Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  This was the first year Astor had been allowed to wear his Lightning Sword uniform at the feast. He was proud to wear the deep blue tunic that always drew the eyes of pretty girls, but tonight he found himself lingering at the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t normally timid, but that night his feet were heavy, and he kept finding reasons to delay.

  The dancing was about to begin, and everyone knew it. Slowly but surely the crowds migrated to the huge bonfires outside the Hall of Windows. The band always started the evening playing slow and stately Ohohhim music to honor the Emperor. The melodies were lovely, sad and lingering, but the Ohohhim never danced to it, and no one in Ohndarien knew how. When the musicians switched to faster more playful Ohndarien tunes, the party would really begin.

  The Emperor’s entourage sat at the edge of the dancing space on an ironwood dais that had been specially built for them years ago. Arefaine sat to the right of His Eternal Wisdom. She was a pale vision of beauty, with striking blue eyes. Besides nodding formally to the Sisters of the Council, she hadn’t so much as twitched an eyelash since the festival began.

  Ten Carriers of the Opal Fire stood around the dais, managing to seem unobtrusive and threatening at the same time. Their tall, black helmets looked like sharks’ fins, obscuring everything but dark eyes and grim mouths. Each wore loose, black silk clothing, tied with sashes at the waist, ankles, and wrists. Black-handled long swords lay across their backs, short swords hung at their waists. The center of each of their tunics was embroidered with a white flame. From what Astor could tell, the Carriers were all the same height, the same weight, the same size. They could have been the same person, duplicated over and over.

  If Astor didn’t do something soon, he would end up standing there all night gazing at Arefaine from a distance. But with the Emperor and everyone else around, there was no way he could just walk up and talk to her. Even if he had the courage to start a conversation, what would he say to her? What would impress her?

  Astor let out a breath and ran a hand through his long hair. He wished this was something easy, like sword practice, or reciting the Ohndarien treaties, but Ohndarien’s walls weren’t built with wishes. If he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to go make it happen. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his hair again and adjusted his doublet. He’d wait till the music changed, then he’d talk to her.

  Half an hour later the last lingering note of an Ohohhim ballad faded away and the band launched into a popular new tune called “Two Cats in a Bag.” The crowd roared in approval, and people rushed forward to join the dancing.

  Suddenly, a little hand grabbed his. Startled out of his reverie, Astor looked down at his sister.

  “Come on,” she said, hopping up and down. “Come dance.”

  Astor frowned at her. “No. Not right now.”

  Her beaming expression faded to a pout. She tugged at his arm. “Come on. We always dance this dance.”

  “I don’t want to dance right now. Maybe later.” Ohndariens and a myriad of visiting foreigners began spinning and stepping around the bonfires. Astor looked over the heads of the growing crowd at the Emperor’s dais. He regretted it immediately. Baedellin jumped straight up, trying to see where he was looking. She caught a glimpse of the Imperial party, and a mischievous smile crossed her face.

  “Oh, you want to dance with your girlfriend. I’ll go ask her for you.”

  Astor grabbed for her arm and missed. Slippery as a snake, she disappeared between the dancing people. He charged after her and ran into a dancer, almost knocking her down. Setting her gently on her feet, he mumbled apologies and lunged through the crowd again.

  He almost caught Baedellin at the far edge of the dance circle, but she shrieked and twisted out of his grip, leaving him holding only her scarf. With a growl, he jumped after her—

  And pulled up short.

  Baedellin stood on the first wooden step of the Ohohhim dais, ten feet away from the Emperor. She stood frozen to the spot. The Carriers of the Opal Fire hadn’t moved a muscle, but two of them focused completely on her while the others watched the crowd.

  Baedellin swallowed, taking a few steps backward.

  Astor nodded to the Emperor and reached out for Baedellin’s arm, intending to apologize for her behavior, but she dodged his arm and fled into the crowd, leaving him standing alone in front of the Emperor and Arefaine. Suddenly bereft of any reason for being there, Astor’s hastily prepared speech dried up. He swallowed.

  At that very moment, the first song came to an end, and the band paused. Silence fell.

  “Uh,” said Astor. Both the Emperor and Arefaine watched him.

  He should just leave, mumble an apology, disappear into the crowd, and go back home to curl into a ball and die. But his feet wouldn’t obey him. He couldn’t just leave. He had to do something.

  Arefaine gave him the barest hint of a smile, and Astor’s eyes went wide. A rush of heat filled his chest. He took one step up, then another, then he knelt before her chair. The Emperor watched his approach with the same detached expression as always, but the rest of his entourage shifted, sitting up straighter or leaning forward. One even cleared her throat. Two of the Carriers had moved closer, though their hands did not reach for their weapons. Yet.

  Raising his head, Astor looked into Arefaine’s dazzling blue eyes. Her brief smile shone in his memory. He offered his hand to her.

  “May I have this dance?”

  The music started up again at that moment, and Astor smiled.

  The Emperor raised his hand and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Astor’s heart dropped.

  But Arefaine stood. Her shimmering white dress flowed down her body like water, straightening without a wrinkle. She extended her hand.

  “That would be delightful,” she said, her voice lightly accented. Astor glanced at the Emperor, at his attendants. The rest of the Ohohhim had wide eyes, but none spoke. The Emperor’s impassive mask reasserted itself, and he looked out over the crowd.

  Astor led her down the stairs toward the dancers. Two Carriers followed at a polite distance.

  Astor leaned toward her, and asked in a low voice, “I didn’t just start a war, did I?”

  “Any other day, perhaps,” she said. “But not tonight.”

  “Good,” he said, and held out his hand for her to take. She didn’t move.

  “Um, do you know the steps?” he asked.

  She looked over his shoulder at the others dancers. “I think I can follow it.”

  He held out his hands again, and she took them. A charming smile curved the corner of her mouth, and she looked down briefly as he began the steps.

  Astor could scarcely believe it was happening. His heart soared as he turned and stepped with her. She was light on her feet, just as graceful as he imagined.

  Suddenly, Baedellin spun in close, turning up her face and making loud kissing noises at them. Then spun away, giggling, and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Your sister?” Arefaine asked, arching one of her dark eyebrows.

  Blushing from his neck to his hairline, Astor said, “I’ve never seen that child before in my life.”

  Arefaine laughed, and a soothing calm washed over him. “I must confess to you. I have never danced before.” Again, she spared a brief glance down at their feet. Beneath the white powder on her face, she was blushing, too.

  “You are doing wonderfully,” he said.

  “It is exhilarating.”

  The two Carriers continually followed them, walking brazenly across the dance floor. They would not let more than ten feet of distance between themselves and Arefaine in the crowded space. Soon, other dancers simply gave Astor and Arefaine a wide berth. The two of them danced alone within their own little space.

  They finished the rest of the steps in silence, simply enjoying the movement and the music. Arefaine laughed twice more, each time after she stepped on his foot as the beat changed, and Astor laughed with her. They were both breathless when the song ended.
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  “This is the moment where everyone stops and looks silly while they wait for the next song,” he said.

  She smiled, looked over her shoulder.

  “Everyone is so open,” she said, “They laugh aloud as if no one can hear them. They bare their arms, their legs as if there is no one to see.” She nodded toward a pair of Zelani. Bashtin was stripped to the waist, his muscular torso glistening in the firelight. Lovely Galliana was his dance partner for this song, her light blond hair a shimmering curtain across her back. She wore the filmy attire of a Zelani student, the skimpy bodice revealing the curving tops of her breasts, the split-sided wisp of a dress exposing lithe thighs. The girl met his gaze. He nodded and smiled.

  “We don’t consider legs to be something to hide,” Astor said to Arefaine. “They look very nice, I think.”

  “Yes,” she said. “They do.” She looked down at herself. “Shall I take shears to my dress?”

  A thrill went through him. “I think that would start a war.”

  She smiled at him. The music started again, another jaunty tune that Astor recognized well.

  “You’ll love this,” he said. “Come on!”

  All of the couples formed a circle, with the women on the inside and the men on the outside. During the first cycle of the tune, Astor showed Arefaine the steps, then the circle shifted, the men going to the right and the women to the left. Partners changed, and the tune cycled through again. The Carriers kept pace with Arefaine around the outside of the circle.

  She danced with everyone, but she kept looking back at Astor. He longed for the dance to come full circle.

  When it finally did, he took her warm hand in his, and they spun through the last cycle of the song together. When it was finished, he led her to the edge of the dancing area. They both laughed breathlessly. The musicians started up again with another song.

  “Thank you. I’ve never…Never done anything like that before,” Arefaine gasped, looking at the Emperor’s dais briefly, then back at him.

  “Surely they have dances back in the Opal Palace,” Astor said.

  “Not for me,” she said softly. He almost didn’t hear her over the music.

  Astor swallowed, and an awkward silence fell between them. A sudden flush swept his cheeks as he realized he’d never introduced himself.

  “I should have already…I mean to say that I’m Astor. I’m the—”

  “The Heir of Autumn. I know. I saw you on the docks.”

  He smiled. “You did?” He thought he’d caught her gaze for a moment, but he hadn’t been sure.

  Her face was as composed as the Emperor’s, but her eyes sparkled. “Of course.” She kept his gaze for a long moment, and he could think of nothing to say. Finally, she spoke again.

  “What happened to you?” She reached for the bandage around his head, but didn’t quite touch it.

  Astor shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “I slipped in the bath.”

  “I know who you are. I know what you fight. The entire world owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  Astor felt a surge of heat rising though his chest. He felt proud and sick all at the same time. “Thank you,” he mumbled, “But I think they owe you a whole lot more.”

  He saw something pass across her face, but he couldn’t tell what it was, and he suddenly felt like he’d said the wrong thing.

  “Could you show me the Heart?” she finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve heard about it, but never seen it.”

  Astor nodded. “I will. I mean, I can’t take you inside, but I can show you the entrance.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  Moving through the crowd, Astor led her around the Hall of Windows to the Spring Gate. The two Carriers followed them at a polite distance, mute but powerful presences. Astor glanced back at them, then said in a low voice to Arefaine, “Do they follow you everywhere?”

  “Only when I’m surrounded by dangerous foreigners.” She gave him a sidelong glance.

  He smiled.

  “Don’t worry about them,” she said. “They won’t bother us.”

  “Don’t they get tired of just following and standing stiff like that?”

  She shrugged. “That is what they do.”

  They entered the Hall. There were no braziers or torches inside on this night, but the moonlight outside filtered through the stained glass, throwing cool blue colors of night on the archways and pillars.

  They headed down the steps and passed a couple kissing fervently in the shadows, hands groping. Astor coughed, looking forward as they continued. Arefaine watched the amorous couple until they were obscured by a pillar, then glanced at Astor before she turned forward again. Astor felt his face go hot.

  They walked to the center of the amphitheater in silence and stopped in front of the hole in the center of the floor.

  “That is where the Heartstone resided until the Nightmare Battle?” Arefaine asked quietly. Gathering her heavy, floor-length dress in one hand, she swept it artfully to the side and descended to her knees, sat back on her heels. The fabric flowed out around her, shimmering like liquid pearls.

  “Yes,” he said. “Deep in the catacombs. Even I don’t know exactly what is down there.”

  “I can hear her song from the top of the Hall, but it also lingers in this place. Echoes.”

  He looked at her sharply, and she returned his gaze. As always, he heard the music of the Heartstone thrum through him, an ethereal woman’s voice singing from a distance. The Heartstone sang in a language spoken nowhere else in the world, a language of which Astor knew not a single word, and yet he somehow understood. It was his birthright as a Child of the Seasons. As far back as he could remember, even as a small child, he had always heard that singing in the back of his mind. He could almost see his future when he heard it, could feel those notes pulling him forward.

  “I’ve never heard anyone say that.” He broke the gaze and stared at the hole, then looked back at her. “Anyone who wasn’t a Child of the Seasons. Even some of the Blood can’t hear it very clearly, those who aren’t likely to take the Test.”

  “The blood that flows in your veins responds to her magic. Some people’s blood is stronger than others.”

  “I was never told why.”

  Arefaine nodded. “That is why. But you see, I am more closely related to her than you are.”

  “Related to a stone?”

  “She is my sister,” Arefaine said.

  Astor’s brow furrowed. Arefaine gave him one of her sad smiles. “My sister gave her life to create the Heartstone. You know about the containment stones I brought, yes?”

  Astor nodded.

  “That’s what the Heartstone is. What she was meant to be. After she fled Efften, my sister crafted the stone as a way to free me from the burden our father was forced to lay upon me. She tried to make a vessel strong enough to hold all of the black emmeria, strong enough to release me. She sacrificed herself in the enchantment, creating a containment stone of more beauty and power than the world had ever seen.”

  Arefaine held out her hands, palms up. “My beloved sister gave her life to save me, but it was not enough. And my fate was set for another three hundred years.”

  “Is that true?” he murmured softly. Mother had never said anything about it. “I’ve never heard that tale.”

  She nodded. “It is true. Few know, but I do.”

  “How could you know?”

  “My sister kept a journal. The Emperor collected it with many other artifacts of Efften. When he was very little, His Eternal Wisdom had a vision about the holy island, about Efften. He has followed that vision ever since. He sent agents to scour the world for any stories, artifacts, or information about the City of Dreams. My sister’s journal was one of many items he found.” She nodded, a small smile on her lips, and she looked at him. “Your Donovan Morgeon kept journals, too. Sometime you must read his earliest entries, when he first dreamed of Ohndarien. He speaks of my sister there, of her sacri
fice. His Eternal Wisdom has the original copies.”

  “I knew the Heartstone was from Efften, brought here when Ohndarien was founded, but I thought the stone was created by the great archmages a thousand years ago.”

  “No. It was created in a mud hut in the Vastness, and brought south by Donovan. He built Ohndarien to house the stone, and hoped that eventually I would be brought here and released from my vigil. But he ran into his own problems trying to build and hold the city. He would be happy to know that his plan finally worked, if much later than he had hoped.”

  “I’ve never heard any of this,” Astor said.

  “Perhaps it is something you learn when you take the Test.” She smoothed the front of her dress across her legs, though there wasn’t a wrinkle to be found. “I only learned it because I spent my childhood in the library of the Opal Palace. I read and reread every book that mentioned Efften by the time I was ten.”

  Astor whistled softly. “I think I could count the number of books I’d read at that age on one hand.” He smiled sheepishly.

  “They called Efften the City of Dreams. It was the height of civilization,” she murmured as if she hadn’t heard him. “A place where anything was possible. Did you know that they built silver towers that rose a thousand feet into the sky?”

  “That’s amazing,” he said, watching her face. Her gaze was distant.

  “Magic made everything wondrous. The Illuminated Scions elevated their people beyond mere mortality. Even the servants had magic to assist them in their menial tasks, and they could study in the great public libraries like everyone else.” She looked at him, and her eyes glinted. “It is a crime that envy and petty jealousies can destroy the beauty for all of us. The Silver Islanders were once allies of Efften, left to live in peace so close to the heart of the world. They were given secrets that made them the greatest mariners on the Great Ocean. They showed their gratitude by betraying that trust and attacking Efften at her weakest moment. They slaughtered the old and the young, citizens and servants alike, even mothers with unborn babes in their bellies. Did you know they strung the heads of children across the docks to scare away any who might try to return?”