Cross the Silver Moon

by Jessica Daw

  Warm arms around me shocked me away from that thought train, which was good. I couldn’t think about that now. Father’s scent was familiar as everything else here. “I’m glad you’re home, Lena.” I really was taller than I’d been—I almost looked straight in his eyes, instead of at his chin.

  “I want to please you,” I said, since it wouldn’t be precisely true if I said I was glad to be home too.

  He released me, and ruffled my hair, then turned to take Mother’s arm. Her hands wrapped around the crook of his elbow automatically, not a thought to it. “It won’t be a simple task to win back your title,” Father said.

  “Aleksander,” Mother protested, placing her free hand on his. “She’s tired.”

  He took her free hand in his, stilling it and her protest. “She has to know.” Turning his attention back to me, he explained. “Lord August is very well-liked among our allies and those we want to be our allies, especially Nyput. His wedding is an enormous advantage for him and the kingdom. He is a gifted war-mage and has a knack for learning quickly by observation alone. His manners are improved almost beyond belief, and he’s handsome on top of it. You have to not only convince us, but the kingdom and all of Luspe, that you are a better option than that. That is the task in front of you, and if you do not like it, you are free.”

  Free. The word echoed in my chest. Free to fade into nothing but a forgotten side note in history. The failure daughter of King Aleksander and Queen Ester who never amounted to much, and certainly never made the world better.

  No. “I am aware of all that, but I thank you for the reminder. I will not forget my task.”

  Father’s dark eyes measured me, then he nodded. “That pleases me very much, Lena. Good night.” He led Mother away from me, disappearing into the night-drenched hallway.

  My feet knew my way back to my room, though there was enough light to find my way. The palace was never entirely dark. Some architectural spell I was not at all advanced enough to work out.

  By the time I reached my room, my exhaustion, emotional and physical and mental, hit me like a literal wall. I dropped my bag to the floor and collapsed face-first into bed, not even removing my boots.

  Sleep had barely claimed me when it was torn away, or so it felt. The morning light streaming through my lilac curtains, blinding. I moaned and rolled onto my stomach, pulling a pillow over my head.

  “That’s the only greeting I get, after all this time?”

  It took me half a second to process that voice. Exhaustion was shoved to the back of my consciousness by sheer joy. I tossed the pillow off my head, leapt up, grabbed one of the maple posts of my bed while I waited for black to clear from my vision, and was attacked by a short hurricane of warm, solid flesh. “I was so sure every day that the king or queen would announce that you’d been eaten by that big awful isbjørn!”

  I laughed, hugging Dagmar back. My maid, nurse, governess, tutor, lecturer, the woman who’d spent ten times as many hours with me as my actual mother. For once, the familiarity was sweet and warm as a favorite old blanket, found again. “I missed you,” I said, squeezing her.

  “I did too, or I never would have let you sleep so long. Still wouldn’t have, if I’d known you were wearing those awful boots! And what on earth do you have on under your skirt?” She pulled away and, surprising me even though it was entirely in character, lifted my skirt to see. “You’re wearing fisherman clothes?!”

  “Yes, and I made them myself. Well, mostly—the isbjørn helped. And he’s only awful sometimes.”

  Dagmar laughed, her whole face smiling. If I thought my parents had wrinkles, she had whole valleys gathered on her face. “If he lived that long with you and didn’t eat you, he must be a saint!”

  I made an indignant noise. “You said you missed me!”

  “That doesn’t mean I forgot who you are,” she replied smartly. “Now, let’s get you dressed. There are a thousand things that need to be done today!” I laughed, because Dagmar always insisted there were a thousand things to do. But Father’s speech last night about August and my own plans made me think that, likely, there were many more than a thousand things to do.

  “First, Dagmar, I have to be stunning today.”

  Dagmar grunted a laugh that reminded me of my isbjørn, though it was distinctly Dagmar. “You are stunning every day, child.”

  “I want to be the most fashionable, sleek, refined lady out there. I know that tongues have been wagging while I’ve been gone, and I want to show everyone that I am not afraid of them and that I will not be cowed.”

  “Sit.” I sat in front of my vanity, and Dagmar smiled from above me, her head barely higher than mine even though I sat. “You learned a lot with that isbjørn, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  When Dagmar finished, I was exactly what I’d hoped to be, and better. I’d spent very little time at the castle looking at myself. There was one dirty mirror in my room that I’d cleaned but let vines grow over most of it, and I usually only looked at it to make sure my hair wasn’t doing an impression of a haystack.

  The dress Dagmar put me in was like wine, running over me in dark red rivulets, almost shocking but it kept the balance and I looked older, my face more defined. My usually hazel eyes were black as ink, surrounded by the subtle makeup Dagmar applied, enormous in my pale face. Red-painted lips ascertained that I looked neither young nor innocent. My hair offset the look a little, looped almost whimsically over itself in a great lump on the back of my head, gleaming gold. I felt every bit the warrior, walking into battle.

  Dagmar wore a slightly worried look, but it poorly covered her satisfaction. “It might be too much.”

  “No,” I insisted. “Everyone knows what I did. Everyone knows why I was gone. I have to wear it, and wear it to my advantage.” That was something else the isbjørn had said.

  The worry in her warm brown eyes turned to . . . I couldn’t quite call it admiration, but it was akin to that. “Do exactly that. My lady.”

  On impulse, I stood and hugged her. “Thank you, you are magnificent.”

  “Now you’re flattering me. Go before the sun sets and I did all this work for nothing.”

  I laughed. “Thank you,” I repeated, and left.

  To say I had a plan wouldn’t be strictly true. The overall plan of astonishing everyone and proving how capable I was, etc.? Yes. An immediate plan about, for example, where I was going at the moment? Not so much.

  On a whim, I decided to go out calling. I informed a servant, telling him to pass the message on to Mother. I knew, to be completely socially correct, I should bring an escort or a maid or somebody, but my goal wasn’t to prove how socially correct I was. It was to prove what a great ruler I would be, and sometimes the greatest rulers broke a few rules.

  I learned from the same servant I passed the message to that Princess Yulia of Nyput was staying at the grandest hotel in Edeleste.

  Once at the hotel, I learned that the King of Nyput was also staying there, but he was out ice fishing with August that day. Yulia was in, as she rarely left her rooms before the day was much closer to over.

  On the path to the hotel, I’d walked confidently, and had briefly talked with a few vaguely familiar faces, telling them when they asked where I’d been that I’d been training with a very powerful magician.

  There were so many layers of people here. After the servant who stopped me when I entered the hotel, another had to be spoken with to find out which room Yulia was staying in, and then another had to be sent ahead and ask if she was opposed to me visiting, and then another, dressed in bright Nyputian robes, finally returned and ushered me in.

  Like the rest of the hotel, the suite of rooms was lavish in the extreme. Luxuriant champagne carpet, rich burgundy wallpaper, plush dove furniture. An exuberant fire burned in the marble fireplace, large enough for my isbjørn to turn around in.

  Yulia was a poor match for the room. Not that she lacked beauty in the least, but she was ethereal, a will-o’-the
-wisp, and the room was heavy and clumsy compared to her. Her blond hair floated in thin wisps around her, her skin so pale it was almost transparent, her eyes the perfect delicate blue of a robin’s egg, her dress a shimmering diaphanous cloud of sunrise-soft pink.

  She stood and curtsied, the movement reminiscent of floating bits of spring cotton. “Princess Helena, I am so pleased to meet you.” Her accent was lovely, light and sweet as her voice.

  Swallowing embarrassment at my blood dress and coal eyes, I curtsied back. “The pleasure is mine. I am honored to meet the woman who has captured August’s heart.”

  Her blush was so pretty and dainty I was heartily ashamed for my lie, double lie—I was not honored and I thought August’s heart had been captured by me. And I’d rejected him to his face. Yulia seemed like she would faint if she knew I’d done that. Though I wasn’t certain where his heart lay now, I doubted he loved her. “It is he who has captured my heart.”

  “Lucky man.”

  “Please, sit.” She perched on the edge of one of the big fat stuffed armchairs, and I could see no evidence that she dented the cushion.

  I sat. I definitely dented the cushion. “How did you meet Lord August?”

  She smiled the sweetest shy smile I’d ever seen. “He’s come to Nyput four times in the past seven years, on diplomatic trips. We were always good friends, but I never hoped he could possibly want to marry me, until he came again, almost a year ago. He said he’d finally realized he’d been in love with me all along. Me! Can you believe it? Lord August, in love with me, and he came all the way to Nyput to tell me!”

  Something stirred in the pit of my stomach, more sour than pity. I wanted to believe that August loved this delicate glass figurine of a girl. “How romantic,” I said quietly.

  “Oh yes!” She went on to enthusiastically tell me every word August had ever told her. I didn’t listen very attentively to words that did not sound in the least like they’d come from August’s lips, caught with indecision. What could I do to help Yulia? And what right did I have to decide if August would make her a good husband or not? She had decided he would, and her father approved.

  As soon as I could do so gracefully, I interrupted. “It’s been very interesting to meet you, Princess Yulia. Again, my congratulations.” I stood.

  She stood, too, and came forth and hugged me, her head barely coming to my shoulder. “I wanted so much to meet you. August told me all about you.”

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  Yulia pulled away, blue eyes wide and bright. “He said that half of Luspe was in love with you because you are so beautiful. I am now only surprised that all of Luspe is not in love with you. You know,” she said conspiratorially, “I think August is at least half in love with you himself.”

  Why she was smiling about that was beyond me. I smiled stiffly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  She shrugged, her smile knowing. “I know my fiancé better than he thinks.”

  Interesting. “What else did he say about me?”

  Waving a china hand dismissively, she said, “He talked about your method for rejecting suitors. Quite exciting, if you ask me. I would never dare, but sometimes I wished to throw fire in the faces of ugly old men too!”

  Despite my discomfort, I laughed. The idea of this Nyputian porcelain doll doing anything even hinting of violence was absurd.

  “I think Vansland terribly dull to try to cut you off for it. I know August hopes to be king—you don’t mind me saying, do you?” She looked at me anxiously for approval. I shrugged. “But I hope we can return to Nyput. Father would be happy, I think.”

  However strange, I realized Yulia was my ally. Not that I could trust her, with how star-struck she was about August, but I could know that not everyone was waiting for me to fail.

  “Thank you,” I said, the words not exactly right but I didn’t know what words would be right and so they would suffice. “I have to go now.”

  “Of course.” She took my hands and squeezed them.

  “Will you leave after the wedding?” I asked. “What day, exactly, is the wedding on?”

  “November thirtieth. And we’ll leave straightaway, August has planned the most romantic adventure for us.”

  “Oh. I’ll leave straightaway after the wedding too, on December first.”

  “Then we must spend time together while we have it! I am going to be your cousin-in-law, after all. Tonight a duke, I forget of where, is holding a reception in my father’s honor. Would you attend, please?”

  “I would love to,” I said, smiling.

  That evening, I wore my same wine-red dress, though Dagmar enhanced it with a string of black pearls and matching earbobs.

  For a moment, it seemed like the most foolish thing in the world to walk into this ball. There were so many people, all dressed in finery I had to compete with, all with names and stories I had to remember because these were potential allies, people who depended on the crown, people I had to know.

  The moment passed. I steeled myself, repeating my goal like a chant. Impress everyone, and act every inch a queen. I swept into the room, head held high.

  I didn’t need to worry. I heard girls and women alike whispering about me, but that wasn’t anything new. There were enough key players amongst the men to keep me on the dance floor until the first rays of sunlight began peeking through the windows.

  Upon arriving home, I was pleased to realize I was tired, but not exhausted. I allowed myself a few hours of sleep and then went to the state room to pore over law after law about Bindings, where Mother discovered me sometime in the afternoon.

  “Helena? How long have you been here?”

  “Since morning.” My eyes ached, but my mind was starting to grasp patterns and make sense of it all. I was making a valiant effort not to be terrified of Bindings, reading all the unfortunate cases, the reasons for the regulations. Every now and again, I reached up and rubbed my own Binding. It was still. As the Binder, August had the ability to add new conditions, which I’d agreed to, and which put the Binding on hold until these three weeks were over.

  “May I join you?”

  I blinked at Mother. She looked . . . well-rested. “Please.”

  Both of us were on our figurative tiptoes, speaking so politely I thought I’d scream, but we managed to get through a great stack of paper and add a lot of new information to the list of laws Father and Mother had started making.

  Mother ordered the kitchens to bring us dinner in the room, and we worked until it was late. Father did not join us, away on business in the southern parts of the kingdom, where there was a food shortage.

  Finally, Mother sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Tomorrow there are a few social engagements to attend. I think it would do both of us well to sleep now.”

  I nodded, then, abruptly, the words I’d neglected to say for far too many years burst from me. “Mother, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for that day. I wanted a baby brother, I had no idea . . . I never meant to . . .” I was crying, and was shocked to see Mother’s eyes were red-rimmed too.

  “I’m sorry too, Helena.” Her voice was quiet, but I still caught the tremor. I took it as an invitation to continue.

  “I know I’m not the child you wanted, the son you wanted, and I know—I know I’ve disappointed you, but I want to do better, please let me try.” I held tightly to the arms of my chair.

  Hesitantly, Mother lifted one bone-white hand and placed it on mine. “I know I haven’t been . . . what I could have been. I can’t promise I’ll change, but I’ll try to do better.”

  I pried one of my hands up to place on top of hers. “Thank you.”

  She nodded, sniffed, swept a handkerchief under her eyes, cleared her throat, then patted our stacked hands with her remaining free hand. “Well. We really both ought to get some sleep before anyone sees us in such a state.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded, briefly squeezing her hand before letting go and following her out of the room.

  Chapter N
ineteen

  Isbjørn

  No Report

  My brother’s face appeared in my scrying mirror with a faintly annoyed expression. “How many hours have you been alone?”

  “It’s been a week,” I replied irritably.

  “Mm. And yet, I am still going to advise against you showing up in Edeleste.”

  I stood and began pacing, trying not to scowl. “I wouldn’t do anything overt. I am capable of subtlety, you know.” Lena would say something cutting in response to that, some comment about how nothing is more subtle than a giant isbjørn walking around town.

  “What do you plan on doing?”

  “I just . . . want to see her,” I admitted lamely.

  My brother sighed. “And you think it’s a good idea to go tempt yourself? She’ll be gone two more weeks, and then you have one more week. That’s it. Besides which, it’s not as if you’re in love, are you?”

  “I hardly know.” Not entirely honest. I let the words stand.

  “Wait three weeks to find out. Patience, little brother.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What do you know about patience?”

  “More than you think.”

  “If you’re talking about Magda—”

  “Who is none of your business.”

  “And Lena is none of yours.”

  “I wish that were the case.” He sighed again. “Is there a purpose to this conversation or are you truly just lonely?”

  “What am I to do when all this is over? How am I to act?” It was weighing on my mind, circling my thoughts like a vulture. What would happen after the next three weeks?

  “That’ll be your decision.”

  “What would you suggest?” Getting advice out of my brother when I actually wanted it was like pulling teeth.

  “What do you want to do?”

  I growled. “What would you do?”