Page 35

35

BESSA

I found Prince Rontu in the Great Hall, a procession of balls of fur and oiled cloaks following on his heels. He looked like a true prince of Sunfalls in his bearing, if not his clothing, and he had a sheepish smile on his face.

“Rontu,” I said, “the coronation ceremony is tomorrow.”

“Yes, which is why I must go today, your majesty.”

“So, the rumors are true. You are withdrawing.”

“The rumors speak true, but I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. It was never my intention to mislead you for so long. I thoroughly enjoyed my stay and the adventure of Frostvale. Honestly, I lost the thread a bit.”

“What was your grand tapestry before the thread unraveled?” I asked, sitting on the throne my father had left behind, feeling like someone playing pretend.

“Will you think terribly of me if I said I wanted a little adventure? A world frozen not only in ice but also in time… At least, those are the rumors in Sunfalls.”

I made my voice as severe as a winter storm, blowing and raging in the deep woods. “You sought to sow wild oats. In our kingdom where we fight daily for survival.”

“I’m sorry,” Rontu said again, looking quite miserable.

“I should hope so.” Despite his youth, he still knew right from wrong. He had been selfish, but he seemed to have truly learned his lesson.

“As a thank you for your friendship, I would like to re-negotiate our trade deals when I return home. Between you and me, that deal is outdated with terms made for the previous king. I believe our councilors should revisit it. After all, we are the ones who must get along, we are the ones in charge of our lands and our people’s destinies.”

“Your father will allow this?” I probed carefully. It was all well and fine to speak big talk away from the throne room of Sunfalls, but back in his father’s orbit, well…

“If he wants me to marry the chieftain’s daughter of a minor southern outpost in the Salt Sea for her newly discovered mine of gemstones, he certainly will,” Prince Rontu said with unaccustomed savagery. “Who knows? Perhaps I will tell him how very beautiful you are and what a pleasure it has been here. It would be no lie, your majesty,” Prince Rontu said, bowing low. “Besides, it is no burden to forge closer ties with you. I know you might not have much trust left in me after I deceived you, but I swear it now.”

Rontu, all pomp and circumstance and youthful vigor, dropped to a knee, his hand over his heart.

“Oh stand up, Rontu,” I said. “Send me the new trade documents, and we’ll get along fine. Be sure to throw in a gem or two.”

The young prince lifted his head, his infectious smile hard to resist. “Thank you for your kindness, your majesty. I am sorry to have come on false pretenses, but I am not sorry to have come. My experience in Frostvale was eye opening.”

“Surely you’d like to stay for the feast and ball?” I blurted out.

“It’s time for me to grow up,” Rontu said, rising from his bow. “But may I speak frankly?”

I waved at him to go on.

“We have heard rumors in Sunfalls about the coal in Coalcrest. I don’t think it's as plentiful as Zacan has made it out to be.”

“I see.”

“It’s no secret he yearns for a son. He has discarded at least three mistresses for failing to produce a male heir.”

“It would be a gamble then for him to marry. Let alone marry me. I have not produced anything except for questionable taste in decor.”

Rontu roared in laughter. “It would, but as I said. He’s getting old. Successful marriages have been built on less, of course, but I get the feeling that you would not be happy, your majesty.”

“Prince Rontu, you are a surprise. Your delegates from Sunfalls will always be welcome here as long as I am queen.”

The young prince had the audacity to wink, and I nearly had to clap a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing.

“Also, make sure you try the molded jellies. The one that looks like a castle. They’re my personal favorite.”

“I’m afraid there are no molded jellies,” I said, my eyebrows furrowed.

As if waiting for such a response, Rontu put two fingers between his lips and whistled. Banging through the door of the Great Hall came an even larger procession than the one he’d arrived with only a few weeks before. “I hope you won’t mind, Queen Bessa, but when I realized how meager our feast would be, I sent for my personal cooks and servants for your coronation, as a gesture of goodwill. I have brought all of my favorites. Potatoes, ham, brandied fruitcake, ginger for my favorite carrots and almonds, and enough white truffles to stuff a winter’s flock of pigeons. I hope you all feast and be quite merry.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t help it. Cassia squeaked next to me. Even Wyot looked impressed. “That’s a lot of food,” he whispered, unconsciously licking his lips.

Rontu grinned and wiggled happily, looking exactly how I’d always remember him, as overly excitable as a fox kit. I was cross at his deception, but it had recently occurred to me that people keep all sorts of secrets for all sorts of reasons—myself included. I could stay cross, or I could accept his gesture of goodwill and use it to my people’s advantage.

Rontu gestured for a servant to come forward, beckoning with a finger. He approached with an ornate silver chalice, and Rontu took it reverently, bringing it to me himself. “This, your majesty, shall top your sweet pies.” He lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing a mountain of lightly scented cream, streaked with beautiful red stems. “Saffron cream. Go ahead, try a little.”

I raised an eyebrow, making Rontu laugh. “I’m serious!” He took a big swipe, showing me how it was done in Sunfalls. “Delicious,” he confirmed.

I ran my finger across the peak of the cream and tasted it. “Soft and pillowy, almost floral,” I said, licking with pleasure.

“Enjoy, your majesty,” Rontu said with a last bow, leaving Frostvale on good terms.

As he exited the Great Hall, I noticed Ambrose standing to the rear of Rontu’s party, revealed now only by their departure. He’d been watching me, his eyes dark with unreadable emotion.

He certainly wasn’t neutral, but whether he was angry at the way I’d treated him for keeping his own secrets and his own council—or something else—I couldn’t be sure.

I leaned over to Wyot. “Can you delay my Glacial Council meeting? I need to take care of something.”

He looked at me sideways and then over to Ambrose. “Is that ‘something’ tall, dark, and full of requited angst?”

“Requited, eh?”

“Yes. I’ve finally figured out which sister it is.”

“Very funny, Wyot. Will you delay them or not?”

He waggled his eyebrows, hand on the pommel of his sword, both gestures completely at odds with one another. Wyot was so unserious at times, but I was glad of it. Glad the war of succession he fought for me hadn’t ruined him after all. Glad he was still here, ready to protect me and give me good natured grief, all in the same moment. Glad he was my brother, more truly than my twin. Glad he was for me, and I was for him.

“You already know what I think, Bessa. We Frostvalens have always survived. Even if you choose none of these suitors, we will still survive. To be honest, none of them even understand the definition of survival, not as we do. They would be unhappy here.”

“I’m not running after him to confess my undying love, you know.”

Wyot’s eyebrows grew more exaggerated.

“Oh stop it. I’m not. I’m apologizing. As a friend. Because I was in the wrong. And that’s what friends do.”

“Hmmm. And do only friends also have odd clipped speech that is clearly defensive?”

“Who knows?” I shrugged grandly, already halfway down the dais. “I’ve only had siblings. Never only friends .”

I made it three steps before Duskborne and Lorcan accosted me. “Are the rumors true, Queen Bessa? Are you still picking a suitor tomorrow?” they shouted, practically in unison.

“I must,” I said simply. And it was true. I must still choose a suitor. It seemed King Culm of Skyfold Pass was suddenly my best option. No Rontu, no Jarth. Zacan’s lack of coal was an issue. And Gillian… I shivered. No. Never. If Culm would agree to let me live in my castle at Frostvale three weeks out of the month—and permanently after we produced an heir… He was my best option. We would have cardamom and cinnamon and black pepper and all sorts of spices. I could have Frostvale. My future child would inherit both. Frostvale would stay safe by hiding behind a stronger king and letting rumors of magic die down. It was my best option.

There was only one problem with my logic, and he was standing in front of me, his face so gentle and his look so intimate that it made me want to melt into his arms and become affixed. “Ambrose, I’m sorry you lived through that. No wonder you didn’t trust me.”

“You didn’t know.”

“But I never should have assumed.”

I watched him watching me. I couldn’t stand the thought of not carrying out my duty as queen, but who made those rules anyway? Wyot was right. Frostvale had survived without new coal or grain agreements, and I’d proven I could forge my own path in diplomacy–without talk of marriage. If I wanted to kiss the chandler, maybe I should. And I so badly wanted to kiss the chandler.

Mika would not let me kiss the chandler. She rounded the corner, Cassia hot on her heels. “I found the frog,” she shouted.

“Good,” I said, my voice still stilted with desire.

“Not good. He says he’s your brother.”

I frowned. “Does Wyot know there’s a frog running around trying to impersonate him?”

“Not that brother,” Mika said. Her eyes were big again, her tell-tale sign, and my heart seized. “Your twin brother. Philip.”