The King's Daughters

by Nathalie Mallet

  "Where did all the people go?"

  "To the lake east of the castle to watch the race."

  "We're racing around the lake?"

  Diego's left eyebrow rose. "Amir, you're racing on the lake."

  "On the lake?"

  "It's frozen."

  "Oooh—OOOH! We're racing on a frozen lake."

  Diego nodded his head slowly.

  I signed. Hell, this is getting worse by the minute.

  * * *

  Well, I was right about the situation getting worse. First, riding in a troika felt rather like riding on a bar of soap. The damn thing kept slipping and sliding all over the place, and I wasn't even on the frozen lake yet. Second, when I arrived at lake and saw Lars's troika and team of horses, I immediately knew that I would be lucky if I only lost the race (and face), and not a limb, or worse, my life. (According to Diego, Lars was a vicious driver. He had a reputation for bumping into his opponent, toppling their sleigh, and then running them over with his horses.) Great! I have all that to look forward too. Lovely, just lovely.

  Lars's troika was bright blue and so was the U-frame—which, thanks to Diego, I now knew was a duga—rising above his central horse. This duga, however, wasn't garishly painted like mine, but adorned with dozens of dangling red tassels. Lars's three brown horses were great muscular creatures with powerful round rumps and deep, broad chests. Those horses were built to pull. With a growing sense of doom, I watched them move in perfect union. They were also well trained.

  Not yet resigned to lose, I inspected Lars's horses and gear once more, hoping to find flaws in it. When one of the horses raised his hoof to strike the ice, a metallic glare caught my eye. His horses had spiked horseshoes.

  "Cheater," I mumbled under my breath. As if he needed this advantage. I glared at Lars with resentment.

  Firmly positioned at the front of his troika, Lars held his horses' reins with expert hands, his eyes fixed straight ahead. I stared at the crowd spread along the lakeshore. Two figures attracted my attention. They stood out against the pristine white snow in their dark garments: Eva, clad in a black coat, and Countess Ivana in a red one. Both women were huddled together as if for warmth or support. I knew Eva enough to figure that she didn't approve of my involvement in this race. I shook my head at my own stupidity. What was I thinking? Actually, a lack of thinking was at the heart of the problem, really. Since I'd gotten here I had been unable to think things through.

  My attention returned to Eva and Ivana. What I saw then made me uneasy. The two Anchin warriors now stood right behind them.

  "EEE—YAH!" Lars shouted. His troika took off, taking me totally by surprise.

  "YAAH—YAH!" I yelled, urging my horses ahead. My troika leapt forth. That starting jolt was so abrupt I nearly fell backward in the sleigh; fortunately the seat broke my fall. While struggling to regain my balance, I dropped the reins. Left without guidance, my horses slowed to a walk. After a frantic search at the bottom of the troika, I found the reins. Once I had them firmly in hand, I was able to regain control of my horses. But by then Lars's sleigh had shrunken to a small point in the distance.

  "Damn! YAAH—YAH!" My horses took off again. They tried galloping. Their legs were moving fast, but we were not going anywhere. They were slipping! Their hooves had no grip. Then my gray mare found a patch of rough ice and was able to pull the sleigh away from the starting line. Now my horses were running as fast as they could on the ice, or as fast as the sleigh permitted them. The back of that cursed thing kept skidding sideways, left and right, so much so, I feared it might flip over at any moment, crushing me under its weight. As if this wasn't enough, maintaining the three horses in line was nearly impossible. The two on each side wanted to turn in different directions. After a short battle with the reins, I bent the horses to my will, and they began working as a team and pulling straight. By then Lars had already reached the end of the lake and turned around.

  Grinding my teeth, I watched his troika come toward me at great speed. I pushed my horses to run faster. Lars's troika was now near enough to allow me to see the hot breaths of his horses. Expecting some foul play on his part, I braced myself. Our troikas were now so close we could see each other's faces clearly. Lars's was stiff with concentration. We passed each other. Then he was gone.

  Stunned, I looked over my shoulder at Lars's troika. I had expected him to attempt to overturn me . . . or at least give me a lash of his whip. Nothing. Lars had done nothing. I wasn't worth the trouble, I supposed. He didn't need to do anything to win this race anyway. He won it the moment I agreed to participate in it.

  As I drove my horses forward, a loud cracking sound resounded in the air. A second cracking echoed right after. This one, however, was followed by a series of popping noises. All those sounds I realized were coming from behind me. Again, I looked over my shoulder. I saw Lars's troika gliding away, then an explosion of pop, pop, and crack rang out. The ice broke and Lars's troika fell into the lake's icy waters.

  I gasped in horror. Meanwhile Lars's brown horses fought to climb back onto the ice sheet, but the weight of the sleigh was dragging them under. Lars's small figure was still visible on the left. He was holding on to the edge of the ice for dear life while desperately trying to stay away from his panicked horses' hooves.

  Turning my troika around, I went to Lars's aid. Through the huffing and puffing of my galloping horses, I could hear the crowd screaming on the lakeshore. I peered in that direction and saw Eva, Diego, and the Anchin warriors running toward us. I then spotted Baron Molotoff and his sons. I was certain they would come to our aid, but they didn't move an inch. They just watched. Countess Ivana, for her part, had dropped to her knees, presumably praying for our safety. Her cohort of pretty friends soon joined her in prayer.

  Bringing my attention back to the hole in the ice, I stopped my troika at a safe distance from its edge, jumped out, and ran toward Lars. As I got near, I sensed something unusual. I lowered my eyes and saw a huge shadow darkening the ice under my feet. I looked toward the hole. Lars's horses had vanished. "Lord, they sank! Oh no, Lars!"

  In panic, I scanned the area at the edge of the hole where I had last seen him. To my relief, I found Lars still hanging on to the ice sheet, but he wasn't going to stay afloat for much longer. I could tell just by looking at him. Frost covered his face. His hands were two white frozen claws clutching the ice and, despite his violent shivering, his eyes appeared sleepy. He was on the verge of going under. There was no time to waste. I hurried toward him.

  POP-CRACK-POP, the ice complained under my feet.

  I froze. "LARS!" I yelled.

  His eyes regained some focus.

  "Look at me, Lars. Keep your eyes on me." I lay down on the ice and crawled to him. Stretching as much as I could, I reached out to him. "Take my hand. Hurry!"

  Now fully awakened, Lars began kicking the water and stretching forward. I did the same. Our fingers touched. I learned forth and grabbed his hand. The ice on which I lay suddenly darkened, as if some somber creature was underneath it. Then this dark shadow swam past me. Lars abruptly jerked backward; I nearly lost my hold on his hand.

  Lars stared down at the water, eyes wide with terror. His mouth opened, and just as he was about to speak, something ripped him out of my grip and pulled him under the ice.

  On all fours, I followed his voyage under the clear icy sheet as he fought with a dark green form. A big fish, I first thought. Then a long green veil, like flowing hair, fell into view. A hairy fish! No, that cannot be, I thought, dumfounded. I had never seen anything like this before.

  THUD.

  I heard Lars hit the ice with his fists.

  I forgot the fish. "HANG ON!" I screamed at him, and began jumping on the ice. On my fourth landing I went straight through. The frigid coldness of the water shocked me so that I was nearly paralyzed, and for a terrifying moment I truly believed that I would never be able to move again and that my heart would stop beating from the cold. Then I resurfaced.

/>   No time—get him, I told myself. Filling my lungs, I dived under the ice. Through the murky water, I spotted Lars floating motionless a short distance from me. Was I too late already? I questioned. I swam to him nonetheless.

  Scanning the water of the lake for its strange inhabitant, I took hold of Lars's arm and, dragging him along, I swam back to my hole in the ice. The trip up seemed to take forever. I thought my lungs would burst, yet I went on swimming as fast and as hard as I could, my legs kicking and kicking. I could see the hole now; it looked like a shiny white moon right above my head. Pushing my body to its limit, I sped up and broke the surface, gasping for air.

  "I made it! God, I made it," I spat, suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of relief and accomplishment. But those feelings didn't last long. Within the space of a couple of breaths, I started panicking. I had no strength left in me. I could barely hang on to Lars's limp body, let alone climb up on the ice with him. Maybe if I let go of Lars, I would have a chance, but that was out of the question. If only he would wake up. I looked at him. As soon as I saw his face I knew he wasn't going to wake up. Lars was dead. That was plain to see. His eyes were fixed. His mouth hung half-opened. His head wobbled loosely from side to side. But the biggest clue of all was that he was blue. Leave him. Save yourself, a voice whispered in my head. I couldn't do it. I couldn't let go. My hands refused to obey me.

  "Too late," I whispered. "It's too late for both of us." I was exhausted and sleepy. My eyes closed. I was so tired, and Lars was so heavy, too heavy. We began sinking. Just as the icy water was covering my face, something hard closed around my shoulders. All of a sudden, I was dragged onto the ice with Lars's lifeless body still frozen in my clutches.

  "Amir! Amir! Say something!"

  I recognized Diego's voice. "C . . . c . . . cold," I stammered through disabling shivers. More voices touched my ears, strange, incomprehensible voices. Then I felt someone pulling my hands apart and Lars's lifeless body was taken out of my grip. I opened my eyes. The two Anchin warriors were here too. I watched them drag Lars away from me.

  Eva fell to her knees in front of me. "Oh, you're alive. I thought I had lost you." As she was covering my face with kisses, Diego draped his coat around me.

  Eva then abruptly pulled away from me. "Where's Lars? Where is he?" Her tone was abnormally biting.

  "Lars," I said in a small voice. "Lars is dead. I couldn't save him." I looked around, seeking Lars's corpse. Instead I saw the warriors a few paces on my left, crouched over someone. They were franticly pushing, twisting, and punching that person as if they desperately wanted to subdue it. Confused, I watched them for a while before realizing that they were beating on Lars's body.

  "STOP!" I yelled. "STOP RIGHT NOW!"

  Eva ran to the warriors. Seizing the man by the scruff of the neck, she tried tearing him off Lars. Instead of fighting her off, the man calmly turned around and, displaying the kindest smile, indicated something to her. Something on the ground between them, something I couldn't see because Eva was hindering my sight. I watched Eva lean forward and look at what the man was showing her. She froze and let out a small cry of surprise. I heard coughing coming from the space between the warriors. The sound of someone vomiting soon followed. Eva then melted down on the ground. Now that she was no longer obstructing my view, I could see Lars curled up on the ice, retching water. Once he was done, he rolled over on his back, gasping.

  Dumfounded, I rubbed my eyes; I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This can't be! I kept thinking, still reeling from the shock. This can't be! He was dead. Moments ago Lars was dead. I would have sworn to it.

  Now the warrior woman was staring at me. I saw that she was clutching something in her fist, something she'd picked off Lars's clothing. I tried focusing on it, but couldn't see anything. Then too many people had made their way to us, and this newly formed crowd was hindering my sight. What happened next was all clouded in my mind. Only a few details remained vivid to me. I remembered that Diego made the trip to the castle with me, while Eva chose to travel with Lars. That particular detail was seared in my memory. Of all the horrible things that had happened to me today, this, for me, was without a doubt the most painful.

  Chapter Fifteen

  This morning I awoke feeling only slightly cold. Gone were the bone-jarring shivers and the headache-inducing teeth chattering of the previous day. Then I had thought I would never be warm again and that my blood would remain forever as cold as ice, just like the lake's icy waters.

  Huddled in my bed, I tried to recall yesterday's events. That stupid race; I remembered Lars going through the ice, and me, plunging in behind him. Diego had pulled me out of the frozen water; he had also brought me back to the castle using my troika. Lars and Eva went with someone else, the Anchin perhaps; this part remained cloudy in my mind. Other things were clear though. The fact that Lars was still alive astounded me. He should have been dead. Damn, he was dead—dead as a rock.

  The Anchin warriors had done something to Lars, but what? I had difficulty remembering that part. Maybe because all I could see at the time was Eva falling on the snow in shock at seeing Lars breathing again. Eva's last words to me had been harsh and resentful. Was she blaming me for this accident? If she was I needed to clarify the situation. The race was Lars's idea, not mine.

  With this purpose in mind, I dragged myself out of my bed and, oh surprise, landed flat on my face on the cold stone floor. I heard a flurry of footsteps and then Milo was beside me, lifting me to my feet.

  "My lord, are you hurt?"

  "No. I'm fine. My knees gave way under me, that's all. Bring me my clothes, Milo."

  "CLOTHES! My lord cannot go out in his condition! Not after such a terrible incident. My lord nearly died."

  "I believe I can manage."

  "NO!" protested Milo. "My lord is still too weak. My lord should stay in bed. Come, lie down."

  I felt a sudden surge of anger rising up in me. Why was this servant discussing my orders? I stared at Milo with the firm intention of reprimanding him for his boldness, but at the sight of his deeply concerned expression, my anger evaporated. If I had died, Milo would've been left alone here. Without my protection, I doubted he would've lived very long—unless Diego took him in his service. Thinking of this now, I believed Milo might have feared that more than death itself.

  I patted his hand in a reassuring manner. "Stop worrying, Milo, I'm fine. I am perfectly healthy. Weak perhaps, but healthy nonetheless. Now, go fetch my clothes and help me dress."

  * * *

  With Milo in tow, I made my way to the castle's new wing where Lars's rooms were located. I threw a resentful glance at Milo as I walked. The eunuch had pleaded and begged to accompany me with such zeal that I had found it impossible to say no. I hated being coerced like this. It angered me that he'd succeeded, and it angered me even more that I didn't have the heart to be more firm with him. Maybe that was another reason why I never had servants before. I didn't possess the cold, unmoving nature necessary to be a good . . . hm, good was the wrong word, an effective master. I was still mulling over this when we arrived at the new wing.

  I was shocked to see that the corridor was packed with people. Many among those present were well-wishers, here to show support for Lars. But most of the bystanders, however, were just curious people gathered here to find fuel for new gossip.

  As I passed through the assembly all conversations died, and as if this wasn't intimidating enough by itself, I could feel dozens of eyes following my progress toward Lars's apartments. I did my best to ignore this improper scrutiny and soldiered on.

  The door was open. "Stay here," I ordered Milo before I entered.

  Lars's receiving room was crowded, the bulk of the space was mainly taken by the king and his large entourage. Slumped in the corner of a long couch, King Erik was a shadow of himself. Once strong and full of vitality, he was now worn down and lifeless. The man looked devastated. Worse yet, he looked beaten, which was dangerous for a king, because it made h
im seem weak and vulnerable. To my knowledge, a king who gave that impression never stayed king for long.

  A scan of the room showed me a wide range of attitudes among the king's men. Some of his advisors looked worried, while others bore neutral expressions. Some were talking in low voices, some praying in silence. The presence of Baron Molotoff and his sons in the room surprised me. Positioned together along the back wall, they all displayed similar blank, stony expressions. The baron's piercing gaze connected with mine. Although there was no hostility in his eyes—nothing flagrant anyway—I always had the impression that this man was constantly evaluating me. As for why he would be doing so, I had no idea. Holding his gaze, I respectfully saluted him, then turned to King Erik.

  I was debating if I should approach the king or not, when Diego poked his head out of an adjacent room and waved me in.

  "How's Lars?" I asked.

  "See for yourself." Diego motioned over his shoulder with his thumb.

  I stepped inside the room—it was Lars's bedroom. I looked at all the people crowding it. The number of physicians assembled at the foot of the bed was a bad omen, I thought. Then I spotted Eva seated in the corner with her head hanging low. She didn't see me. Countess Ivana, who was kneeling at Eva's foot, did see me however and acknowledged my presence with a kind smile.

  "Come on," said Diego. "Let's move in closer."

  I followed next to him. Cutting through the sea of physicians, we approached Lars. Tucked in a majestic four-posted bed, the young duke was in a poor shape. His skin had an unpleasant greenish hue, and his breathing was so labored and raspy just hearing it made me wince—or maybe it was that white foam oozing out of a corner of his mouth that did it. Either way, Lars looked terrible.

  "He's stuck between life and death," Diego murmured.

  "I thought he was dead when you pulled us out of the lake."

  "He was," said Diego. "I'm quite sure of that."