Glass

by Alydia Rackham

  “A leanbhan O, the low bell rings

  My little lamb to rest

  And angel-dreams, till morning sings

  Its music in your breast.”

  Rose rounded the bed, lifted four of the extra pillows off and lay them on the floor, clearing the bed of their feverish presence. Then, still singing as gently as she could, she came back around to the prince’s side…

  Bent over him, and carefully slipped her right hand underneath his cold, sweat-soaked head.

  “Dusk is drawn, and the Green Man’s Thorn

  Is wreathed in rings of fog:

  Siabhra sails his boat till morn

  Upon the Starry Bog...”

  She lifted him up. He moaned, the skin around his closed eyes tensing.

  “Shh, shh,” she soothed, reaching down with her left hand to tug the remaining pillow into its proper place beneath him.

  “A leanbhan O, the pale half moon

  Hath brimmed her cusp in dew,

  And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune

  I sing, my love, to you.”

  She lay him back down onto the pillow, and eased her hand free so, so carefully…

  And lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “Sleep, O babe, for the red bee hums

  The silent twilight’s fall:

  Aibheall from the Grey Rock comes

  To wrap the world in thrall.

  A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,

  My love and heart’s desire,

  The crickets sing you lullaby

  Beside the dying fire.”

  Rose fell silent.

  The prince sighed. His breathing evened out—deep, and slow. The tension melted from his features, his mouth softened. His long lashes did not flutter.

  He was asleep.

  Rose just stood beside him, gazing down upon him, for a very long time.

  Then, she stretched out her right hand, and with the tip of her forefinger, softly traced the arc of his left eyebrow.

  “Goodnight, Your Highness,” she whispered.

  She then withdrew, picked the goblet up off the floor, put it back into her bag, picked up her gloves, and swept soundlessly out of the chamber, shutting the door behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  And Felt Her First Sting

  Rose skated down an emerald corridor, listening for the sounds of music ahead of her. So far today, she had stayed in her room, sifting through her books in an attempt to find curses relating to headaches and nightmares—but she hadn’t found any that exactly suited the symptoms she’d seen in the prince so far. Then, after she’d eaten a hearty luncheon of sandwiches, salad, fruit, rolls and tea, she’d dressed for winter and ventured out into the hallways to find Captain Elfrid.

  She had detected the noise of activity below her, and did her best to follow it, sliding along the floors that were covered in frost, trotting down the corridors that weren’t. The walls had faded from white to vivid green, and as she turned a corner, she discovered a very wide, black, downward staircase with gold railings.

  And she could hear voices, and louder music.

  So she grasped the railing, and started down, hoping she wouldn’t slip and crack her skull.

  At the bottom of the staircase, Rose found a dark corridor that she recognized—for at its terminus waited a tall set of gothic double doors: the entry to Hoarfrost Hall. But today, those doors stood open, and the sconces lining the walls burned high to illuminate the whole hallway, though again, Rose couldn’t make out the true color of the walls, since the flames were blue.

  Finely-dressed Glas courtiers milled about outside the doors, drinking glasses of blue liquid that simmered with cold clouds of steam. Rose paused, searching their faces. But she didn’t see Captain Elfrid.

  Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she started forward, maneuvering between the courtiers toward the double doors. She felt the others glance at her in silent question, and their conversations died as she passed. She didn’t look at them.

  Soon, she achieved the doors, and stepped carefully inside. And she had to stop there for a moment, her breath stolen from her.

  The long tables had been cleared away, and dozens more snowflakes hung from the ceiling—but these shimmered like stars and slowly spun, casting radical and fanciful shadows upon the walls. Upon the dais perched a group of sparkling ice fairies, playing all manner of stringed and wind instruments that Rose had never seen. The instruments in the delicate hands of these fae creatures made a sweeping, wild, dangerous and frighteningly-romantic music that swelled through the whole hall.

  In the center of the chamber, the ice queen’s entire fairy court had paired up, and danced a fierce, gusty waltz, their garments spraying behind them like snow from the rails of a sleigh. And in the very midst of them, Prince Nikolas danced with Queen Iskyla.

  They both wore silver—hers a swirling, form-fitting dress and cascading veil all glittering with diamonds made of ice; his, a sleek knee-length coat, trousers and knee-high boots, with lace at the cuffs of the coat, all trimmed in gold. The queen’s white hair hung loose around her shoulders, draping down her back. The prince’s curls lay with perfect beauty, catching the cold overhead light. They danced in each other’s arms with practiced ease—strong and set, like crystal figures atop a music box. Both pale as the moonlight, as if they had been hand-crafted, each to perfectly suit the other. As if they were one. Rose could hardly breathe as she watched them—and filled with a terrible cold.

  It looked as if her potion, her singing, had done nothing at all.

  Ducking her head, she forcibly turned from them, and began casting her gaze through the crowd of the prince’s courtiers who stood to the sides, eating finger-sandwiches and drinking that sparkling liquid. None of the court smiled, but they watched the fairies and their prince with solemn, distant eyes.

  Then, Rose’s eyes caught on a familiar form.

  She started forward, careful of the standing tables covered in magnificently-ornamented food, and threaded her way through the courtiers, until she lighted beside Captain Elfrid.

  The next moment, he turned and saw her. His eyebrows went up.

  “Madam Healer!” he gasped, stepping closer to her. “What are you doing here?” He looked her up and down. “You’re not properly dressed—and didn’t the prince forbid you from dining here?”

  “Good afternoon, Captain,” Rose managed a smile for him. “I’m not here to dine. I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Very well,” the captain nodded, drawing her away from the dance floor toward one of the massive pillars. “What is it?”

  “What time does the prince usually retire for the night?” Rose asked, keeping her voice down.

  Elfrid frowned at her.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I would like to bring him his medicine before he goes to bed,” Rose clarified. “That way, he’ll be able to sleep through the night without the interruption of headaches or nightmares.”

  “Well…he usually retires at nine o’clock at night,” Elfrid replied, casting around nervously.

  “Very good, thank you,” Rose smiled at him again, then turned to leave.

  “Would you like me to escort you there this evening?” Elfrid asked.

  “Oh, no—you don’t have to,” Rose shook her head. “I think I can find my way.”

  “What’s this?”

  Rose’s heart thudded. Both she and Elfrid jumped and turned…

  To see the prince standing there, the queen on his arm. He lifted an eyebrow, that same mocking smile on his soft mouth as when Rose had first seen him—but now, steel flashed in his ice-blue eyes.

  “Your Highness,” Rose dipped into a quick curtsey. “I was asking Captain—”

  “I thought you were given orders to stay out of my presence unless you were called,” the prince glanced around casually. “Or was I unclear the first time?” He looked at her, and gave her a wicked smile.

  Thrown, Rose glanced at the queen. The edge
of the queen’s mouth quirked up, almost imperceptibly, and her eyes narrowed.

  The entire court went silent.

  Rose, feeling her face flush, looked back to the prince.

  “I…I must have misunderstood,” Rose managed. “I thought I was only instructed that I could not—”

  “What is she wearing?” Iskyla leaned in to murmur in the prince’s ear.

  Rose stammered into silence.

  Both of the splendid royals looked her up and down with amused, icy scorn.

  “She does look rather like a dish rag, doesn’t she?” the prince observed—and looked right at her, smirking.

  Rose blinked—and the back of her throat stung. She risked a breath, trying to gather herself.

  “Did you…” She stopped, and swallowed. “Did you sleep well last night, Your Highness?”

  He looked at her, and his expression hardened.

  “No,” he answered. “I didn’t sleep at all.” He lifted his eyebrows. “So yes, bravo. Well done.”

  “Your Highness—” Rose started.

  The sarcasm fell from his face and he turned away.

  “Get out of my sight,” he muttered, and strode off with the queen, neither of them giving her a backward glance.

  Rose stood, stunned, for half an instant…

  Then spun, and made for the door.

  She hurried over the threshold and out into the corridor, then charged up the staircase and headed to her room without even looking where she was going.

  Rose slammed her door behind her, reached up and dashed away the single tear that fell down her cheek. She let out a wordless roar through her teeth and immediately started yanking off her winter clothes, even as the fire leaped high in the hearth, and the lamps and candles burst to life. When she’d finally gotten down to just her blue woolen dress, leaving her cloak and the rest strewn on the floor, she stood in the grass with her fists clenched, eyes closed, trying to calm her breathing.

  Tick, tick, tick, tick.

  Rose opened her eyes, frowning. She turned toward the sound.

  There. Her window. Something small and brown tapped against the pane.

  “Aha!” she cried, lunging toward it, and flung the window open.

  The next moment, a folded piece of paper darted into her hands.

  “Daisy!” Rose laughed, all the shadows vanishing from her mind as she unfolded the paper and eagerly began to read.

  Dearest Rose,

  I’m so happy to hear that you’ve arrived safely, and you have no intention of letting yourself get beheaded by that nasty prince and his awful queen. The nerve of them! I’m glad I wasn’t there in your stead—I probably would have hit them both in the mouth and left straightaway, haha!

  The castle sounds marvelous! I do wish I could see it someday! Hurry and break the curse so that visitors can come again.

  Speaking of the curse, it sounds as though you’re remembering the fundamentals, as you often remind me to do. You’ve made a sanctuary, and done a smart job of denying the curse power over you by keeping yourself warm—and by not allowing that queen to touch you! Well done. Have you made any more progress with the actual nature of the curse—or even who did the cursing? Do you think it was the queen? Or is the place itself cursed?

  Since you asked, Galahad Stormcrane has gone off to the eastern islands, to the kingdom of Mhuirlàn—one of the guardians of the seven seals has abandoned her post. We’re waiting to hear news of his arrival. He didn’t say anything at all about your mission—he was very quiet in general. Although…he may always be like that. I really don’t know him at all, do you?

  Anyhow, yes, you’ve done brilliantly so far with the sanctuary, and the denial of power. Surely you’ve discovered the nature of this beast by the time this reaches you, so you can start your open defiance! Is it just the cold by itself? Or is it also the abominable way these people are acting, maybe because of touching the queen? And what about the prince’s headaches? Are they all part of the same thing, or separate?

  Do let me know soon what you’ve discovered. All I’m doing here is weeding the garden and going mad with boredom. I do wish they had let me go with Stormcrane to the eastern islands. I know the way—that’s my home, for heaven’s sake. I wouldn’t have been a bother. And your letters would have found me no matter where I went!

  Write soon. Stay warm! Reola, Effrain and Clanahan send their love.

  Your friend,

  Daisy

  Rose smiled and re-read the letter as she absently shut and latched the window. Then, she folded the paper and held it against her chest as her smile faded, and she grew thoughtful.

  Daisy was right. She should be able to discern the nature of the curse by now, from everything she had observed. And it was a good question: was it just the cold, or something more insidious?

  No, it couldn’t be just the cold. All of these courtiers, and the prince, were living in freezing conditions without any actual fires—with icicles in bed chambers!—and yet they didn’t die. What’s more, they seemed subdued, humorless, and cold themselves. As if the queen’s magic itself flowed in their veins, as an attempt to make them into that which they were not—and to deceive them into accepting it.

  However, Captain Elfrid wasn’t unkind. In fact, even though he had no sense of humor at all, he had proven quite helpful, and even a little compassionate. The prince, on the other hand...

  Rose tapped the edge of the letter. Perhaps there was something to that.

  Perhaps the entire curse centered around him.

  And that’s why Stormcrane had wanted it. It was complex, deep-seated…

  And possibly quite powerful.

  “So, what is it, then?” Rose sighed to herself, pacing across the length of her room. “We…We must be looking at several layers. So…” She bit her lip. “So far, the obvious is the snow and ice. Less obvious is that everyone is walking around half frozen and doesn’t seem to mind. Then there’s the prince.” She stopped walking, her gaze unfocusing. “Defy the nature of the curse. That’s…” She started walking again, thinking rapidly. “That’s what you do—you find whatever is wrong and you just blatantly do the opposite. The wrong things are the cold, the indifference, the viciousness, the pride…” She stopped again, drew in a deep breath…

  And set her jaw as a grim realization passed through her.

  “Which…calls for warmth…compassion…kindness…and humility.” She bit her lip again. “No matter what anybody does.”

  She stood still for a moment…

  Then flopped face first down onto the bed and groaned.

  “I should write back to Daisy and tell her I’m coming home,” she muttered into the bedcovers. Then, after a moment, she rolled over on her back and growled. “All right, then what? You want Stormcrane to come here and do it instead?” She slapped a hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. Silence descended around her, save for the crackling of her fire.

  Then, she suddenly sat up.

  “No,” she declared to her roses. “No, no. This can be done, and I shall do it. I’m perfectly capable of acting civilized, even if he isn’t, and so I shall.” She straightened her frock and pushed her curly hair out of her face. “I have the Source, I have a warm place to come to at night. I don’t need the prince to be nice to me—I need to discover what’s the matter with him.” She took deep breaths. “I’m a Curse-Breaker. I can do this.” She lifted her chin. “So. What time is it?” She shook her finger at her leafy canopy. “I am not going to be late.”

  Chapter Ten

  She Entered Unbidden

  Ten minutes past nine o’clock that evening found Rose standing before the prince’s chamber door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She glanced back and forth, but she didn’t see any sign of the queen, or guards, or even Captain Elfrid. Perhaps the prince’s evening detail was late, or scheduled to arrive in a few moments. Either way, this was her chance.

  She took a deep, shaking breath, lifted her free hand and knocked o
n the door.

  “Yes, what is it?” The voice of the prince issued from within.

  Rose opened her mouth, then decided against it. Instead, she worked the latch and opened the heavy glass door.

  She glanced around the room. Furniture still in disarray, and the bed unmade. She stepped past the threshold, and shut the door behind her. The prince stood in front of a wall sconce near the hearth, twisting the knob beneath it to ignite the sapphire flame within the lamp. He still wore his ballroom clothes, though his neckerchief hung loose around his shoulders. He looked pale, with dark circles around his eyes. As if the light of the ballroom had gone out of him.

  “Are you deaf?” the prince snapped, still adjusting the level of the flame. “I asked you—” He glanced over his shoulder at her. His eyes flashed, and his tone turned low and deadly. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your Highness,” she dipped a curtsey. “I came on your behalf.”

  “I didn’t send for you,” the prince cut in, facing her. “Why have you made such a presumption as to intrude upon my private quarters?”

  “I mean no disrespect,” Rose answered, gripping her bag tighter. “In fact, it is due to my respect for your sovereign dignity that I have come at this hour, rather than later in the night.”

  “My sovereign dignity,” he repeated, eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Yes, sire,” Rose said. “I assumed that Your Highness would rather I not enter his bedchamber whilst he is dressed in his nightgown, lying in his bed in a state of distress.”

  The prince blinked, and his brow furrowed slightly. Then, he canted his head and lifted his chin.

  “Why should I take your remedy now?” he demanded. “It proved ineffectual last night.”

  “With respect, Your Highness,” Rose dipped another curtsey. “You were already in extreme pain, and you did not drink enough.”

  “In case you did not notice, it burned!” the prince retorted.

  “Yes, sire,” Rose nodded. “And I have no doubt that your pain caused that heat to be magnified, since your nerves were raw with weariness. But…” she quieted her tone. “I can truthfully tell His Highness that he was sleeping when I left his presence.”