I watched other guests filter into the throne room until they filled all the tables, though many of the tables on the balcony remained empty. Dancers similar to the ones I had seen outside joined the musicians, and they skipped in a small circle before the throne where Imad had taken a seat, waving their arms in synchronous patterns. I could not see their feet.
The chill spread around me, and a handful of guests moved inside where it was warmer. Before long, a few servants came out to the balcony to light braziers while others began to pass out small plates of yellow rice topped with a green vegetable I did not recognize. I thanked the one who served me, and when I knew no one was watching me, I dared to take a bite. It tasted strange and delicious, salty. The rice turned hard in my mouth as I chewed, but I swallowed without problem.
“How is it?”
I nearly dropped the spoon at the sound of Lo’s voice. Wiping my mouth to make sure I had not missed anything, I stood. “I was wondering where . . . Lo, you look so . . .” What word to say?
His facial hair was coming in again around his mouth and chin, but he had shaved his cheeks clean. Rather than his usual indigo uniform, he wore an umber shirt that wrapped around his torso and was tied with a coral sash, white vine-like embroidery running down his collar, which opened to expose part of his chest. Dark, rust-colored slacks bagged around his thighs and cropped close to his calves.
He looked so . . . handsome.
“Different,” I finished, unsure of the word.
But he didn’t answer right away. He studied me, and my cheeks burned cold. I had nearly forgotten the gorgeous dress Kitora had sewn for me, like something a storybook princess would wear. A head scarf that exposed my neck, sheer fabric over my shoulders, and a high waistline that emphasized my bust.
His eyes flickered back to mine almost too quickly. Thank Mordan I couldn’t blush, for so much blood rushed to my head I thought I would faint.
He cleared his throat and said, “Your food?”
I smiled and moved to tuck away a strand of hair that wasn’t there. “It’s delicious. Are you going to eat?”
“I will,” he answered, shifting the drapery behind me to peek outside. Soft snow flurries fell from the clouds above.
“No guard duty tonight?”
He shook his head and smiled. “Imad insisted I attend the celebration as a guest.”
Twisting, he patted the hilt of a gold knife sticking out from his waistband, resting against the small of his back.
I chuckled. “He is in good hands.”
“Can I get you anything, Misa?” he asked, eyes on mine. “You can come inside—we have braziers for a reason.”
I wanted to reach out to him, touch his hand, but I kept my own hands firmly clasped in front of me. “I’m fine,” I said, assuring him with a smile. “I can see and hear everything, and I don’t think the guests want to wear heavy coats.”
He smiled, faintly. “If you do—”
“I’ll ask one of the servants,” I said. Laughing, I added, “Go enjoy your night off, Lo! Before your food gets cold.”
He nodded and graced me with one last smile before heading back inside. I tried to watch him through the windows, but he sat just out of view.
Hands trembling, I managed three more bites of rice before it grew too cold, and I didn’t touch the wine in front of me. Not only did I want to avoid it freezing to my lips, but the thought of staining Kitora’s dress made me nearly ill. When a servant came to claim my plate, I told him I was fine for the night, but he still brought me roasted chicken with rosemary, which smelled intoxicating. I managed a few small bites. God bless the men and women who had divined such an amazing dish. I hated to waste it, but curse aside, my stomach had tied itself into knots, and I doubted I could have eaten much more anyway.
The guests began clapping, and I leaned back in my chair enough to see Imad addressing them. For once he wore the garb of a prince—gold robes and a thin crown, though his earrings remained unchanged. I could not catch everything he said, but excitement flavored his tone, and he even glanced out the window near the end of his speech to wave at me.
When he sat down again, out of sight, I caught a glimpse of Lo and leaned forward a little to get a better look at him. He was sitting beside one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen—my age or perhaps a little younger, with skin smooth as a babe’s and a long braid of hair the color of rich coffee. She wore red with bright orange appliqués, a sheer orange head scarf pinned above either ear, and several beaded necklaces of varying lengths. She had large eyes and a small nose. Perfect, red-stained lips. Petite. She looked like a painting.
A plate of yellow rice sat half-eaten on the table before her. She hadn’t been served the chicken yet, so perhaps she had arrived late.
I paused, watching her. Who was she, and why was she beside Lo? They seemed . . . familiar with each other.
I couldn’t ignore the pulling in my gut, like half of me was sinking.
Lo spoke with her and the older woman beside her, who was also still picking at the first course. Judging by their facial features, I assumed she was the younger woman’s mother, but neither of them resembled Lo. So they were not family. At least, not immediate.
My eyes returned to the young woman. She had to be the most beautiful person I had ever seen.
I touched my own face, envisioning its pallor in my mind, the darkness around my eyes and the whiteness of my hair, cut short at an odd angle—the exact opposite of what was considered pretty for Zareedian women.
Just then, the young woman at Lo’s side glanced up and spied me through the window. I snapped back to my upright position, and, fortunately, a new round of dancers filled the floor, drawing the audience’s attention there.
I rubbed my chest, frowning at the uneasy feeling that lingered there, beneath the ever-present cold.
To my surprise, as evening settled over Mac’Hliah, the young woman who had been with Lo came out to the balcony. Seeing me, she smiled and quickened her step until she stood at the other end of the table. She bowed.
Her beauty was even more astonishing close up.
“You are the Svara Idyah, Smeesa?” she asked.
I nodded and tugged on the edge of my head scarf.
“May I sit with you?”
Stunned, I nodded again.
She pulled out a chair—her fingers smooth and slender—and sat. She had hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes.
“My name is Faida,” she said, “from Djmal, near Kittat, where you visited.”
“Djmal,” I repeated, and cleared my dry throat. “That’s where Lo—the captain of the guard—is from.” Family, then? I prayed she was one of Lo’s many siblings, or perhaps a cousin. Could the older woman be his aunt?
She lit up. “Yes! Yes, you know it!”
I nodded and fought the urge to chew on my lip.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said. I saw gooseflesh spread across her neck from my chill, but she didn’t flinch away. “For coming last spring and bringing us water. My father is a merchant, and my brothers are farmers. It has helped us such a great deal. Our lands are green again because of you.” She bowed her head once more. “I would have brought a gift had I known you’d be here. Please accept my utmost gratitude in its stead.”
I couldn’t believe her words. Only Imad had ever thanked me in such a manner. “I . . . I didn’t . . .” Swallowing, I settled on, “You’re welcome.”
She smiled at me. “I am glad to have met you, Smeesa. Lo has spoken well of you. Please do not hesitate to return to our lands. You are a blessing to Zareed.”
Stuttering, I thanked her again for her kind words, and she retreated back to the throne room, bowing in my direction once more before leaving the balcony.
I shivered and rubbed my arms to smooth the icy pinpricks on my skin. Had Lo been telling these women about me? Had Faida asked? I could not feel warm, but Faida’s words had softened me. The thought that I’d helped people, made an actual difference in th
eir lives, soothed me as any warm drink should. I felt a heaviness leave my shoulders—it had settled so gradually that I hadn’t noticed its weight.
A bitter wind pressed against the draperies and crept onto the balcony. Sticking my tongue between my teeth so they wouldn’t chatter, I stood from my chair and walked past the line of braziers to the throne room, slipping past the dancers relatively unnoticed. I hoped moving around would calm the hovering winter, and perhaps I would not need to leave so early. I also wanted to see Lo one more time, if possible.
I saw Eyan on the stairs and waved, then took the steps down to the main room, where a few guests stood clustered in conversation. I caught sight of Aamina out of the corner of my eye, carrying an empty pitcher toward what I assumed were the kitchens. Quickening my pace, I called out to her.
“Smeesa!” she exclaimed, eyeing me from head to toe. “What a beautiful dress! How my daughter would be jealous of such a thing!”
“Thank you. Kitora made it, but if it fits your daughter, it’s hers. I will have no need of it past tonight.”
She gasped dramatically. “No, it is yours!”
“Then I will slip it into your bag on your next visit,” I said, laughing. “You look lovely,” I added, and she did, draped in dark pinks with small beads wound through her braid.
“I look old,” she joked. “Are you leaving?”
“Walking, for now. This is all so wonderful, but the snow . . .”
Aamina nodded. “A little too chilly in the kitchens for me. But you must stay for dessert. We are having snow cream.”
I grinned and massaged a cold knot in my shoulder. “Aamina, I met a woman from Djmal upstairs. Lo’s village—”
“Faida?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved that she knew of whom I spoke. “She was very kind to me . . . I was wondering if you knew anything about her.”
But deep down, I knew I didn’t ask because she had been kind to me. A tendril of fear had begun to worm itself around my diaphragm, and I sought the assurance that would squelch it.
“She is the most beautiful child I have ever seen,” Aamina said with a nod. “Lo is lucky to have her, though I don’t know why they’ve waited so long.”
Her words made my heart tremor. “What do you mean?”
Another servant passed, and Aamina waved with her free hand. “She is the captain’s betrothed.”
My bones splintered within me, and I pressed a hand to the wall to hold myself steady. The worm grew into a snake. Breathless, I asked, “They’re . . . engaged?”
“It is different in the Northlands, isn’t it?” Aamina asked, waving to someone behind me. “Yes, yes, from a very young age. It’s customary for marriages to be arranged between the young. Her family is well off, and he is highly esteemed. A good match.”
How much effort it took to keep my face expressionless as her words passed over me, colder than winter’s heart.
“I think she leaves in the morning,” Aamina said.
I nodded numbly. “Th-Thank you,” I managed, though it was little louder than a whisper. Forcing a smile, I said, “I need to take a walk before it gets too cold.”
Aamina nodded and hurried down the hall to refill her pitcher.
I took a few steps before pressing a hunched shoulder against the wall, the banquet’s music fading from my ears. My heart beat slow and cold, and my body shivered uncontrollably.
Betrothed.
What had I expected? That my life in Zareed would go on unchanged? That Lo would continue to discuss books with me into his old age? That he could ever love me, a woman whom he could never touch? I was a child cursed for her cold heart, a woman who flirted with death at every turn. Lo was captain of the prince’s guard. And Faida . . . Faida was beautiful and kind and selfless. Everything I was not.
A good match, Aamina had said, and they were. Faida and Lo. My name hadn’t made the list.
I took several deep breaths and forced my clenched hands to relax, but I could not reason myself from my stupor. The mind and heart are two separate entities, and one cannot control the other—Dideh Bab had said so much in The Fool’s Last Song. I took in a shuddering breath and pushed myself off the wall. I couldn’t stay for the rest of the celebration, not now. I could barely stand.
Dazed, I started for the palace doors, but before I reached them I heard someone call out my name.
Turning, I saw Faida on the stairs, her skirts dancing about her small feet as she hurried toward me. I saw her and admired her and hated her. She stopped a pace short and took a second to catch her breath.
“Are you leaving already?” she asked, her red lips smiling. “I went to find you again to introduce you to my mother—surely you will stay a little longer?”
I stared at her for a moment, wishing I could be her, just for this night, warm and beautiful, with Lo at my right arm.
The sincerity of her smile shamed me.
Yet I managed to return it. Clasping my gloved hands together, I bowed to her and said, “Thank you for your kindness to me; it has lifted my spirits.” Don’t cry. I couldn’t cry now.
I met her eyes. “I wish you the most happiness in your upcoming marriage.”
That surprised her, but she smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
After bowing once more, I stepped through the doors and out into my storm, not bothering to find Leikah. The sun had begun its western descent, casting gold and red shadows over the lively city. A guard called out to me, but I did not slow. I was content to make the trip home on my own two legs. I passed dancers and painters and clouds of delicious scents from food vendors. Staring at the ground, ignoring any who took notice of me, I changed direction only once when I heard the bark of a dog. My feet kicked up snow, and then sand, my cloud slowly tracing my path northward.
And despite the way my heart ached so terribly I could barely move one foot in front of the other, despite the overwhelming sadness that made me cry before I could reach the city’s border, I truly meant every word I had said to Faida. I barely knew her, yet I wanted her to be happy. No, not her. I wished that for Lo. I wished him every grace life could offer, and I would do anything to give it to him.
Oh, how I loved him.
CHAPTER 25
After four years, I finally grasped the entirety of Mordan’s curse.
The curse’s physical effects were obvious, of course. Every day, hour, and second of my life would be spent encased in an unbearable chill that no human—no living thing—should be able to endure. The kind of cold that freezes to the bones, to the spirit itself. The cold that stills the heart and crystallizes the blood. The kind of cold that even fire fears, that can turn a woman to glass.
But only now did I understand the implications. Just as I had broken Mordan’s heart, so would my heart be broken, for I could not so much as touch a man without hurting him. No matter where I went or who I met, conversation would be the uttermost limit of intimacy I could hope to achieve with another human being, and only then if they were willing to brave the eternal cold of my presence.
In a way I was glad it had taken me so long to internalize the cost of the curse, for if I had understood the deeper implications of the curse from the beginning, I might never have survived my first year. If my inner darkness hadn’t consumed me, Death would have.
Lying on my bed in the sanctuary of my cavern, the fire burning and the lamp turned low, I did not face my darkness, for truly I had banished it from me, and even with a broken heart, my will was forever strong enough to keep it at bay. At first I felt angry with the bid fate had made for me, angry at the injustice of it all. Then shame swept over me for thinking such selfish thoughts. Finally came clarity, and with clarity came a sorrow that spun itself like wool around me. I knew I could not have Lo—I could never have Lo—and any thought or action to the contrary would only bring him and Faida pain. Who was I to jeopardize their happiness? I forced myself to relinquish him, prying free one finger at a time, until a cold, dead ache rested solidly in my core. The
kind of ache that only time can heal.
I wept over my fire throughout the night to keep the tears from clinging to my eyelashes and cheeks; then I carefully folded Kitora’s beautiful dress and placed it with my others, at the bottom of the drawer. All my tears spent, I curled up, shivering, on my bed, too blank-minded to read, alone with only my thoughts and the new heaviness that had pressed into my body.
Oh, how often I had played the part of the fool, but I learned from it every time. This new pain would ultimately help me grow stronger; I knew that. But it ached so terribly, and I felt so very, very cold.
In the morning I ate a breakfast of dates and flatbread and selected some yarn to weave on my small loom, for I had not yet received a larger one. But my hands shook terribly, and I could not bring myself to focus on the task, so I lay down. If I could not sleep, at least I could rest, though the winter chill pulled and wrenched the muscles in my body, my legs especially. The walk from the palace had been a long one.
I don’t know when I started humming, but I did, working through the tunes I’d heard at the Nameday Festival as I ran my gloved fingers over the patterns in my blanket, the one that depicted my storm cloud and a flock of birds over the Finger Mountains. I hummed one song after another, improvising the parts I had forgotten. I sensed Sadriel when he appeared at the far end of my cave, but I did not look up. I only hummed and traced the lines of my blanket, one by one.
“You are intriguing, love,” he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs, studying me.
I traced a black bird and smiled, though I’m not sure it showed on my lips. “Thank you.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“No,” I said, a little hoarse. “Thank you for sparing the boy in the village.”
Sadriel frowned. Crossing one leg over the other, he said, “Mercy is not in my domain, Smitha. A man either dies or he does not. My only role is as the gatekeeper.”
“I thought so,” I said, running my fingers over another bird’s wings. “When I chased you into the city, that’s what I thought.”
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