A Winter Grim and Lonely

by NIcki Chapelway

  Cillian stepped forward, his stride not the precise steps of her guards, but rather an almost lazy and languid one. As he approached her, she realized that he was holding something in his hand. Shock enveloped her as she realized what it was. Her Nytheran Mirror, after all these years. “The king wished for me to deliver this to you, he said that it was to keep a promise.”

  He handed her the mirror and she smiled widely staring down at her reflection in it. It had been so long… She would have to thank Stephan profusely for remembering his promise.

  She placed it on the table and glanced up, surprised to see that the guard was still there. “Is there something else?”

  Cillian released a breath and pulled back looking slightly nervous. This surprised her. He had walked in like a man who thought he would one day rule the world. “There is, My Queen. You see… as I stated before, I was there when Mooraven fell. As we were pillaging, I happened to come across the king, alone in a tower observatory. When I entered, demanding his surrender he began laughing at me. He told me that I was a fool and that I had no idea what my queen was up to. Then he proceeded to tell me the entire story of your treachery to him. And that it was actually you who killed the former queen.” He paused to look her over.

  Ismena blinked and swallowed. She tried so hard to mask her expression, but knew that the horror and guilt showed through. All these years and the fear of someone learning what she had done to Dahlia had finally faded. She was a fool to think herself safe.

  “Ah, I see,” Cillian said with a nod a solemn expression crossing his features. He dipped his chin. “As soon as he finished his tale, the dark king muttered a short incantation and then touched the mirror. In a flash he was gone. He had escaped into the mirror.”

  Ismena’s heart stopped. The mirror? Morren had entered her Nytheran mirror? She did not even know that such a thing was possible, but the mirror had been created with an old and obsolete magic. There was no knowing what it was truly capable of.

  “I of course, did not tell anyone anything. In fact, I informed King Stephan that I had cut Morren down then seen him consumed in the fire that we set to Mooraven. To explain why there was no body of course, since he is alive and well in there.”

  Cillian’s eyes darted to the mirror and Ismena followed his gaze, her gut churning with disgust.

  Her sister’s murderer. The man she had betrayed. Her enemy just as much as she was his. Morren was in there, trapped in a mirror that had belonged to her family for generations.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Cillian continued.

  Ismena tapped her fingers nervously against the table. “And I assume you want nothing from me in order to make certain that you keep the secret?” She was surprised that her tone came out so evenly given how her blood coursed through her veins and her head swirled.

  “Nothing too much,” he replied casually. “At least…. Nothing that you haven’t done before.”

  “What is it?” she demanded.

  “I would very much like to become the High Chancellor, but Phobius stands in the way. If he were, however to die suddenly someone would have to take his place.”

  “You want me to kill him?” Ismena asked stiffly.

  “As I said, I am not asking you to do anything that you have not done before.”

  The threat underlying in his words, was clear for her to hear. She had killed Dahlia. He knew what she had done, and he was not afraid of using that against her.

  “And what if I am caught?”

  “You are the queen, you are above such things.”

  They both knew that was not true seeing as the very reason she would do this was because she was very much not above such things,

  “This is not a threat,” he said flashing her a confident smile. “It is, what I hope, an arrangement.”

  She dipped her chin. “Of course.” But even as she watched Cillian stride out of the door, she couldn’t help but feel cold on the inside.

  It shouldn’t matter to her what happened to Phobius. She didn’t agree with many of his ideals, but still, the man while stubborn and opinionated did always treat her with respect.

  She blew out a breath and pushed to her feet. As she did so, she rang the bell for a servant. A small, mousy haired girl hurried in a minute later and Ismena waved her hand at her half eaten breakfast which would now go uneaten due to the churning in her stomach. “I’ve decided that I would rather eat my breakfast out in the open air. Could you please set this up in the solarium?”

  The girl bobbed a curtsy and set right to work, not bothering to notice Ismena pulling seemingly nothing from behind her vanity. She cracked open her invisible chest and pulled out a small vial, grateful that she did not have to brew an entirely new one. But her mother had taught her that a sorceress was never to be without a vial of poison ready to be used. It was one of the more simple potions, brewed from simple herbs and a type of mushroom. However, it was tasteless and odorless and unless a person looked closely at the symptoms, could even be confused for a natural death.

  Clutching the vial, she left her room and headed to the solarium.

  The thing about the solarium was that it lay in a portion of the palace that was between the High Chancellor’s study and the council room.

  She knew that the council meeting should be either over or ending by now. Just a short while ago, she had been thinking of seeking Stephan out as soon as he left the room, but now, Stephan was the last thing from her mind. Murder and that accursed mirror were what were on her mind.

  The sound of footballs filled her ears and she looked up just as Phobius passed the entrance of the solarium, presumably on the way to his rooms.

  “Ah!” she called and he paused.

  “My queen!” he cried bowing. “I did not see you there.”

  She smiled, beginning to believe that was the greatest lie her lips ever created. Not the words she said, but every single smile she forced to lull those around her into a false sense of security. All to hide her true thoughts and intentions until she managed to strike. “I came here to enjoy the openness.” The solarium had once been beautiful, she was sure, back when sunlight still trickled through its many windows. Now the light was muted and grey, blocked by the dark clouds that hung threateningly across the sky.

  “How lovely,” Phobius said, his attention far from her, which is why he did not notice Ismena slip the contents of the vial into a second cup as she filled it with tea.

  “Come,” she said. “Join me.”

  Phobius turned back to her. He opened his mouth, presumably to refuse, but she was queen and he both understood and respected it. It was a pity that she had to kill him. She had always enjoyed working with him.

  Phobius strode forward and took a seat across from her. “Well… only for a minute,” he said with a chuckle at himself as he accepted a biscuit to dip in his tea.

  “How was the council meeting,” Ismena asked, sipping from her tea. It was strange for her to not sit in on them, but with Stephan back, there was really no need for her to do so.

  “Oh… the usual. The king declared his attentions to banish the prince and while I still think that it would be better to execute him, I must say that I can’t imagine that boy causing much trouble in the future. He will most probably be dead in a week. Many of my fellow members however did not agree with me. They wanted an execution. One would think that with the war finally over, we would have peace within that chamber,” he laughed again as he held up his cup. “This is delicious.”

  Ismena nodded, feeling her smile slide slightly.

  This was one of the men who had witnessed her wedding. She shoved that thought aside as he drained his glass. Finally he pushed to his feet. “Thank you, my queen, for the invitation. But I really must go now.”

  “It was kind of you to join me.”

  Phobius bowed. “It was my pleasure.”

  She dipped her chin as he walked off, unaware of the poison now coursing through his veins, waiting to still his heart forev
er.

  He was an old man, she told herself. He had lived his life. He would willingly sacrifice it for his queen anyway. She was simply making the decision for him.

  And now her secret was safe with Cillian.

  She thought that she should feel as if she had sold her soul, but when she inspected herself, she realized that she felt nothing. Did that mean that she hadn’t a soul to begin with?

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  “I just cannot believe that Phobius is dead. And you say that you suspect foul play?”

  Stephan ran a weary hand across his mouth. “Perhaps.”

  “Do you think that we’re safe? That perhaps they shall target you, or me, or even Elisabeth next?” Ismena wondered if she was overdoing it with her concern, or perhaps she was not concerned enough.

  Stephan slid his gaze to her. “I can’t say. I don’t even know if Phobius’s death was not natural. Arnette believes that he was poisoned, but then he also has always had a weak heart. It’s just… I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “Have you chosen another candidate to become the next High Chancellor?”

  Stephan shook his head as he loosened the ties of his tunic. “I must admit, that with everything that had happened today, the thought never even crossed my mind.”

  Ismena tapped the end of her hairbrush against her lips, pretending that she was thinking. Finally she looked at him and arched her brow. “What about that young commander, what was his name… Cillian?”

  Stephan’s own eyebrows rose. “Why would you suggest him? He is not even a politician.”

  “No, but with the war over, he’s not required to be a soldier either. And he has done this country great service in the part he played in leading the assault against Mooraven. He struck Morren down himself.”

  She forced herself to keep her gaze on Stephan and not to the drawer in her vanity where the mirror in which Morren was trapped lay.

  Stephan scratched his chin. “He has.”

  “He proved himself to be an intelligent, cunning man, I would say.”

  Stephan nodded. “You are right. I shall certainly consider him. But enough of that, I have something I wish to say to you. Elisabeth told me a disturbing story earlier this morning. About how you tied her laces of her corset too tightly and she couldn’t breathe. She was quite frightened.”

  Ismena pressed her lips together, so despite all the extra attention she had doted on her stepdaughter, Elisabeth still had not forgiven her. “Oh, yes, it was quite a frightening event. But I didn’t tie her laces too tightly, her nursemaid had. Do not fear, my dear, I sent her away immediately afterwards.” The lie slipped easily off of her tongue, disguised in just enough truth that it was difficult for her to be caught in it.

  Unless he hunted down the nursemaid...

  Stephan rubbed at the stubble lining his chin. He had always been a clean man, with never a hair out of place, but this night he looked tired and sloppy. He was still devastatingly handsome though. “But then why would Elisabeth say that you tied the laces?”

  Ismena ran the brush through her hair, pausing to glance at him through her mirror. She shrugged, praying that she looked unconcerned, unlike she felt on the inside. “When I realized that Elisabeth could not breathe, I tried to undo her laces, perhaps she thought that my tugging on them was actually me tying them. She is just a child after all and easily confused.” She allowed a shudder but her next words weren’t carefully crafted to hide her lies behind, they were the truth. “It was very terrifying for us both.”

  “I can imagine that it was,” Stephan said, running his hand across his eyes.

  Ismena rose from her seat at the vanity and moved to sit next to him on the bed. “There is no need for that frightened look on your face. I got her out of that dress.”

  Stephan reached out and grasped her hand tightly. He raised it to his lips and smiled. “And I’m glad that you did. I don’t know what I would do without her.” He shook his head. “She’s all I have left of Dahlia. I couldn’t lose her as well.”

  Ismena slid her hand out of his hold, as his gaze grew distant. It was all she could do to keep the smile plastered to her face, though she doubted that he would even see if it fell. He was gazing at something far away. She had no doubt that it was the lovely memory of Dahlia.

  She cleared her throat and adjusted her position on her seat. “Now, let us speak of more pleasant matters besides murdered chancellors and too tight corsets.”

  Stephan blinked and turned his attention back to her. “What are you suggesting?”

  Ismena reached her hand up and caressed his face, swallowing her jealousy. Dahlia was gone. It was her who was sitting here at Stephan’s side. It was her who finally had him. “Why don’t we talk about us?”

  “What about us?” Stephan breathed leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.

  Ismena returned his kiss, forgetting for a moment what she had been planning on saying as he pulled away. She cleared her throat, glancing away trying to regain her thoughts and ignoring his chuckle. “It’s just that… now that the war is over what are we planning on doing with ourselves now?”

  Stephan leaned back on his elbows, but she had his full attention. “I think that we can think of something.”

  Ismena returned his smile and lay down next to him. “I already have something.”

  “I was afraid you would say something like that,” he said huffing a small laugh. He reached over to her and traced his fingers across the back of her hand.

  She did her best to ignore that as she gazed into his eyes. “Well I was thinking that even if you have an heir for Havenkeep, perhaps she would like a sister… Alain does need an heir as well, after all.”

  If she could have a child with Stephan then she would finally cement her hold on him. Dahlia would not be able to hold anything over her anymore. They had no time in the first seven years of their marriage, but now they had all the time in the world.

  He leaned in, nuzzling her neck with his nose before whispering, “I think an heir to the Alain throne is long overdue.”

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  Ismena paused just inside Elisabeth’s room, resting her head on the doorjamb as she watched Stephan tuck Elisabeth’s blankets around her. It was the night before Elisabeth’s tenth birthday and she was excited for her stepdaughter to see what she had gotten her. It was a bejeweled comb that had been her mother’s and her mother’s before her. It was an heirloom of the royal line of Alain and because she had brought it with her to Havenkeep, it was one of the few remaining trinkets that had not been destroyed in the fire that consumed her entire old life.

  Stephan glanced up upon her entrance and smiled at her before turning back to Elisabeth. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “It’s time for you to go to sleep now. Sweet dreams, my heart.”

  “Oh but, papa!” Elisabeth cried. “You didn’t finish the story yet.”

  “That was the end,” he said, ruffling her tousled black curls.

  “Then tell me another one, I want to hear more about mother.” She sunk further into her covers. “What was she like?”

  Was? Ismena’s smile slid from her face as she realized what they were talking about. And it was not her.

  Stephan released a heavy breath as he paused in pushing to his feet. “She was perfection. Too beautiful and kind for this life. She excelled in everything she did. She had the softest voice and eyes that showed with such joy and lust for life. You are just like her.”

  Ismena gritted her teeth and Stephan shot her a quick glance. He stepped toward her. “Now it’s time for you to get to sleep.”

  “But I want to hear more!” Elisabeth cried.

  “Later,” Stephan promised. “Now close your eyes and when you wake up tomorrow you will be one year older.”

  Elisabeth opened her mouth, Ismena thought to protest but all she said was, “Goodnight, Mama, goodnight, Papa.”

  “Goodnight, Snowflake,” Ismena
said as Stephan gently grasped her arm and led her from the room. He shut the door behind him and they began walking down the hall. He didn’t say anything, but kept glancing at her waiting for what he knew was coming.

  “You were telling her about Dahlia again?” Ismena asked, her tone hard.

  Stephan winced, though whether it was from the reminder of Dahlia or having been caught, she did not know.

  “Dahlia is a very important part of who Elisabeth is. It’s part of her heritage, she would not have her ice magic without Dahlia. I feel that it would be wrong to deny her that part of herself.”

  Everyone thought that it was Elisabeth’s uncontrolled powers that were the reason that the winter continued. They did not even know to point a finger at Ismena. She shoved that thought away. She was not leaving her stepdaughter to take the blame, the people were superstitious. Besides, it was not as if they blamed her, they loved her all the same despite believing that once she was old enough she would master her powers and save them.

  “She asked you to tell her more stories about her mother,” she continued, forcing herself back to the argument at hand.

  Stephan’s eyes were wary as he looked her over, by now he knew that cold tone in her voice and how talk of Dahlia always brought it about. He simply nodded.

  “Stephan, I am the girl’s mother,” Ismena hissed, pointing to herself. “Me. I am her mother.”

  He released a heavy sigh. They had had this conversation before, and he always had the same response. “But you are not her mother by birth.”

  “I have fed her, clothed her, raised her since infancy, held her in the dark night as she cried over being lonely. I am more her mother than Dahlia ever was and yet you say that because I did not birth her she is not my child!”

  “I did not say that,” Stephan said, reaching out to grasp her arm. “Perhaps we should take this conversation to our chambers?”

  Ismena yanked her arm from his hold. “Why do you deny me my own daughter?” she hissed, cursing herself for the tears that clogged her throat.