as when Eska wrapped herself tightly around me. I couldn’t help it. I peeped out, “Ferns.”

Ambrose looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. I saw his hand move toward me, and I suddenly imagined it cupping the back of my head as he leaned me down for a kiss, but he gestured instead to the village. Perhaps, I had read too much into it. I was seeing things that weren’t there.

He cleared his throat. “I have some orders to fill at the shop. Would you like me to walk you back? That is, if you’ve finished here.”

“I think I better be finished. I can’t put off seeing some of these suitors any longer, although Mika has gotten very creative at trying.”

Ambrose jolted a step forward, a step I doubted he consciously meant to take. “If you need one more excuse, I might be able to supply one.”

I turned my head, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yes. Your coronation candles will be much stronger if you help make them. Infuse your magic into the wax and breathe your purpose into them.”

“Me?”

“You are the queen, and it is your coronation,” he said with a wry smile.

“I know that,” I replied, a little short. “But I am not the master chandler. You are.”

He beckoned me forward, the ground softening at our feet the longer we stayed. I watched as more green seedlings bravely pushed their way up and unfurled in our heat.

“We’ll craft candles of calmness for the proceedings, prosperity for the realm, and protection. Is there anything else you’d like for your coronation?”

“Not courage?” I asked, gently needling him.

“I think you’ve proven you don’t need any help in that department.”

I felt my cheeks flame at the compliment. Unsure what to say, I turned around, keeping my shoulders straight and steady when I wanted to melt like one of his candles and collapse in his arms.

It was getting darker in the woods, and we reluctantly made our way back to his candle shop, happy to be wrapped in the soft silence that only bare woods full of snow in deep winter could bring.

The moment we arrived, I couldn’t help but breathe in and let it out with a sigh. I loved everything about this candle shop and what Ambrose had done with it. “Your shop is so homey,” I remarked, running my fingers along jars of solidified wax and dipping my hands into bags of dried petals and herbs, letting them cascade through my fingertips. “And it smells so good.”

“Are you fine with following me into the back room?” he asked. “I can bring everything else up front.

“I’ll follow you, Chandler,” I said, swishing past him and practically leading the way. “You may be twice my size, but you don’t have Eska.”

For her part, my fire fox chirruped once as if to laugh at me and that was that. It was clear she whole-heartedly embraced the man, despite all of his little omissions and half-truths. It was still hard to believe he kept flowers in a frozen kingdom, but I could hardly fault him for not blurting out his entire life story the moment I barged into his shop and demanded magic. Not yet, anyway.

“You’ll probably want an apron,” Ambrose said, giving me a long glance, his eyes dragging up and down my body, making my pulse beat agonizingly against my throat. Could he see it from where he stood? It felt so obvious, like a thumbprint on frosted glass or an under-proofed loaf of bread.

“Thank you,” I swallowed hard, as if trying to swallow my heartbeat back down to my chest.

“Would you need help tying it?”

“I’ve managed without a lady’s maid my entire life,” I reminded him stiffly. “I think I can tie an apron string.”

“As you wish.”

I regretted it the moment I said it, since it meant the chandler merely handed me the leather apron and walked away. Ambrose lit a fire in his hearth, adding extra logs and stoking it until ready. He placed a large iron pot over it, filled it with the solidified wax, then handed me a long-handled iron spoon. “Make sure the wax melts but doesn’t begin to bubble. It will blacken the end product if it boils.”

“I take it that’s bad?”

“Your Majesty is a fast learner.”

“And I’ll take the compliment.”

“As it was meant.”

Ambrose began cutting wicks and dipping them in the quickly melting wax to harden. He threaded them through the molds and tied off each end. “Okay, it looks ready. Pull the pot away from the heat with this,” he said, handing me a long hooked tool.

“Now what?”

“Now, we make magic.”

I watched in awe as he began choosing what to add and how much. Deftly, he dripped four drops of some pungent smelling oil, tore leaves off of a dried rosemary branch and rubbed them between his palms over a mortar, added purple lavender petals, and three dashes of grains of paradise, and a single damask rose bud before pounding it all together. He beckoned me closer. “Now, I want your majesty to take my place. Picture your kingdom and your coronation exactly as you want them. Breathe your magic into these ingredients. Embody your dreams and thrust them into your candle preparations. Everything here is from Frostvale’s own land, her own soil. You are crafting a pure Frostvalen candle with pure Frostvalen intentions.”

Swallowing with difficulty at his vivid imagery, I did as I was told. It was harder than I expected to concentrate solely on the nebulous future and not on the flesh and blood man standing right next to me, his voice deep and sure, his body taking up all of my space and all of my oxygen.

Together, we poured the wax into the molds, his steady, calloused hands over mine, swallowing them whole. His breath was warm against my ear and his body much closer than any man’s body had been before. My body felt like the one engulfed in flames, and had anyone ever been this warm before in the history of the world? And if so, how had they been able to stand this heat without succumbing to ashes? Was this the moment he would kiss me? What would it be like? Dark and urgent, a flurry of deepening desire that had to be met before suitors took over my life again, or would it be soft and unsure?

I couldn’t. I was queen. There would be riots. There would be diplomatic incidents. This was not some passing fancy to indulge and dismiss. This could not be.

Slowly, Ambrose set down the tools. My heart beat so soundly in my chest, I could barely hear the clunk of the metal on the table. Desperate for something to ground me, I picked up and squeezed a handful of bright petals I had no name for. Then, I turned around, my eyes half-closed, my lungs burning. I couldn’t even manage to breathe. My grip tightened around the petals, my nails digging into my palms. He hadn’t stepped back yet, still completely in my space.

With a single finger, he tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. My mouth was dry; I couldn’t move, instantly becoming no more than a rabbit caught in a hypnotic gaze. His woodsmoke scent was deep and complex, his eyes a kaleidoscope of mossy shades of green.

When he spoke, his voice was low enough to vibrate the tools on the workbench and certainly my entire being. “Bessa.”

“Yes?”

An urgent knock resounded through the candle shop, startling me and I pulled away from his touch. Ambrose had kept steady, but he also appeared surprised, a deep line forming across his forehead as he cocked his head, listening.

“Stay here, your majesty,” he ordered me and I was inclined to obey for once.

With a backwards glance, his eyes dark, Ambrose went to the front of the shop, leaving me rattled and unsteady. I unclenched my fist, not having realized they were closed to begin with and the petals I’d been holding fell out, crinkled and broken. The bruising of the petals had released their sharp, perfumed scents, their own trial by fire making them sweeter.

I crept closer to the door, straining to hear the conversation. It sounded like a woman, but there was also muffled sniffling, like a child crying. I put my ear to the door and closed my eyes to concentrate.

“He was just playing in the snow drifts when all of a sudden, it all melted. Snapped the tree branch in half and he fell. Couldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, Chandler.”

“Broke the arm, I’m afraid. I’m not sure how I can help, however. You say the physician sent you?”

“Aye, he did. Told me I had to get your candle. You’d know the one.”

“Did he?” Ambrose said, although that was much quieter, as if to himself. “Let me see what I can find.”

I had to scramble very un-queen like away from the door as I realized he was coming back, my chest heaving as I made it to the work table. Ambrose merely lifted that devilish eyebrow again, but the smirk was enough to show that he knew I’d been eavesdropping. Still, he said for my benefit, “Local lad broke his arm falling on some ice. The village physician already set it, but I’m going to wrap it with spider web and give him a candle with feverfew to prevent infection.”

“Does everyone know the candles are infused with real magic?” I asked, watching him rummage deftly through his supplies before coming up with a light buttery yellow candle that smelled like daisies.

“I’ve never said they were.”

“Chandler.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “They only have the superstition that it works and the faith that it works well.”

“You mean, they have faith in you.”

Ambrose paused at the door, his eyes molten. The sight of him taking up the entire space in the doorway, the way he looked hungrily at me, made me wonder about every decision I had ever made. Finally, he nodded once.

“As you wish, Majesty.”

The shutting door clunked against my heart as surely as the wooden frame. I sank against the work table, upsetting vials and disturbing the precise work of his magic. That’s what I felt like. That I was disturbing his precision by barging into his life. But, I reminded myself, I hadn’t barged into anything. He’d come here. To Honeywood Haven. That had to mean something.