by H. L. Burke
“Starwarden Kajik!” a sharp voice echoed off the pillars.
Kajik crossed his arms as Rafal stomped towards him.
“What are you thinking, wandering off?” Rafal spoke in Frorian again. “I’m under specific orders to make sure you don’t cause an international incident—”
“Relax, Rafal.” Kajik rolled his eyes. “I’ve been versed in court etiquette since infancy. I know how to handle myself. I simply wanted to get some information about the family. To see what the chances are of finding a maiden King Vanya might be willing to part with but who would still satisfy the prophecy.”
Arynne stiffened. Prophecy? What did finding their prince a bride have to do with prophecy?
“And?” Rafal tilted his head.
“Oh, so now you want to hear from me.” Kajik snickered.
Rafal’s glare would’ve caused a goat to faint.
Kajik sighed. “If what we need is simply a ‘princess’ we have at least a dozen options. Apparently that title applies to not just the king’s daughters, but his sisters and a few of his nieces and cousins.”
Rafal sniffed. “Seems stingy of him to hold back from us, then. Still, we don’t have as much to bargain with now, thanks to you.”
Kajik stood a little straighter. “I did what needed to be done.”
“You say that, but if the king finds out you gave away the bride price without any assurance—”
“Easy!” Kajik held up his hand. “I know that King Evyd thinks anyone can be bought, but he’s wrong. Some people can’t be. The implication that he was going to sell off one of his family members clearly offended King Vanya. We earned far more than we lost by simply giving him the gems.”
Rafal wiped the sweat from his high forehead. “I pray you are right. If we return from this mission empty handed—”
“We won’t.” Kajik leaned against the nearest pillar, an easy smile crossing his lips. Arynne’s pulse quickened in response. She wasn’t sure if it was his confidence or her fascination with his exotic complexion, but for the second time that waking-time, he’d made her feel like a giddy child.
“So, since you’ve thrown the king’s orders to the wind, do you have a new plan? How do we proceed.”
Kajik stroked his beard. “I said we have a dozen women to choose from, but I think we should focus on ones already of marriageable age. From what I can see, any lady of this court would satisfy as far as beauty and breeding. I need to know if their personalities would suit. A lot is riding on this marriage. If the girl is foolish or flighty, it could cost us much. Also, I’d prefer one who is willing to go with us. I don’t savor the idea of dragging an unhappy girl to Frorheim.”
“And how do we convince some pampered princess to leave this—” Rafal waved his hand in a sweeping gesture, “—to join us in a strange land?”
“I’m not sure. Talk to them? Maybe there’s something one of them wants that we can offer—besides being the eventual queen of Frorheim, that is.”
Arynne fiddled with one of her braids. She had never considered being a queen. It simply wasn’t the fate of youngest daughters. Even now, she had other motives.
Focusing on her inner heat, she snapped her fingers. A single spark shot into the air only to die just as quickly. If allowed to practice she could do so much more.
“Look, I’m tired.” Kajik’s voice drew her eyes back to their conversation. He straightened. “I doubt we’ll get a chance to talk to the girls individually before the dimming, not with King Vanya watching over everyone like an alpha wolf. I’d like to check in with the rest of the wardens, make sure they received food.”
Rafal shrugged dismissively. “The king said they’d be put up in the servant’s quarters. If not for Starwarden Ivak vouching for you, I would’ve ordered the same for you rather risk you embarrassing me in front of our host.”
“And then you would’ve dug in and kept the starshards from Vanya, insulting him and ruining any chance we have of accomplishing our mission.” Kajik laughed. “I’m obviously so much more trouble than I’m worth.”
Rafal bristled. “I had the situation in hand.”
“Sure you did.” Kajik clapped the older man on the shoulder and took a step towards the exit.
Panic surged through Arynne. She needed to talk to him before he left. Forgetting her previous desire to speak with him alone, she hurried forward. “Starwarden Kajik, Emissary Rafal! I wish to speak with you!”
Both men stared at her. Arynne swallowed. Without even thinking, she’d spoken to them in Frorian.
Kajik arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s surprising.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she kept a stony face as she approached them. “I could not help but overhear your conversation.”
“I didn’t realize anyone in this court spoke Frorian.” Kajik clasped his hands before his chest and bowed, though from the way his eyes twinkled there was more mirth than reverence in the gesture.
Rafal’s cheeks paled. “Do ... do others in the court ...” She could see his mind flipping through everything he and Kajik had hissed at each other in front of Vanya.
“To my knowledge only I do, and the handmaiden who taught me.”
Rafal’s posture slumped in visible relief.
“Princess Arynne, isn’t it?” Kajik drew closer to her, his gaze piercing. Something within her trembled, but she pushed it down. She would not let his roguish charm get the better of her. She had a goal in mind—a goal that might involve marrying a strange prince.
“Yes, that is my name.”
Angling his body towards Rafal but still watching her, Kajik put his hand in front of his mouth and said, in a false whisper, “The youngest sister of King Vanya, known, according to the servant I spoke to, to be a bit of a trouble maker.”
“The servants speak too freely.” She frowned.
“I may have pressed him specifically for information on you.” Kajik smiled. “I admire a woman who takes the seat she wants rather than the one she is offered.”
Arynne drew herself up taller. She’d thought her subtle power struggle with Vanya had been, well, subtle. If Kajik had noticed—still, she had other things to worry about besides her reputation at court.
“I want to know about your land, about your customs,” she said.
“It’s cold,” Kajik answered. “Dark outside of the areas surrounding the starshards. We’re currently dealing with an infestation of cat-owls.”
“Cat-owls?” She furrowed her brow.
“They’re cute. Keep the rodent population down, but have a bad habit of nesting in our closets and tearing up our furniture.” Kajik explained. “I personally like to call them meowls.”
Annoyance rippled through Arynne. “You mock me?”
“Not at all!” Rafal quickly interjected.
“Maybe just a little.” Kajik winked. “Can you take it?”
“Can a wild ox endure the bite of a flea?” she shot back.
“Ouch. A flea?” He put his hand to his heart, face pinched in exaggerated pain. “You wound me.”
“Can you take it?” She tilted her head to one side.
Kajik grinned at her. “I like this one. I like her a lot.”
“Glad to receive your approval.” She rolled her eyes, but somehow she suspected his approval could come in handy. For as much disdain as Rafal showed his young companion, it was clear Kajik had some influence in this mission. More so than she would have expected from someone of his age. “Your title is starwarden. We do not have that word in the Solean language. What is it exactly?”
“Glorified soldier. I’m trained in survival and combat to guard the starshards from threats and the royal family from harm.”
“Seems odd that you are sent on a diplomatic mission to choose a bride for your kingdom’s prince then.” She narrowed her eyes at him. There was something he wasn’t telling her. She could see the secret twitching at the corners of his mouth—a nice mouth. Sand rash! She felt all quivery again.
“It’s a
perilous journey. Someone needs to be present who can ensure all parties return to Frorheim unharmed.”
Arynne nodded as if satisfied by this answer, though it didn’t explain why he was allowed access to diplomatic dinners and seemed to have input as to which princess was chosen as the fated bride. Well, she’d have time to unravel the mystery that was Kajik later. There was only one thing she really needed to know about Frorheim.
“What about magic?” she asked.
“What about it?” Kajik tilted his head slightly.
“Do ... do you have laws in your land governing who can use magic?”
“No. Magic is something you’re born with. How would we forbid its use? It would be like forbidding breathing.” He raised his hand, his fingertips glowing with a silvery light. Her breath caught in her chest. She could sense the power crackling beneath his skin, colder than her own but just as fierce. Her being longed for it like parched earth craving the rare rains.
Glancing around to be sure no one was watching, Arynne extended her hand towards his. She felt the warmth within her blood and channeled it into her hand. Flames flickered in her palm for the span of a heartbeat then extinguished.
“Fire magic?” Rafal stepped closer. “That is not an ability inherent to any of the Frorian lines. Does it run in your family?”
She shook her head. “I’m the only one of my household who has it ... but I’m not allowed to use it.” Ignoring Rafal, she focused on Kajik. “It calls to me, though. It sings to me. If I remain in Solea, I will never have a chance to learn to harness it. Everytime I try—they just won’t let me.” Her throat tightened, but she forced out her words. “I need to use magic. If I come to Frorheim as the bride of your prince, will he let me use magic?”
“Yes. Nothing in our traditions would prevent you from doing so, but you would be far from home, married to a man you’ve never met.” Kajik’s expression grew somber. “Is that something you’d accept?”
Her heart twisted. She loved Vanya and her sisters, but they had their own lives. It was not in her heart to live the life they wanted for her. “I would.”
Rafal grinned ear to ear. “Excellent! If the girl is so willing, the king can hardly deny us—”
Kajik continued to gaze at Arynne, his blue eyes piercing her, as if summing her up.
She returned his stare. There was one more thing she needed to know, a secret he and Rafal were keeping. They’d mentioned a prophecy. Were they planning to tell her about it? “Is there anything else I should know before I marry your prince?” she prodded.
“No, nothing at all,” Rafal said, a little too quickly.
Kajik shifted from foot to foot. “Rafal, she’s volunteering to leave everything behind. We owe her the full truth.”
The older man stiffened. “But the king’s orders—”
“He’s not here, is he?” Kajik stepped closer to her. “The reason we chose Solea as the source for our prince’s bride isn’t because of politics or trade. We Frorians are self-sufficient. We have no need of those outside our borders.”
“Self-sufficient or arrogant?” Arynne asked.
He chuckled. “Pride is certainly a factor, especially where our king was concerned. He also expressed that, if we admitted to the existence of the prophecy, we would put your king in a position of power over us, aware he had something we needed—because according to the traditions of our land, we do need a princess of Solea if we are to survive.”
Arynne drew back. “Survive?” That sounded serious.
“You better know what you’re doing, Starwarden,” Rafal hissed through clenched teeth.
Kajik waved dismissively, not even glancing at his companion. “It started roughly thirty years ago, a decade before my birth, but the tale is known to every man, woman, and child in my kingdom, and centers around a fight for the crown between two brothers. Usually, the laws of heredity are very simple in Frorheim because of the Starspire.”
The name stirred a memory. Something Elfrida had told her. “That’s a massive crystal isn’t it?”
“Yes, if you break it down to its most simple form.” Kajik reached into his tunic and pulled out a shining fragment like the ones that had been in the chest he’d given Vanya. He offered it to her.
Taking the small cube of glowing stone, Arynne rolled it between her fingers. Transparent, it glowed with an inner light, more white than the glaring orange and yellow of the sun. Energy prickled through her skin where she handled it. It was warm to the touch, but not painfully so.
“Small fragments of these crystals, which we call starshards, exist throughout Frorheim, buried beneath the ground but sometimes jutting to the surface and creating oases within the frozen wasteland where the snow and ice melt and the plants grow. For the most part these areas are small, ranging from a few feet in diameter, just enough for a single tree or a circle of grass to feed the moss-elk, to maybe a quarter of a mile for the largest shards,” Kajik explained. “Several generations ago, a small group of refugees, two men and two women from the Gloaming, stumbled into the largest ever discovered, the Starspire. A crystal as broad at the base as your palace and five times as tall.”
Arynne widened her eyes. “That sounds impossible.”
“It may sound so, but I swear it is truth.”
Arynne glanced at Rafal for confirmation, and he gave a solemn nod.
“The city of Frorheim was built around the Starspire. While smaller settlements, mostly single family farms, might exist scattered throughout the darkness, the Starspire creates enough warmth and light for our population to exist, to grow crops and feed ourselves and our livestock. It’s everything to us.”
“It’s your sun.” She held the starshard out to him, but he closed her hand around it.
“No, keep it. A gift, for hearing me out whether or not you choose to accept our offer.”
She stared at his hand, resting around hers. “Thank you.” She pulled away from him, gripping the crystal which tingled with latent magic. “But how is that tied into who inherits the crown?”
“The original four founders of Frorheim were magic users. Their powers make up the four forms of magic within Frorheim: travelers who can teleport, seers who can prophesy, menders who can heal wounds and strengthen bodies—including their own—and finally starcasters, who can manipulate light. The king of our land must always be a starcaster, able to bond with the Starspire and channel its light.”
“Is it an uncommon skill?”
“It passes from father to son—you can inherit magic from both parents. For instance if your father was a starcaster and your mother a mender, you would be both a starcaster and a mender—but you can only carry one trait to the next generation and that is inherited from father to son or mother to daughter. Never mother to son or father to daughter ... so starcasting being a paternally inherited magic, the line of ascension is only allowed to pass through males. To stop the waters from being muddy, most kings choose to only have one son, though as many daughters as they please.”
Arynne furrowed her brow. “They get a choice about that?”
“If you know a mender with a focus in fertility spells, it’s easy enough to arrange.” Kajik laughed. “Not a hundred percent guaranteed, as this story will show, but enough that starcasting has been restricted to the line of kings while the other magic forms have spread among the populace.”
Arynne thought she understood. “All right. Go on.”
“Well, roughly fifty years ago, King Jothein, who already had a son and heir, waited expectantly for the arrival of his daughter only to instead welcome twins, a boy and a girl. This was not considered ill news. Though the royal line is protective over their starcasting ability, it would simply be required that the second not wed and produce heirs. No one considered that it might come to blows.”
Arynne thought she could see where this was going. “But it did.”
“Oh yes it did.” Rafal snorted.
“The second son was not keen on the idea of bowing to his b
rother when they shared the same magic and therefore were equally capable of holding the throne.” Kajik sighed. “At the death of the previous king, the younger prince attempted to prevent his brother from ascending to his rightful place. When his rebellion was ultimately quashed, he chose to turn on the people he saw as rejecting and betraying him. Allying with dark spirits to harness foul magic, he struck against the great Starspire in the midst of Frorheim. Had he succeeded in destroying it, it would’ve doomed our people to a slow death, for life in Frorheim cannot exist without the light and energy of the Starspire.”
“I was there for the mighty battle, a young soldier at the time but ready to give my life for my king and kingdom.” Rafal stuck out his chest. “We prevailed, of course.”
“To an extent.” Displeasure crossed Kajik’s face. “Though this was before my birth, I’ve heard the story enough to know it was not a complete victory. Many were slain, and yet Prince Athan proved too powerful to overcome. Unable to slay him, those loyal to Prince Evyd banded together to create a massive rift, banishing him through it into the Lingering Dark, a magical plane between death and life inhabited by the same dark spirits he allied with in an attempt to destroy us. It was sealed behind him with what many claim is unbreakable magic.”
“So he’s not dead but he’s trapped?” Arynne nodded slowly.
“Maybe?” Kajik raised his hands. “The hope was that no mortal man, no matter his foul magic, could survive in the Lingering Dark, that he’d be devoured by his former allies, or the very least too weakened to return. Breaking the spell that seals him in his prison should not be possible ... but the widowed queen, mother to both princes and a great prophetess of our people, stated on her deathbed that in the future he would return and that only by the union of a Princess of the Sun-lands—our people’s name for your kingdom—and a Prince of the Stars—which is what we call the heir to the throne before his assent—would the land be saved.”
Arynne’s chest tightened. This sounded a lot more dangerous than she’d bargained for. “So if I marry your prince, I’m supposed to fight a sorcerer to save your kingdom?”
