A Bear's Bride

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Surely not.

  “And you’re here, looking like death, so obviously something went awry.” She pushes a sweet biscuit my way. “Tell me.”

  The entire story pours out. She sits, making understanding noises every so often. Once I’m finished, I lean forward. “I was hoping, since you knew Henri was the bear, that you might be able to tell me how to get to the troll palace Henri spoke of. The palace that’s located east of the sun and west of the moon.”

  She shakes her head and scoots the plate of biscuits toward me when she catches me eying them. “I’m afraid I cannot.”

  My body sags with disappointment.

  “But I can give you this.” She rummages through a cupboard and produces a rosy apple. “It will aid you in your quest.”

  I look at the apple, then at her, and then at the fruit again. I raise an eyebrow. “It’s an apple.”

  “Very good,” the woman says, amusement thick in her voice. “A clever girl like you will go far in life.”

  I accept the gift, wanting very much to roll my eyes. “Thank you.” Then I murmur under my breath, “I suppose.”

  “Saddle my horse and ride along the road, to the east. By evening, you will reach another village. Send the horse home and seek out the woman carding wool on her porch. She lives in the cottage under the cliff.”

  “How do you know she’ll be on her porch?”

  “What makes you think she won’t?”

  I stare at the woman for several moments, wondering if all fairies are mad.

  “Fine.” It’s not like I have any other options.

  “Wait,” the woman says as I turn to leave. She taps the apple, and to my astonishment, it turns to gold. Not gold like yellow and delicious—actual gold. “Now you may leave.”

  Disconcerted, I stare at the fruit.

  “Go on now,” the fairy coaxes, hurrying me out.

  I look back as I step onto the porch. “I left a cat in the palace. Could you check on her occasionally? Make sure she’s alive?”

  Rynn will be less than pleased if I let the nuisance die of neglect.

  The fairy steps aside and motions to the fire. The scraggly beast lies on a cushion by the hearth, fast-asleep. I would bet this golden apple she wasn’t there a moment ago.

  Feeling more than a little off-kilter, I nod. “All right then. Thank you.”

  “Best hurry.” The woman hands me a package of biscuits for my travels, gives me an encouraging smile, and closes the door in my face.

  ***

  I ride all day, and just when I think the woman was wrong, a village appears in the distance. Once I reach the outskirts of town, I give the tawny buckskin mare a pat, and then I send her back the way we came. She trots off, toward home.

  The sun sets behind the nearby, tree-lined cliff, and I wrap Henri’s cloak tighter around my shoulders. It carries his forest fragrance and makes my heart ache.

  He’s only been gone a day, but I miss him.

  Why did I kiss him? Why must I always meddle in things I should leave alone?

  I walk for twenty-three minutes before I spot the cottage under the cliff. Sure enough, a woman sits on her porch, carding wool.

  A familiar woman. Or a familiar fairy, rather.

  I walk toward her, frowning. “Hello again.”

  The fairy I spoke with earlier looks up, smiling. “Do I know you, dear?”

  Exasperated, I take another step closer. “We spoke not seven hours ago, in your cottage, near the palace of Briadell.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never ventured near the palace.” She leans close, and a smile ghosts across her face as she lowers her voice and says, “Have you heard? Our prince is cursed.”

  My eye twitches.

  Fine. I’ll play her game.

  “I’m looking for a palace in Elsland that’s said to be east of the sun and west of the moon. Can you tell me how to get there?”

  “I cannot.” She sets her wool aside, disrupting a sleeping cat in her basket.

  My jaw drops as Rynn’s beast stretches and looks up at me, yawning with disinterest.

  “But I can give you this to aid in your journey.” The woman holds out the tool she was using.

  I purse my lips as I look back at the fairy, trying to contain my irritation. After I trust myself to speak in a civil tone, I ask, “Your carding comb? Do you think that will be of help to me?”

  The fairy nods solemnly. “Most assuredly. Now, you must travel eight hours to the east. There’s a woman who can help you in the next village. Look for her in a cottage by the waterfall. She’ll be spinning wool on her porch.”

  “It will be the middle of the night when I reach her, and yet you say she’ll be on her porch, spinning wool?”

  Instead of answering, the woman adds, “You may ride my horse, but remember to send her home as soon as you reach the village.”

  Unable to help myself, I let out a small, mirthless laugh. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “You are most welcome,” she says graciously and leads me toward the barn.

  I follow her but stop as soon as I pass the doors. The buckskin mare stares at me as she chews a clump of hay.

  Turning back to the fairy, I demand, “Now that’s enough. What game are we playing?”

  The woman gives me an innocent look. “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s the horse I rode here!”

  She shakes her head. “No. She’s been in my barn all this time.”

  A headache blooms at the base of my skull, but I give the fairy a curt nod. “Fine. Thank you.”

  She watches as I saddle the horse, but before I leave, she calls me back. Without so much as asking permission, she pulls the carding comb from the satchel I wear. With a quick tap, it turns to gold.

  “Now you may leave.”

  Shaking my head, I take the road east. The horse trots at a comfortable pace, apparently unconcerned that she walked all day. We reach the village by the waterfall exactly eight hours later, in the middle of the night, and I send the horse home. She gives me a friendly nicker and then ambles back the way we came.

  I watch the mare with suspicious eyes, waiting for her to double back. Eventually, I give up and turn toward the village.

  I’m not the least bit surprised when I find the very same fairy sitting on her porch, working with the tiniest spinning wheel I’ve ever seen.

  She looks up when she spots me, and her eyes spark with humor. “Pleasant night, isn’t it?”

  It’s frigid actually.

  I force a smile. “I am looking for a palace in Elsland. It’s said to be located east of the sun and west of the moon. Can you tell me the way?”

  When I step forward, I startle the cat that’s fast asleep on her lap. The feline turns my way, peering at me with her familiar yellow stare, almost as if she’s in on the ruse.

  “There is no road, I’m afraid,” the fairy says, drawing my attention from the cat.

  “Then how do I travel there?”

  She shrugs. “The wind may take you if you can convince him your quest is a noble one.”

  I shift, thankful for a change of answer. “It is. But how do I speak with the wind?”

  “He’s a fairy, child. As substantial as you or me.”

  “Another fairy?” I say, losing my patience.

  The woman ignores my tone. “Take my horse and my spinning wheel. Ride to the east. He lives on the highest peak in Briadell.”

  Gently setting Rynn’s cat aside, the woman leads me to a familiar buckskin mare. The horse whinnies in greeting, happy to see me again. I don’t bother to mention it to the fairy.

  “Good luck to you,” the woman says as I lead the horse outside.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I hold out the miniature spinning wheel.

  The fairy’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, yes.”

  With a tap of her finger, the spinning wheel turns to gold.

  “Take care with the wind fairies,” she warns as I mount the horse. “They tend
to make a habit of sending people on wild goose chases.”

  I take a moment to rein in my agitation, and then I thank her for her help.

  Once again, I’m riding east, toward the sunrise, toward the East Wind, and hopefully, toward Henri.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The house is the loneliest I’ve ever seen, built on the top of a windy peak. Its only company is a family of several boulders of various sizes, all covered in sage-green moss. The trees are far below. Even they don’t want to grow this close to the sky.

  My horse is exhausted. We’ve traveled for a full week, resting sporadically along the way. I practically fall from the saddle.

  Immediately, she turns around and heads for home.

  “You’re just going to leave me?” I call to the mare.

  She angles back, gives me an equine look of disinterest, and continues on her way.

  Sighing, I turn back to the house. It doesn’t look as if anyone has lived here for years. It’s no great surprise when no one answers the door.

  Now what do I do?

  I could run after the horse, attempt to find another desolate peak. Or I could go inside, light a fire, and wallow in despair. Though the last option has its appeal, it wouldn’t solve much.

  I suppose I could call Mortimer, but he doesn’t answer me now—hasn’t since he said he was done with me. Some fairy godfather.

  Just as I’m mulling over my options, the air shimmers and sparks, and there materializes a tall man with a snowy beard, alarmingly bushy eyebrows, and a long, thin nose.

  Startled by his abrupt appearance, I stumble into the closed door.

  Even more startled by me, the fairy steps back, trips on a rock, and falls on his posterior with an, “Ooof!”

  I rush forward, extending my hand. “I’m so sorry,” I say, realizing I’ve possibly ruined my only chance to find the troll palace. He’ll never help me now. If I know anything about fairies, it’s that they don’t care for human girls who make them look foolish.

  While pulling the wind fairy to his feet, I murmur countless apologies.

  He brushes himself off, frowning, and then finally peers at me with such concentration, his huge eyebrows meet. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Sophia of Astoria—actually, I suppose I’m Sophia of Briadell now. I’m looking for my husband, who has been taken by the troll queen. I was told you’d know how to find a palace in Elsland that’s located east of the sun and west of the moon.”

  The man takes a moment to digest the information, and then he slowly nods. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know the way. Perhaps my brother, the West Wind—”

  “No. Absolutely not.” I take a step forward. “I’ve already played this game. First, you’ll send me to the West Wind, and then he’ll send me to the North. The North Wind will send me to the South, and then finally, when I am old and gray, and my husband is celebrating his golden anniversary with his troll bride, I’ll arrive at the palace!”

  One bushy eyebrow raises as I finish my spiel. “Are you quite finished?”

  Feeling a bit foolish for the outburst, I nod.

  “I believe the West Wind would have sent you to the South Wind, not the North.”

  I resist the urge to throttle him—because he’s both my elder and a fairy, and it won’t do Henri any good if the East Wind turns me into a mountain goat.

  “Please, please,” I beg, “take me to Elsland yourself.”

  The fairy gives me a wry smile. “Very well. I’ll see if I can find the way.”

  ***

  By the time I tumble to the ground, my face is numb from the chill of the wind, my body aches, and after a quick inspection, I find my hair feels like a rat made its home in my once-smooth tresses.

  Next to me, the East Wind wheezes and stumbles forward, barely keeping his balance.

  I rub my cheeks, trying to work feeling back into them, and look around, taking in my new surroundings.

  So, this is Elsland.

  We’re in the high mountains, and the nearby snow-covered cliffs are golden in the late afternoon light. Jagged, indigo peaks rise in the far distance, cutting into the horizon.

  Below us, in a nearby valley, tall, statuesque pines grow. Their boughs are dusted with snow, and the deciduous trees have already lost their leaves for the year. Just across the valley, on the tallest nearby peak, sits a cold, lonely palace. It’s taller than it is wide, built of gray stone, and the turrets are roofed in dusky blue.

  “From here, you walk,” the East Wind groans.

  “Is that it?” I ask, motioning to the castle. “The palace?”

  The fairy nods and raises his hands. With a strong gust of wind that kicks up the snow at my feet, he’s gone.

  I shiver under Henri’s cloak as I look at the palace. I’m here, but what do I do now? It’s not as if I can walk to the door and demand the troll woman gives me Henri back. And it will be dark soon.

  Without a clear plan in mind, I walk toward the palace. The snow grows deeper as I drop into the valley, and I sink into it with every step I take. It tops my boots and slides down my leg.

  Frozen, I pull the fleece-lined hood over my head, wishing I’d thought to bring a change of clothing with me. The sun sinks lower. No matter how far I walk, the forest never recedes.

  The sun sets behind the distant mountains, and twilight shadows the path. Massive pines tower on either side of my trail, making it impossible to see the palace in the distance.

  Left with no choice, I continue. Just before the last of the sun’s light fades from the landscape, I hear the far-off tinkling of bells.

  The sound steadily grows until its source is right behind me. Two snowy horses trot into view, pulling a sleigh. Tiny silver bells line their harnesses, and they jingle with the horses’ every movement, letting off a cheerful, welcome sound. Perhaps it’s for that reason, in a split-second decision that could quite possibly cost me my life, I leap in front of the horses and hold out my arms.

  The animals shy back, coming to an abrupt halt that jars the sleigh and its passengers.

  “Why have we stopped?” a loud, female voice asks.

  I lower my arms, stepping back, realizing my mistake too late. That voice—

  “Well, what is it?” the woman says, standing in the sleigh to see around her driver.

  Surreptitiously, I tug the front of my hood lower, hoping to cast my face in shadows.

  A pretty face comes into view, framed with a cascade of perfect ringlets. The woman is not Henri’s stepmother as I feared when I first heard her speak, though she looks and sounds very much like her. Except there is amusement in her voice, perhaps even a kindness that is at odds with her kind.

  “Why are you standing in the road, little troll?”

  Little troll? She thinks I’m a child? And one of them? I look down at the way Henri’s cloak pools in the snow at my feet, and then I turn my attention to the statuesque, beautiful troll addressing me.

  Clearing my throat, I take a cautious step forward. “I’m on my way to the palace.”

  “Brave one, aren’t you?” She eyes me with good humor. She’s not old, most likely Rynn’s age. “Aren’t you afraid of Queen Amara? She is quite fearsome.”

  “I have a wedding gift for Her Highness,” I say, producing the golden apple. Even in the dim light, it shines.

  “Oh, I rather like that,” the pretty troll says, leaning forward to better see the fruit. “A wedding gift for Ambrosia, you say?”

  I nod.

  She thinks about it for a moment, and then she asks, “How much will you take for it?”

  “It’s not for sale,” I answer, hoping I can wrangle a ride to the palace. “Not for gold…”

  The troll laughs, delighted. Her voice is as delicate as the bells her horses wear. “Fair enough. What will you trade it for?”

  “A ride to the palace.”

  After a moment, she motions me over. “You should have asked for more, little troll. I wasn’t going to leave you to freeze.” />
  I trudge through the snow to meet her, terrified she’s going to realize I’m neither child nor troll. The driver leaps from his seat and offers me a hand into the carriage. Just as I’m about to take it, I freeze.

  There, sitting on the plush seat next to the beautiful troll, is Henri. His eyes are intent in the near-dark, and they drill into mine, conveying a hundred emotions. He finally settles on irritation.

  This isn’t part of his plan. It’s hard to sacrifice himself, all in the name of saving my life, if I chase after him and put myself in harm’s way.

  But just seeing Henri makes my heart clench, and I choke back a relieved sob. Let him be angry with me—I don’t care. I’ve found him.

  “Oh, little one,” the troll gasps as soon as I step into the sleigh. “You reek of fairy magic.”

  Hovering awkwardly, not daring to sit, I look at my feet.

  “And something else.” Curiosity lights her eyes, and she shifts forward. Before I can stop her, she pushes back my hood. “Human.”

  She doesn’t say it with disgust or contempt. It’s more the way someone would comment on a creature darting across a field: Look there—it’s a fox. Or a deer, squirrel, badger or…

  “Human,” she says again, shaking her head and making soft chastising noises. “That’s not good.”

  She glances at Henri, grinning in a coquettish way. “You people are like mice. Let one in, and suddenly the whole kingdom’s infested.”

  And suddenly, ridiculous though it may be, jealousy washes over me. Who is this woman—this troll—who dares flirt with my husband?

  Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at concealing my emotions, and the woman’s eyes sparkle in the near-dark of the twilight forest. “Tell me, little human, are you acquainted with my dear stepbrother, Prince Henri of Briadell?”

  “She’s no one,” Henri says caustically, making me glare at him. “Just a foolish acquaintance with grand ideas. If you have magic enough, send her back to the capital city of Astoria.”

  The words hurt, but I’m not a fool. I know what he’s doing, but before I can argue with him, the situation dawns on me. The girl is Henri’s stepsister, the troll queen’s daughter…the woman—and I’m using that term loosely—he’s supposed to marry.