Fantasy of Frost

by Kelly St Clare

  “Yes, of course,” he says. “I have come to say you won’t be doing it. I have already told Rhone.” My eyes widen even further.

  “What did you say?” I ask in disbelief. Did he really just say that? “It is not your choice as to whether I learn or not!” His jaw clenches and my stomach does the same, instantly knowing this was not the right way to negotiate. He stalks towards me and I step backwards until my back thuds on the wall behind me. I shiver from the cold of the stone which permeates through the thick tapestry hanging over it.

  The King brings his hands up to my shoulders. I brush them off with an angry push. He grabs my wrists instead, pushing my hands down by my sides before lifting his hands up to my elbows and lifting me up on the wall.

  He brings his face very close to mine, his eyes not leaving my own startled gaze. “Everything you do or don’t do is my decision,” he breathes. “Everything anyone does or does not do, on this world.” His gaze moves down over my face then back up to my eyes before he continues. “Is up to me.” He moves closer still. Our noses are nearly touching.

  My own breath catches in my throat as I start to feel closed in, locked away.

  “I won’t do it until my ribs are healed,” I say, snapping my mouth shut at his growl. I’m too vulnerable like this. My panic escalates as he continues.

  “If I tell someone not to eat for two weeks, then they don’t,” his voice grows louder. “If I want everyone to go without boots for a day, they will do it.” I struggle against his hold. ”And if I don’t want Rhone to teach you to drive a sled, he sure as fuck won’t be teaching you to drive a sled.”

  His chest is pushing against my own. His hips push into my upper thighs, pinning me to the wall.

  “You will not be doing it,” he says in my ear. I close my eyes as I feel tears start to build. I turn my head from him, but a few tears trickle down each side of my face.

  “Please let me go,” I whisper.

  I hear a sharp intake of breath. He loosens his hold on my wrists. My legs buckle as I drop down. I lift my hands up to cross my chest as he takes a small step back. I straighten and brush past him and pick up the pieces of my veil. My legs feel like they will collapse any moment.

  Turning my back to him, I replace the material and band with trembling hands.

  I leave the room without another word.

  It is easy to hide my disquiet while I’m with the other women. A large group has gathered at Jacqueline’s today and they all discuss tomorrow night’s ball with excitement. Her home is similar to Fiona’s. The colours are more subdued however and everything is more rigidly placed.

  “You need a dress to wear!” Fiona says to me. She starts talking of taking in one of her own for me. I describe the Toga dresses we wear back home and Jacqueline laughs at my description, leaving the room to go get her own dress. While she is gone the women gossip about the ball.

  Talk turns to the opening dance.

  “The dance is supposed to be opened with the King dancing with the queen, but because Jovan is not married yet, he must dance with the highest ranking female, which is Arla the skank-monster,” Greta, one of the young unattached Bruma says.

  Sullen comments fill the room. “No!” Fiona gasps. “She’s not anymore.” She points straight at me. “Olina is a princess. Her rank is higher.” The women in the room squeal and scream. Two of them hold hands and spin in circles. All I feel is horror at having to dance with the King after this morning.

  Jacqueline returns and, after jumping up and down at Arla’s supposed downfall, she holds out some strips of material to me.

  “Are you part way through making the dress?” I ask Jacky.

  Fiona bursts out laughing. “That is her dress. All of our dresses are similar to this.”

  My mouth drops open, I grab the dress out of Jacky’s hands and hold it up. The scraps of fabric will cover the main parts, but not much else. I gasp and shove it back at Jacky, who is laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face.

  Fiona begins to talk of taking up her dress for me again. I wait for an opening.

  “Please don’t worry yourself about it. I don’t think I will go to the ball. It is not for me. But I hope you all enjoy yourselves.”

  This is met by firm denial. Jacky will not hear of it, but I’m adamant in my refusal.

  “I have a more concealing dress from when I was younger. My father would not let me out of the house in those kinds of dresses until I was twenty.” Greta points at Jacky’s dress.

  Though my true reason for not going is to avoid dancing with Jovan, wearing the revealing dress also has me a little worried. I latch onto this excuse. “Thank you, but I would feel vulnerable.”

  “You have great boobs and a nice figure. You have nothing to worry about,” Jacky bursts out. I can tell she is becoming a little angry, but I will not be swayed or pressured. I force myself not to cover my chest as everyone stares at it. I mumble an excuse to go to the bathroom to escape.

  The servant shows me to the bathroom, and I take my time in there, having no need for the amenities other than using them as an excuse. I sit on the edge of a tub, there are pyope beads underneath it in a stone circle for heating. One of Adnan’s inventions. My gaze travels around the room. There is seat behind a screen over a chamber pot. It is much nicer than the one I use in the castle.

  I frown at a twinkling light in the far corner of the room, my heart stops when I realise what it is.

  There, over a large shallow washing bowl is a mirror. I know it is a mirror, though I have never seen one in my life. A shiny kind of glass fills the frame and I can see the small window at the far side of the room reflected on its surface. I tremble as my mind grasps the opportunity being handed to me. After a second of hesitation, I stand and step towards it.

  My hands drifts to linger at the base of my veil. I toy with the fabric and my stare becomes vacant as I listen to fear battle for control. My hands shake. The fear wins. I lower my hands to my sides and turn my head away. I cannot do it.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “Olina. Are you alright?” I hear Fiona’s muffled voice come from the other side.

  “Yes. Just fixing my veil,” I say, moving to the door, relying on her avoidance of this topic to save me from too many questions. I open the door and walk out.

  “Oh.” Her cheeks are red. “I thought you might have been trying to escape from our attempts to persuade you to go tomorrow night.”

  I laugh convincingly. “Maybe that, too.”

  The ladies continue to chat into the afternoon. There is no further mention of my attending the ball. I join in occasionally, but cannot stop thinking about the mirror. Each time I do, angry tears threaten. What a coward! No matter how far I get from my mother, she is still able to control me. My fists clench as I imagine her laughing down at me from her viewing balcony in the torture room.

  I’m as far from her as I will ever be in my life, but I am still in her prison.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The women from yesterday are flustered at breakfast. I don’t know why they are even here. They don’t seem to be eating anything. Maybe it is a custom. I’m not going to the ball so I select my usual pear and sit down to observe their odd behaviour.

  Gentle Fiona snaps at Sanjay when he teases her about not eating and starts going on about all the errands she must do before the ball starts. I think they will get hungry, but I do not dare say anything. The ball starts in the early afternoon and breakfast is the only meal being served beforehand. I grin at the wide-eyed looks the men are sharing. The women all stand at once. They must have some way of telling time which I’m unaware of.

  I linger with the delegates, listening with amusement to them talk of their wives.

  “I’m telling you now, Adnan. Don’t get married,” Roman says with a groan. I snicker openly at his despair and Sanjay turns to me with a glare.

  “And why are you not off getting your nails done and hair bounced up or whatever they do?”
he says. I shrug one shoulder, not wanting to get into it. I’m surprised they did not already know.

  Sanjay hums darkly. “As though we care about that shit. As long as Fiona is in a dress where I can see almost everything, I’m happy.”

  I smile, Sanjay will be a happy man tonight indeed.

  “But don’t forget you have to mention all of those things they’ve done or else they get angry and it’s no point being able to see almost everything because they won’t let you unwrap the rest,” Roman says. I giggle as the other men hum and nod their sombre agreement.

  I move around the table and sit next to Adnan.

  “Adnan,” I say. He looks up from the objects he is tinkering with. “Can you tell me what kind of wood this is?” I reach into my pocket and draw the small broken piece of wood out.

  He takes it from me and shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t often work with wood.” My heart sinks at yet another dead end.

  “Tomi!” Adnan calls behind us. I look up as Tomi approaches from the table where the delegates I’m not as familiar with sit.

  “What’s this wood?” Adnan asks him and then says to me, “Tomi is the man to ask about plant stuff.”

  Tomi examines it. “It’s been stained this colour. Straight grain. Doesn’t seem very durable, but it’s light.”

  I hope the King isn’t looking our way.

  “Do you know what it is?” I say, silently urging him to hurry.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure.” He brings the wood forward to his nose. “Oh. It’s Seedyr wood. Has a distinctive aroma. But where did you find this? It only grows in the warmer sectors,” he says.

  “I found it outside,” I lie. “Why does it only grow in the warm sectors?”

  He holds a hand to his hip. “Well, it only grows about this high, not strong enough to withstand the winds. We don’t use it here because it’s not durable enough, we tend to use spruce. I only know it because I’ve seen it used in the outer rings for hunting weapons.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone is looking at me. I take the wood back. “Thank you for your time. I find all these new animals and plant life very interesting.”

  He smiles and offers to show me more sometime before returning to his table.

  I have barely put the wood back in my pocket when Roscoe sits down next to me. “You are the only female left in the room, Tatuma Olina. I hope we can expect your company this evening.”

  I hesitate, but don’t want to appear rude. “I’m not going,” I say as softly as I can, hoping the others will not hear.

  “What! You have to come.”

  I groan as Sanjay’s yell alerts the whole room. Roman and Malir join in his denials, demanding I go.

  I meet Roscoe’s amused eyes, he has surely guessed I did not want anyone else to hear.

  Adnan reaches across the table and taps on the back of my hand. “Come on. Why are you not going?”

  I turn my head away. “There is no particular reason.”

  “I have never known you to do anything without reason,” Malir says. I shrug and start to stand.

  Sanjay leaps around the table and pushes me back down. “No you don’t. You aren’t leaving until you tell us why.”

  “Sanjay. Get your hands off of her,” Roscoe bites out. Sanjay stands back immediately. “If she does not want to go tonight, her reasons are none of our concern,” Roscoe finishes.

  Sanjay returns to his seat with a sulking expression. I stand again and whisper my thanks in Roscoe’s ear as I leave the hall. I feel the King’s gaze on me as I leave, knowing he must have heard at least part of the conversation. I do not turn my head towards him.

  I grab Kaura and head up to the nursery to hide from anyone who may choose to crash through my bedroom door to demand an explanation for my non-attendance. I can only hide there so long before I start getting odd looks from the woman watching them. I leave and use the back way through the meeting room to sneak down to the kennels and look at the dogs.

  Large cages line the walls of the kennel. Each row has a lever at the end so a whole team of dogs can be let out easily. Rhone had let me do it once.

  I say hello to Leo, introducing him to Kaura, who does not seem impressed. I eat a pear out on the steps in the freezing cold and then, running out of things to do, I return to my room. The edge of the rug closest to the door is doubled back on itself. Someone has been in my room. I’m glad I have managed to avoid them. It was probably the King, or worse, it could have been Sanjay. I correct the rug and proceed to work out for the next two hours. I don’t stop until I am pouring with sweat and all my muscles are aching enough that I feel calm. Physical exhaustion always does this to me. It is one reason I always loved going to Aquin’s.

  Though it is only the afternoon, I am exhausted after washing in the basin. I change into my nightgown, wishing again I could submerge myself in water. Adnan had told me he had a team hard at work in the first sector inserting his latest invention into the castle. A bath big enough to hold fifty people at a time, heated with great piles of Pyope beads from underneath. He said the underground springs had given him the idea and he had tested the idea on smaller baths in the homes of the assembly. This is where he had been the week I stayed in my room after the beating and where he often disappear to. I couldn’t wait to try it, though the thought of being in a bath with that many Bruma was unthinkable. They were inappropriate enough with clothing on, let alone off and I bet there would be other things going on in there I wouldn’t want to know about.

  I’m disorientated when I awaken and unsure of why I have woken. A strange sound travels through my door. I roll out of bed and sit on the side, breath held, waiting to hear it again. The sound starts once more. What is it?

  I quickly dress and check my veil, then swing open the door to my room. The noise grows louder. I ignore the questioning looks from my guards and run down the stairs, following the trail of sound which tugs at me somehow. I hear my guards jogging behind me. I slow as I reach the archway to the food hall turned ballroom. Of course it is in there. I try and peer down the side through the archway, but the wall of the archway is too thick to see the whole room. The object or person must be in the corner by the throne platform.

  “What is making that beautiful sound?” I ask the older guard.

  “It is a violin, Tatuma. There are musicians here for the ball.”

  “I have never heard anything so lovely,” I say. The desire to see these musicians is too strong.

  “I just want to watch for a few moments. Do you think you could wait here, so I do not draw attention to myself?” I sense the guard’s hesitation. “I will go just inside the door and you can check on me every ten seconds,” I say. The older guard nods, looking as if he already regrets it.

  I take in the transformed room. How did they do all this between breakfast and now? I don’t like Arla, but I’m impressed with what she has pulled off. Snowflakes hang from the ceiling. They must be made of material. Ice sculptures and glass decorations cover the walls and floor. The rugs and tables have been removed and huge white and blue cushions are organised at one end of the hall. Couples and groups of friends are gathered on them. My eyes nearly pop out at the sight of so many scantily clad women. There is a lot of skin. Too much skin. Some of them only have small strips of cloth covering their front. The men have special tunics on and leather trousers. It seems a bit unfair the women have to go to so much effort. They must be freezing, too.

  Fiona spots me from across the room and nudges Sanjay at her side. I pretend I have not seen them and keep moving towards the sound.

  I leave one hand on the wall, approaching with slow steps until I’m ten strides away. I am unsure of how close I should get. A tall man plays a small wooden object I assume is the violin. There are two others with him, who sit immobile next to other objects. I wonder if they make the same sound.

  To my surprise, I have to blink back tears as the musician continues to play. Thoughts I usually only have in the privacy of my room
are dredged to the surface. My heart thinks of Olandon and how much I have to tell him, of the twins; Oberon’s questions and Ochave’s loveable nature. I think of Aquin and hope he lives until I get to see him again. I think of what I have lost in the last year. I think of Kedrick. Of his fierce loyalty and his laughter, his honest blue eyes.

  I turn and look around the room to see if anyone is approaching and catch the snide gaze of Arla as she looks down at my clothing and whispers to one of her friends behind a hand. I roll my eyes and turn back to the music. Just one more song.

  I nearly jump out of my boots as a large wooden bench crashes down behind me. I glare at the culprit, Kedrick’s bloody brother. I should know. Where there is crashing, there is King Jovan.

  “I thought you might like to sit down while you listened,” he says. His voice is its usual confident self, but I detect an uncertainty in the slight hunching of his shoulders. All he would need to do is put his hands in his pockets and kick at the ground to look like the eight year old Olandon when I had found him throwing stones at a herd of Dromeda.

  “Thank you,” I say and sit on the offered bench, directing my attention forward again. As much of it as I can with Jovan behind me anyway. He moves to sit beside me.

  The bench is much too low for him. His forearms drape over his knees and I’m reminded of when I was first brought before him. “You don’t have music on Osolis,” he says. “Roscoe was just explaining your interest to me.”

  I tilt my head up to him. “We have some singing, but nothing as beautiful as this.” I wave at the musicians. “Solati lean towards plays and tragic theatre.”

  “You don’t like these much,” he chuckles.

  I shudder. “I thank my good fortune daily that you do not have them here.”

  We fall silent, listening to another more upbeat song. Laughter and yelling sound from the crowd who have moved in behind us, eager to be close to their King. I hope the ladies from Jacqueline’s are having fun.

  The bench shifts as the King looks behind him. “The two guards outside your door that night were found,” he says, lowering his voice.