by Zoe Marriott
I ought to have been cold lying there. So cold. I hated the cold. Instead I was numb and heavy and – warm. Comfortable. I wasn’t shaking, my teeth were not chattering. There was a dull ache in my body and my head, but it only made me tired. I had just woken up, but I wanted to sleep properly now. There was nothing else to worry about. I would sleep here, in the soft, warm snow.
A tiny voice at the back of my mind shrilled: dangerous! Dangerous! Don’t sleep – get up, move, now! Dangerous!
Far too tired to listen, I closed my eyes.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Funny. That sounded almost like footsteps.
Something burning hot branded my face. I gasped, eyelids flying up.
Shell leaned over me, eyes huge, dark blue wells in the dim light. It was her hands cradling my face, singing me. I tried to tell her to let go, that she was too hot, but all that emerged was a feeble moan.
She bit her lip, and I could hear her breath hitch, as if she were upset. She shook her head fiercely. Her lips were moving as if she was shouting, but no noise came out. Involuntarily I traced the shapes her mouth made:
Away?
The away?
Theoai.
She was saying my name.
The heat of her hands on my skin intensified. Her thumbs clamped under my chin, and I could feel each individual fingertip searing at my temples. I squirmed weakly, unable to push her off. She leaned over me, blocking out the starlight. What was she doing? Was she going to suffocate me? Strangle me and leave me here in the snow?
A spot between my brows caught fire. A kiss.
Then she released me, arching back. Her hands lifted above me, lifted up to the sky as if in prayer. The burning in my face was spreading, making my numb skin seem to throb and hum. Seem? No. That was real. The banked-up snow was shaking; particles of it lifted away into the air, glowing, shining – melting. Heat flushed through my entire body, reaching every part of me from toenails to scalp.
It was unbearable. It was agony. It was ecstasy. I cried out: “Shell!”
And I was awake.
In an instant I jerked upright, sudden realisation flooding me. I had been dying. Dear Gods, I had nearly died here, frozen to death. I looked around in astonishment. I was still on the roof, in the Glass Garden, but it was silent and empty. All of the other members of the viewing party must have gone inside. I was sitting behind the large fir, in the remains of what had once been a snow sculpture of a castle. But no more. It had melted.
I pulled my gloves off and reached out in wonder, running my fingers over the soft, vivid green patch of moss beneath me. Tiny yellow flowers with pointed petals glowed among the moss, and delicate creepers with leaves flushed pink covered me like a blanket, creeping across the melted castle’s ruined walls. They had climbed halfway up the trunk of the fir, too. Tall golden blooms, shaped like bells and with a scent like honey, swayed on long elegant stems, circling the place where I had lain.
Everything that had been frozen and dead, now sprung to life.
Kneeling at my feet, at the heart of it all, was Shell.
She was sagging in place, exhausted, pale skin shining with sweat that darkened the hair at her temples. Smiling. Her haggard face was alight with triumph. Her lips mouthed the words: it worked.
“You. You saved me,” I whispered, incredulous.
She nodded, and managed a limp shrug, still smiling.
Why? Fear, panic and suspicion nibbled at the corners of my mind. Why would she help me? I was not entirely sure, given a similar situation, that I would have helped her. Why would she even be out looking for me at all? What had she to gain – what game was she playing here? What if she managed to convey to the others what had happened? What if they figured out the truth – ?
But her expression held no trace of gloating or calculation. This was not: now we’re even. Or: now I know a secret about you. It was only: I’m happy you’re all right.
Could it really be that simple?
Could she really be that – good?
She was my rival, my enemy. I was a royal Princess. She a nameless castaway. We both wanted Uldar. I was supposed to hate her and so I had hated her. But why? As my panicked suspicion drained away, new – perhaps better – questions flooded my mind. Why had I reacted to her with such fear and aggression from the first? Why had I been so ready to despise her? Was it only because we were so different, because I did not understand her – because I feared she would take what was mine?
In a flash I understood: Shell was not my enemy after all. She never had been.
I did not need Uldar’s love. I didn’t even want it. Love was a sinking swamp that had brought me nothing but betrayal and pain. I had to have Uldar’s respect, his cooperation, his hand in marriage – but no more than that.
I have misunderstood everything...
I needed to think more about this. More about what Miramand had said, and the way I had dealt with Uldar himself and –everything. But for now...
“Thank you,” was all I said. All I could say.
She made a rounded gesture with both hands: something like, don’t mention it. Then she leaned forward dizzily, planting both palms on the moss between my legs, trying to lever herself up. I sprang up effortlessly from the nest of moss and flowers and offered her my gloved hands, steadying her on her feet and only letting go when she nodded that she was fine.
I was fine. There was no muscle weakness, no floppy, trembling arms and legs and wobbly neck. Not even a headache. No after effects of my episode or of almost freezing. I must have been lying out here for hours, on the very verge of death; I felt as if I’d just woken from a refreshing night’s slumber on a feather bed. I turned back to stare at the green sanctuary she had made. Remarkable.
I had known Whisperer healers who could tell where and how a bone had been broken by looking at someone, others who could ease pain or lower a fever with a touch of their hands. But this?
This was healing beyond what I had even known was possible. If all Whisperers could achieve such feats there would be no need for doctors or herbalists at all. My mouth was already opening on new questions as I looked away from the swaying flowers and saw her anxiously crimped brows. She shook her head. Shell had read my expression and knew I wanted to question her – and for some reason, she feared it.
I did not know why someone with such a remarkable Blessing, or magic as they called it here, would wish to keep it a secret. Yet making her endure an interrogation, no matter how kindly phrased, would be poor payment for what she had done. Especially when she had not betrayed, by look or gesture, a desire to pry into why I had been lying nearly dead in the snow bank.
Very well. I would let the matter rest. For now.
The look of relief on her face when I said nothing lit a warm glow in my chest.
Without speaking again, we left the rooftop and travelled through the night-quiet passages of the castle. Despite her obvious shakiness and the weary heaviness of her steps, Shell insisted on leading me to my own door, and on waiting while I opened it. Light filled the room beyond. I had not closed the shutters before leaving, and the sun was beginning to rise, streaking the sky above Skalluskar with copper and scarlet.
Pulling my gloves off, I turned back to thank Shell once more – and paused, struck wordless by the beauty of her face and hair glowing in the rose-gold dawn light. Struck by the haunted look in her eyes.
When I said nothing, she leaned in and closed her fingers gently around my bare hand where it curled at the edge of the door. Then, almost before I had felt the fleeting touch, she released me. Slipped away silently into the shadows. Left me alone again.
27
It had happened. The thing I had dreaded and feared for so long. I had been a hair’s breadth away from utter disaster, from losing everything again.
Yet, with Shell’s help, I had survived. My secret, impossible as it seemed, was still safe. And now I had Katja and soon there would be a new, confidential supply of the physic I n
eeded. It was all going to be all right.
I tried to caution myself that there were still barriers to overcome, but the next time I caught sight of Shell, I felt my face transformed by a smile that seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside – and when Shell smiled back, it was all I could do to keep senseless laughter locked inside. That whole morning I could hardly stop smiling. Not enemies. Not rivals.
We whiled the second day away as we had the first, amusing ourselves with the kinds of activities invented by bored folk whose country only unfroze for four or five months out of the year. First sledding. Then more skating. Then, as the clouds covered the sun and a light snow began to fall, a visit to the steamy, milky-white hot springs with their distinctive rotten-egg odour, where we waded and splashed up to our calves while enjoying a generous nuncheon of roasted venison, unleavened bread with herbs and coarse salt baked into the crust, fruit preserved in honey, creamy posset, and hot wine. Despite the silliness of all of it, I laughed and smiled with real enjoyment during our games, winning Uldar over from the slight shyness that seemed to have resulted from our little talk the night before.
My improved mood caught Miramand’s attention. She gave me a questioning look at breakfast, and several more as the day went on. But although her gaze continued to follow me, and most certainly narrowed as she observed the warmer interactions between Shell and me, she forebore to question me. I was glad of that. I had no idea what I would have said.
Our last dinner at Castle Oborov was a celebratory affair, with musicians and jugglers brought in from the surrounding villages, and an array of sticky sweets and pastries that frankly awed me. After Shell had retired from her dancing amid the usual thunderous applause, and everyone sat back to drink and drowse in the warm firelight, the crown was put on my happiness when Katja signalled to me, drawing me away from the open hall to her stillroom. There, as she had promised, she handed over a neatly wrapped brown-paper package filled with enough of the medicine to last me at least a month. And without prompting, she also handed me a promise: that she would keep on making the remedy, and would send it to me each month via the royal messenger service, after the wedding was over and she returned home.
Although her shrewd, searching gaze was a little hard to return, I embraced her with real gratitude. She had clearly guessed that the remedy was important to me – more important, perhaps, than a treatment to ease difficult monthly bleeding should be. But thanks to her, a burden of constant anxiety had gone from my shoulders. Not until it lifted had I realised how truly crushing its weight had been. I had no hesitation in mixing the first dose of medicine there in Katja’s stillroom, and drinking it in front of her.
As I left, I noted that a few servants had returned to the kitchen from the festivities in the hall and were relaying fires and scrubbing pots. They were far too busy to display much interest in my visit to their mistress’s stillroom. I nodded politely at their curtseys and stepped into the passage outside – only to bump into an older man with a wizened face and a bent back. It was the Wind Caster.
“Master Ralkin,” I said in surprise, his name returning to me as I automatically reached out to steady him. “What – ”
“Princess,” he gasped. “Have you seen Lady Silence?”
I blinked, taken aback. “N-no. Not since she finished dancing, some time ago now.”
“You must go to her.” He swallowed, as if bracing himself. “I think – she is – with the bears.”
Several nice, logical questions lined up neatly in my mind, running from: “Are you drunk?” to “What exactly do you mean ‘with the bears’?” through “Have you mistaken me for a parlour maid?” and finishing with “Why should I care where Lady Silence is?”
I gave voice to none of them. Ralkin was grey with stress, breathing heavily, sweating. Something was wrong.
“Where are the bears?”
He pointed. “In the courtyard, at the far left of the stables. Hurry.”
I ran back through the kitchen, shouting at the astonished scullery workers. “You girls, fetch Prince Uldarana! Quickly!”
The small courtyard between the kitchens and the stables was covered by a tiled roof, to keep the cobbles free of snow. But it was night time now, and a strong wind was blowing, and my furs were packed away somewhere in my room. By the time I had taken two steps I was shuddering with the chill.
Even above the wind, I could hear the enraged roars, the snarling, and the thumps and thuds of a heavy animal out of control. Skirpir.
I flung myself toward the double-doors at the very end of the stables and, using the dim light cast by a single oil-lamp overhead, located the bar-latch and seized it. My hands caught fire. I snatched them away with a cry. The handle of the latch was frozen, coated with a thick layer of jagged ice.
Impossible to touch.
Impossible to open.
My hands were throbbing, but my blood was frost. Was Shell really in there? Locked in with Skirpir?
“Theo?” came Uldar’s voice behind me, slightly slurred. “What are you doing? – you’ll catch your death out here.” There was a quick burst of tipsy laughter: that was his friends, apparently tagging along. I stepped back without looking at him, gesturing urgently at the latch.
“Help me! The doors won’t open and Shell is trapped in there.”
As if to prove my claim, a bellow of ursine rage vibrated through the stable doors. There was a crash from inside. Uldar skidded up next to me, blinking rapidly, flushed with wine, but focussed. “Why is Shell in there? What is going on? Is that ice?”
“I don’t know, just help me get the doors open, Uldar!”
“Here!” One of Uldar’s friends – young Lord Grigar, I thought – hefted a stable rake from the ground. “Try this.”
Uldar took it, tested his grip, and then swung it at the icy latch with all his might. The ice shattered with a clatter. I caught the edge of the left-hand door and flung it back.
Shell flew out, nearly knocking me over. Her face was white, her hair and clothes tangled and ripped. Blood dripped from one arm. She saw us and made a panicked sweeping motion, sending scarlet droplets scattering across the cobbles: get back!
Skirpir rammed through the other door, splintering the hinges and sending planks flying, Yellow foam dripped around the beast’s champing jaws, and one his paws was red with gore. Shell’s blood. The small eyes rolled wildly in the animal’s head.
“Morogana save us – ” Grigar gabbled.
“Down, Skirpir! Down! What’s wrong with you, boy?” The Prince waved his arms wildly, trying to get the bear’s attention.
He succeeded. Skirpir lowered his head and charged at him.
Grimgar and the other young man yelled. I think I screamed.
Shell launched herself into the air.
It was an astonishing jump. An inhuman jump. It carried her in a soaring parabola directly above Skirpir’s head. I had never seen any person, any human being move like that. At the zenith of her arc, one of Shell’s hands snapped down and hit the charging bear directly between the ears.
There was a sickening crunch. Skirpir stopped as if he had run into a wall. Slowly, he keeled over, then collapsed on his side. Shell landed beside the fallen creature. She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching out to cradle his great skull between her palms as if it weighed nothing. She threw her head back in a howl of denial, but no sound left the agonised black void of her mouth. Silent tears poured down her cheeks.
Stiffly as an old man, Uldar bent down, laying his hand on Skirpir’s throat. He let out a noise like a sob, and covered his face with his other hand. “He’s dead. She – she killed him.”
I breathed, “She saved you.”
*
“Someone tried to kill Shell,” Uldar said stubbornly from his place next to the parlour’s generous fire. His arms were crossed firmly over his chest, daring anyone to argue as he ran his eyes over all of us gathered there – me, Yasha and Katja, the Captain of Yasha’s small band of guardsmen, Mir
amand and her lady-in-waiting. And, in the chair nearest to the fire and to Uldar himself, Shell. “They drugged Skirpir with something – he didn’t even recognise me! – and locked her in there. They were trying to murder her.”
“But – I mean, who would want to do something like that?” Cousin Yasha asked, honestly bewildered. “It’s not that I doubt you, my boy, only that it seems fantastic.”
Katja rubbed a bit of salve on my grazed hands and tapped them with a smile to show that she was done. “There. They’ll heal better if I leave them unbandaged; just be careful.” With an air of presumed casualness, she stood and addressed Uldar. “Princess Theoai was with me in my stillroom after leaving the hall tonight.”
“What does that have to do with anything, Katja?” Uldar asked, brow creasing. The possibility that I might have tried to dispose of my rival had apparently not crossed his mind. I didn’t know if I should hug him for his faith in me or shake him for his naivety.
“Really, my dear, I think you might be seeing mylings in the shadows,” Miramand interjected. She was wrapped in a heavy dressing gown of deep blue silk, her hair a river of silver and gold spilling down one shoulder, and seemed just as composed as if being raised from her bed by blood-spattered, semi-hysterical princes was everyday work for her. “It must have been terribly upsetting to see the bear act like that, and then collapse so suddenly – ”
Uldar and I exchanged a furtive glance. We had omitted the story of Shell’s unbelievable feat in mutual, wordless agreement.
“But it’s far more likely that there was some natural cause for the beast’s behaviour. Perhaps a stroke or some injury from the journey that the grooms missed, and which drove him to a frenzy. And while it’s very regrettable that the girl was hurt, well – you did say, yourself, that people shouldn’t be stupid enough to provoke him. Why was she in the stable at that time of night?”
“She was locked in! Someone must have lured her in there!”
“But the doors weren’t locked, Highness,” the captain of the guard put in diffidently. “Only jammed with a build-up of ice, from what we could tell. It does happen, I’m afraid, in such weather.”
