Glass

by Alydia Rackham

  “I…Yes, Your Highness,” Rose managed.

  “After all,” he said quietly, almost smiling. “I am a reasonable monarch.”

  She stared at him, baffled.

  He glanced down again, then up at her for just an instant before he turned, and left her without even waiting for a curtsey.

  Chapter Thirteen

  But Enter the Snow Queen

  “Your Highness?” Rose stopped just across the threshold to the prince’s darkened chambers, frowning.

  One more of the chairs had been pushed over, and the prince sat on a long bench by the fireplace, his elbows on his knees, his fingers pressed to his left eye. He’d taken off his coat and thrown it on the bed. The lamps burned brightly enough for Rose to see, but not enough to banish the gloom.

  The prince just slowly lowered his hand, keeping his eyes shut.

  “Has it started already?” Rose asked quietly, coming forward and setting her bag on the table.

  “Mm,” he whispered, not moving.

  “Does the whole of your head hurt?” Rose wondered, drawing nearer.

  “No,” he murmured.

  “Can you tell me what does?”

  “All around my left eye,” he gestured faintly, eyes still closed. “And back across the left part of my head, to my neck, and then down into my shoulder.”

  “Can you think of what may have sparked it?” Rose kept her voice down to match his. She glanced at the books that lay sundered around the room. “Did you try to do any reading this afternoon?”

  “I don’t read,” the prince muttered. “Waste of time.”

  Rose frowned deeply at him—but she could see the muscles in his jaw tensing. Carefully, she eased herself down on the bench next to him.

  “Let me look at you,” Rose urged. “Turn toward me and try to open your eyes.”

  The prince let out a short breath of protest, but apparently he couldn’t risk any sharp retort. Slowly, he shifted toward her, and, brow knotting, forced his eyes open.

  Rose peered into them. Crystal blue and clear—they penetrated hers, even when dulled by pain.

  Except…

  “This light is dreadful,” she muttered. She started to scoot closer, then suddenly stopped herself.

  “What?” he demanded, his eyes reflexively shutting.

  “I…” she started. “I don’t...”

  He let out another short sigh.

  “Do whatever it is you must do,” he gritted. “I don’t care. Just stop this blasted headache.” And he made himself open his eyes again.

  Rose shifted closer. Her knee touched his.

  Her heart gave a hard bang. She stopped.

  But he didn’t do anything—just waited.

  Rose held her breath, gritted her teeth, and leaned closer.

  There was something. Something that twinkled in his left eye. Something she had seen before, when she had first met him in Hoarfrost Hall…

  Her heart pounding, she lifted her hand, and touched it to the side of his face. His skin felt cold.

  The prince pulled in a sudden breath. But he didn’t draw back.

  So, she very gently lifted his left eyebrow with her thumb.

  And she saw it again.

  A tiny sliver of silver.

  Glittering back at her like the eye of a snake in a pit.

  Rose blinked—and all at once, she wasn’t looking at his eyes, but into them.

  And he was looking back.

  The prince’s lips parted.

  But he didn’t say anything.

  Rose hesitated, moving her thumb to rest just above his cheekbone.

  Suddenly, he shut his eyes tightly and twisted his head away from her, pulling back from her touch.

  “If you’ve finished your examination, bring me that drink so I may go to bed.”

  Rose bit her lip, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she got up, fished in her bag and concocted the steaming medicine, brought the goblet back and held it out to him.

  He reached up and took it without looking at her. He put it to his mouth and drank the cider, slowly and deliberately. Then, lowering his head, he held the goblet up to her by the base. Carefully, Rose took it.

  “The queen is leaving tomorrow,” the prince muttered.

  Rose jumped.

  “What?”

  “Shhh,” he admonished, his nose snarling.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered, pulling the goblet to her chest.

  “She is setting her court at Iss in order and finishing her wedding gown,” he continued quietly. “In her absence, I will have you completely devote yourself to ridding me of this menace so that I will be able to give my full attention to the ceremony, festivities, and my bride.”

  Rose paused, watching him.

  “What would you have me do?”

  He let out a long sigh, his eyes still closed.

  “Whatever you can think of,” he said.

  “Yes, sire,” she nodded.

  “You may go.”

  Rose dipped a curtsey, even though he wasn’t looking, gathered her things, and slipped as quietly out the door as she could. The darkness of the corridor closed in around her. Taking a bracing breath, she started back toward Radiance Towers.

  Cold knifed into her neck.

  Slammed into her right side—

  She flew. Her forehead cracked against the wall.

  Her hearing buzzed. Her head spun. Her vision went black. She spilled onto the floor like a rag doll.

  Blood poured into her eye and she collapsed onto her hands and knees, gasping. And she felt her bones turning to ice.

  Then, a hand like stone closed around her throat.

  Lifted her into the air—and crushed her back against the wall.

  Rose frantically clawed at the iron hand, her vision blurring, her mind flying to her Dust Boots—

  The white face before her clarified. Pressed in close.

  The stunning, deadly face of the Snow Queen, her eyes blazing like captured starlight.

  Her hand loosened around Rose’s throat. Rose gasped in a breath, and her feet touched the floor again. Only absently did Rose realize that the queen wore long gloves.

  “I know what you are,” the queen hissed, like ice skittering across the surface of a frozen lake. “Curse-Breaker.”

  Rose’s eyes went wide. The queen canted her sparkling head.

  “Though why you are here is still a mystery to me,” she whispered, her breath sending frost across Rose’s skin. “For there are no curses to be found in Glas, nor anywhere in Spegel.” The queen wound her fingers around the collar of Rose’s cloak, and shook her. “I know the price for taking the life of a Curse-Breaker. Which is why I am granting you a time of grace.” She tightened her hold on Rose’s cloak, her nose almost touching Rose’s. “I am returning to my home to prepare for my wedding. I will come back here when preparations are complete. I do not know for certain which day I will return.” Her eyes narrowed to glowing slits. “But it shall be soon. And if I find you here when I walk through these doors…” she bared her teeth. “I shall kill you. Regardless of the consequences.” The queen’s pale, comely mouth curled up in a cutting smile. “Do we understand each other, Daughter of the Source?”

  Rose swallowed, her heart hammering. She nodded.

  The queen released her, and floated back from her. She lifted her regal head and watched Rose for a moment, her edges softening deceptively like a December evening.

  “See? I can also be a reasonable monarch,” she said. Then, the smile fell from her face, and her glare flashed with deadly knowing.

  She held Rose’s gaze for just one more breathless instant, then turned and vanished up the corridor like the mist through a graveyard.

  As soon as she had gone, Rose put a hand to her bleeding head and raced as fast as she could toward her chambers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Prince’s Nightmares Returned

  Rose awoke to a furious blizzard surrounding the towers, swirling i
n white curtains across her transparent ceiling, howling like a thousand wolves on the back of the winds. She blinked slowly, and gingerly reached up to touch her forehead.

  Last night, she had stemmed the bleeding with a touch of Snakesalve, then had very carefully washed the blood off her face. Getting it to come off her collar and dress had taken more effort—a bit of scrubbing with a special dragon-scale compound—but it had been the perfect outlet for her shaking hands and racing heart.

  She had taken a bit of the prince’s remedy herself before going to bed, which had helped her sleep. But her muscles ached, and somehow the room had cooled after midnight—so with a snowstorm raging outside, she wanted nothing more than to stay buried beneath blankets and not move.

  So she didn’t.

  For hours, she watched the blizzard swirl and swim overhead, listened to the lonesome roar of the gale, and absently noticed that her roses seemed to be budding. Every once in a while touching her fingertips to her healing cut.

  The queen had doubtlessly departed from Glas, now, heading back to the kingdom of Iss. Leaving this blizzard as her parting gift.

  At noon, Rose carefully got up, sat on her rug, took out her feasting stone and ate a hot luncheon of soup, toast, custard and milk before undressing and soaking in a hot bath for another hour.

  When she emerged and dressed before the fireplace, she sat down at her desk to brush out her hair…

  Tap, tap, tap!

  Something clicked urgently against the pane of her window. She quickly got up and opened it.

  The sound of the blizzard screamed into her room, but the cold could not enter more than a foot, because of her spell. She stretched out her hand into the freezing air—

  And caught hold of a frost-covered piece of paper.

  She snatched it inside and shut the pane, quickly shaking the snow off the folded paper. Smiling to herself for the first time that day, she opened it, and moved to sit in front of the hearth to read.

  Dear Rose,

  No, don’t give up! I’m assuming, though, that since you haven’t arrived on our doorstep that you actually have decided to remain in Glas. You are very brave. I admire you so much!

  What you said about the empty mirror frame is so interesting to me. I’ve mentioned it to Effrain and she gave me this odd, cold look that I didn’t like at all. I have a feeling that she and Clanahan and Reola will be discussing it soon. I will certainly tell you what they decide!

  Have you met the prince again? What you say about him also intrigues me. In your absence I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library, thinking about the complicated problem you have come up against. I can certainly understand if princes become disagreeable due to being spoiled and selfish, but does it seem to be more than that with Prince Nikolas? Is he disagreeable because of pain, or something beyond his control? Or is he genuinely just a prat? I am very curious, do tell me soon.

  Any progress on the curse itself? Or curses? Ugh, the weather is beautiful here, and everything is blooming and the sun is brilliant and golden on the mountain faces, but it’s so infernally peaceful that there isn’t anything to do except chores and study. You’re the one enjoying all the excitement.

  Write back soon, tell me what you have learned! I hope you have not frozen to death!

  Still somewhat glad to be warmer than you are,

  Daisy

  Rose read the letter two more times, then absently touched the cut on her head again…

  And gazed straight up at the white-out of whirling snow.

  The sky darkened much earlier than usual. Rose lit all of her lamps and urged the fire to rise in the late afternoon as the premature nighttime closed in around the towers. She knew the rest of the castle was probably pitch black, and twice as frigid as yesterday. She busied herself by intricately braiding her hair, letting her thoughts drift carefully.

  Just before dinnertime, a knock came at her door. She frowned.

  She tied off her braid, got up from her desk and crossed to the door, then pulled it open with its usual crack-snap of ice.

  “Captain Elfrid!” she cried, peering out into the shadows. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, madam,” Elfrid shook his head, looking even paler than usual. “After the queen departed this morning, the prince became extremely tired and went to his chambers. He hoped to rest just a while and come to the hall for dinner.”

  “Really…” Rose frowned intently at him.

  “Yes, madam,” Elfrid nodded. “But instead, he has sent me to fetch you immediately.”

  “What’s wrong?” Rose asked.

  “He wouldn’t tell me,” Elfrid answered. “But he said if I didn’t hurry, he would have me executed.”

  Rose instantly turned and snatched up her cloak, gloves and bag, and hurried out to Elfrid. After locking the door behind her, she trotted with the guard along that same dark, familiar path, their footsteps echoing against the glass walls.

  At last they arrived outside the prince’s chambers, out of breath.

  “I will be sure to tell him how prompt you were,” Rose assured Elfrid. He nodded, and nervously assumed his position outside the door. Taking a deep breath and trying to calm herself, Rose worked the latch and pushed the door open.

  The blue lights burned lower than usual, casting everything in a ghostly hue. The bench near the fire had been upended now, too, and the covers lay flung off the bed, one pillow on the floor. And the prince, in stockings, trousers, and a loose shirt, paced wildly in front of the mantelpiece.

  Rose stopped.

  “Captain Elfrid brought me straight here,” she said carefully. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’ve…Something’s happened. Something worse,” he gritted out, turning on his heel to charge aimlessly one way, only to about-face and go back the exact direction he had come. Sweat glistened on his face and chest. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his left eye, as if he didn’t know what he was doing, and his breathing grew ragged. “I’ve…I’ve begun having torments at night. In my dreams.” He gestured broadly. “I’ve never had them before—I don’t know what’s the matter.”

  Rose set her bag down on the table and stepped closer to him.

  “This isn’t your first nightmare, though,” she remembered. “You had one the day I arrived.”

  “Yes, but never before that,” he bit out, shooting her a twisted glare before turning away and charging toward the bed again. Rose studied him.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “What does it matter?” he snapped. “Just give me something to take them away.”

  “I can’t,” Rose shook her head. “Not without hearing the dream. Certain dreams are caused by different things.” She softened her voice. “Tell me what you saw.”

  He stopped, turned toward the mantel and braced one hand against it, lowering his head.

  “I cannot.”

  “Why?” Rose stepped closer.

  “Because I do not know,” he rasped, and glanced up at her sideways, like a weary, wounded animal that has been cornered. His jaw clenched and he turned his head away from her, staring blackly into the empty hearth. “Just…figures. Distortions. Broken images and mangled noises—crying and shouting in languages I couldn’t understand. Everything fractured and upside-down. Backward. And beyond these indistinct shapes and figures is a darkness so complete that midnight out on the parapets would look like noon.” His hands closed to fists. “The pieces splinter apart…and the darkness swallows me.”

  Rose watched his profile for a long moment, saying nothing. He glanced gravely at her again. And that bit of silver twinkled at her.

  “What is this?” he whispered.

  She lifted her eyebrows.

  “Well,” she murmured. “It isn’t something that any drink will cure.”

  He heaved a sigh, straightened up and put both hands over his face. After a moment, he dropped them—and tears glistened underneath his eyes.

  Rose’s breath caught in her chest.
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  “What do you propose, then?” the prince sniffed, jaw tightening again as he stared stalwartly into the fireplace. “That I go mad in this tower like my great grandfather—hang myself from the rafters?”

  “Of course not,” Rose said, alarmed. “I certainly know how to do more than just make potions.”

  He looked at her.

  “Such as?”

  Rose braced herself.

  “I…am of the opinion…” she ventured. “After coming here several times and studying it…that there is some sort of old spell on this room.”

  He stared at her.

  “What kind of old spell?”

  “It isn’t good,” Rose replied. She hesitated. “But…if you wish…I can attempt to break it for you.”

  The prince narrowed his eyes.

  “A healer knows how to break spells?”

  Rose laughed.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered. “All healing is magic.”

  “And what would you have to do?” he asked, then smirked. “Sacrifice a virgin?”

  Rose snorted.

  “Hardly.” She tugged off her gloves and set them on her bag. “I’m not a barbarian.”

  “But this will cure me,” he pressed. Rose considered him quietly.

  “It cannot hurt.”

  He watched her in return, then took a tight breath.

  “Very well,” he sighed, waving it off. “Do whatever you like.”

  Rose’s heart leaped.

  “Truly? You…You want me to put the spell out,” she said. “You truly do?”

  “Yes, I do—that’s what I said,” the prince growled, righting the bench and sitting heavily down on it. He rubbed his forehead, and said no more.

  Rose suppressed a startled smile, turned, and strode back to the center rug and faced the door.

  She took a deep breath, braced her stance, and focused hard on the entryway, feeling the warmth of the Source build inside her.

  She raised her right hand, palm out, took another deep breath…