Cross the Silver Moon

by Jessica Daw

  “I’d go court her, if I wished to. If not, I’d return home and maybe finally learn my duty.”

  “I know my duty,” I shot back at him.

  “Then perform it.”

  “Fine. I’ll come back, tonight. Put me to work for the next two weeks. I’ll go mad if I stay here.” The last bit I said under my breath, but I thought it was likely he caught it anyway.

  “Only come if you really are ready to work.”

  Anything to occupy my vulture-chased thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lena

  “That’s an excellent idea.” Father and I both stared at Flemming and, if he was thinking what I was thinking, wondered if those words could possibly have come from his mouth. Directed at me.

  “It is,” Father agreed, still looking surprised.

  I blinked. “Thank you.” I’d suggested consulting professional Binders on our finalized list of laws and ask if they had any suggestions. It seemed like the obvious thing to do. I was learning more and more, however, that my approach to governing was not entirely typical.

  Father, Mother, the Council, and I had been working together for the past three weeks—not quite three weeks, the wedding was tomorrow and that was the last day and then I could go to the castle and see my isbjørn and I could hardly wait. I felt like I knew my parents better than I’d known them in the first seventeen years of my life. Mother and I weren’t precisely the best of friends, but we were at ease around each other, and I thought given time we could improve our relationship even further.

  Father, I’d learned, for all his seriousness had simple desires and an easy sense of humor accompanied by a loud laugh I’d always loved.

  They also were both surprisingly willing to include me as they worked through important decisions, and I’d spent more time learning the practical aspects of ruling than I had socializing. Which was significant, since I spent five or six hours on a typical day socializing. Mother had tried to guide my decisions about whom to visit and what to say, but I’d chosen my schedule myself and both of us were pleased with the results.

  Not that I was wholeheartedly accepted back into society. There were people who would not speak to me, and there were parties I was not invited to, parties that should have been honored by my presence. That happened less, though, now that I was a little more established. A small part of me, very small, thought that a week away would be damaging and wished I could stay.

  The rest of me breathed in anticipation of my isbjørn, of my castle home, of Rune. I missed the comfort of talking to my isbjørn, how easy it was to say whatever I thought. With the obvious exception of the topics I was Bound not to mention, but that had become so habitual I’d hardly thought about it recently. I knew I could trust him to say what he thought. Really, I knew I could trust him with my life.

  “I’ve been wanting to ask . . .” Father began, looking at his papers.

  “Hmm?” It was getting late, my mind starting to swirl in a way that made the words in front of me blur.

  “I’ve seen you do fashionable little spells these past weeks. I wanted to ask . . .”

  “We want to know how much you’ve improved,” Mother supplied.

  I smiled. My first instinct was to turn our quietly banked fire into a bonfire, but I swallowed it. I had proved I would be a capable ruler without magic. I wanted to talk with the isbjørn, plan how I would prove my magic abilities sound as well. “When I come back from the castle next time I’ll show you.” It was a trick Mother used all the time in social situations that always drove me insane—don’t play all your cards at once, especially when you have an advantage.

  Father didn’t catch on. “Why not show us now?”

  Mother replied instead of me. “We’ll allow her keep her secrets tonight. Now let us all retire, I would hate for the King of Nyput to see us nodding off during his daughter’s wedding.”

  The next morning still dawned far too early. Rather, the sun did not rise until late in the morning, but Dagmar was up and hounding me to be up far too long before I was ready to drag myself out of bed.

  “Every morning your hair is a rats’ nest,” she complained as she furiously took a comb to my hair.

  “That comb is enchanted, and it will take you thirty seconds to undo the knots,” I pointed out. “Besides which, I was exhausted last night but I bathed, according to your commands.”

  “Hmph. You should have braided it.” It was only twenty seconds later that she began styling.

  Even the late-rising sun had made its appearance by the time Dagmar and two other maids were finished with me. “You’d think I was the one getting married,” I muttered as the little blond maid I didn’t know fluffed my dress for the last time.

  “Look at yourself, Princess. You’ll be pleased,” Dagmar said, sounding pleased herself.

  I was certainly a sight to see. My dress was a shimmery shade between gray and green, gathered in bows tied with golden tassels, a great confection of a skirt topped with a gold-embroidered bodice, elbow-length sleeves embellished with gray lace and bows at the hems. My necklace was of gold-lined gray lace, and a gorgeous silver star rested on my chest. The whole outfit glimmered, like water at twilight streaked with sun—the gold bits, in fact, glowed subtly.

  Sitting atop of my head, my hair was a massive pile of enormous golden curls, artfully arranged down my back, one sitting on my shoulder. As if the hair wasn’t tall enough by itself, a feathered cap sat atop, beaded with gray pearls.

  They hadn’t neglected my face, which was powdered white, my eyelashes blackened, my lips reddened. I was fairly certain I’d been endowed with an attraction charm, too, because my eyes seemed a whole lot smokier and flirtatious than they usually did.

  “Heavens,” I said mildly.

  “You’re a picture, my lady,” the little blond maid said in an awed voice.

  I smiled my fakest smile. “Thank you.”

  Dagmar beamed, ignoring my fake smile. “You’ll sweep them all away. You’re all they’ll talk about for the next month!”

  “I’m sure I will be.” Not something I was thrilled about, but not something I could change.

  My tone earned me an annoyed glare from Dagmar. “Hurry, now. You’ll be late.”

  “And I’m the one to blame for that?” I hurried away to escape Dagmar’s swatting comb, laughing as I went.

  The cathedral was on the palace grounds, red brick and lofty, with a tall green spire stretching too far to see the tip. I walked in and sat on my family’s plush bench, right in the front. Mother and Father already sat, waiting, with August, who was done up nearly as fancy as I was, wearing a scarlet coat embroidered with black and gold, brilliantly shined black boots, and hair tied in a black ribbon.

  I had spoken very little to August during my stay. Both of us were very occupied, but I had made concerted efforts to avoid him. I didn’t want to speak with him and reaffirm my suspicions that he would devour porcelain doll Yulia alive. Strange as it was, I suspected my childhood friend had become dangerous, though I had no real reason to believe it. More likely than not, my pride was hurt that he was avoiding me as much as I was avoiding him. Still, something in his eyes had changed, I’d swear to it, and it made me very worried for Yulia’s fate.

  The cathedral was already filled with people dressed in their absolute finest finery. Then the King of Nyput and Yulia walked in, and I was blown away.

  The king had somehow outdone his normal splendor, wearing a scarlet tunic with a silver star over riding boots that outdid August’s for level of brilliance, with an ermine cape falling to his calves, chained to him with an enormous wrought-silver collar. His crown, though, was the real showpiece, as tall as his head, all made of silver set with hundreds of diamonds and a ruby the size of a baby’s fist perched on top.

  Still, Yulia outshone her father. Typically Vansen brides wore white, and they were embellished and embroidered, but nothing like Yulia.

  Her dress was white, satin brocade embroidered with f
antastic designs that shifted and swirled as she walked, gathered with bunches of diamonds. A diamond broach spanned her whole narrow chest, matching her necklace of grape-sized diamonds, and earrings with cherry-sized diamonds. Her fine blond hair was piled on top of her head, even higher than mine, curled and glittering, and topped with a crown with rows and rows of diamonds, the bottom row pea-sized, then a swirling center to emphasize the enormous rose-colored diamond, topped with three more rows of pea-sized diamonds and a final line of grape-sized diamonds, glittering madly.

  The poor thing looked like she was going to fall over, weighed down with so many stones. Still, no one in the hall could have possibly outshone her.

  She walked slowly and carefully, making a noble effort to keep her neck straight. I didn’t hear a word of the ceremony, other than the two yes’s August and Yulia were required to give, worrying the whole time that Yulia’s flute-thin neck would snap and send diamonds flying throughout the whole cathedral. I curled my toes inside my flimsy slippers, trying very hard to keep my feet from tapping impatiently.

  The one interesting bit was a tradition I’d always thought was strange. The groom was allowed to ask the bride to perform a task. It could be any task, but usually the groom would give himself a small cut and the bride closed it. With weddings of nobles, it could be more rigorous, as the nobles were charged to protect those they had jurisdiction over. Long tradition of arranged marriage had led to the test, giving the groom a last chance to prove his bride would be a worthy match and help for him.

  August chose to ask Yulia to change a crystal glass into gold, something that earned a few shocked gasps from the audience. Yulia, however, smiled and performed the task with ease. My neighbor whispered to hers that Yulia was famous for her skill with alchemy. I wondered if I imagined the strange glint in August’s eyes as he looked at the golden glass.

  The ceremony ended in a Binding ceremony, where August and Yulia repeated the traditional sentences of a marriage Binding, the golden words of which wrapped around each’s ring finger, small words everyone knew. Promises to protect, to help, to forgive. After all the reading I’d done with Bindings, I knew that the actual ability of the Binding to enforce promises like forgiveness and help was almost nonexistent, but there was a certain power to the marriage Binding nonetheless.

  Finally it ended, and the new husband and wife led the way to where the festivities would begin.

  Something stirred in the pit of my stomach as I watched August walk away, a married man, and I realized our childhood relationship was gone forever, never to be regained. What could I do, though? I watched him leave, and felt like a thread was unspooling from my heart. The moment he disappeared, the thread snapped free, and I was surprised by the pang in my chest. My best friend for so many years . . . gone.

  I was familiar enough with after-wedding festivities. When the king of a neighboring kingdom had gotten remarried, the festivities had lasted a full week. As I’d been fourteen at the time, I had not appreciated any of it and had spent much of the time running off into the woods with August to see how long we could go without getting caught. Usually my diamond tracker embedded in my arm defeated us before more than a few hours had passed.

  No such luxuries today. Not only was August utterly lost to me, I had to stay, at least until midnight, as tradition stated the cake must be cut and a piece eaten by each guest before the end of the day, but it was bad luck to do it too early.

  People lined up to congratulate August and Yulia. I wanted to ignore the line and just start dancing, as I thought I gained most favor with people by charming them with my wit and dancing skills, but Father and Mother walked with me right to the head of the line.

  I let them walk in front of me, congratulating Yulia and telling her she was charming, and saying how pleased they were with August’s choice in a bride.

  Then it was my turn. Yulia was first. The poor thing looked like she was going to faint under the weight of all her diamonds. Her delicate ears were red where her earrings cut into them, wires reaching over the tops of her ears to support the weight of them. Still, her smile was blinding and her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

  “Congratulations, Yulia.” I didn’t have any other words, except, “Your crown is beautiful.”

  “It is very heavy,” she said, but her smile was only slightly dented by the confession. “But August prepared a draft to prevent headaches because he knew the crown would be heavy. Isn’t he the kindest person alive?” Her eyes were positively starry as she gazed up at her husband.

  Fake smile and nod from me. Why couldn’t I smile? That really was kind. I wouldn’t have thought of that, not with all my own wedding-day nerves to deal with. August had. I breathed out, then turned to my cousin.

  He did seem genuinely happy, his hand on Yulia’s back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile so sincerely, even lighting up his now-usually cold blue eyes, making his hard features a touch softer. “I am so pleased you could come, cousin Helena.” He reached forward his hand that wasn’t occupied supporting his bride. I took it, and he lifted my hand halfway to his lips and then released it.

  It was my pride, I realized. My pride was offended that he’d recovered from his professed love for me so quickly, had so hastily turned around and married. He was only a few months older than me, eighteen. I automatically had assumed he married Yulia so quickly because he didn’t want to risk losing the advantage of being heir apparent, but he seemed to be in love. Maybe I had misjudged my cousin.

  My smile was still mostly false, but some sincerity bolstered it. “You chose well, Lord August.”

  “I could not have chosen better.” I wanted to hit myself when I read self-satisfaction into the words, and possessiveness into the look he gave Yulia. Stop it. “I consider myself very fortunate.”

  Needing to move on, I nodded, gave one more false smile, and left.

  Forcefully, I turned my thoughts to my isbjørn. I would see him tomorrow morning, early. I probably wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, even if there was time. I longed to talk all of this over with him, get his opinion, his advice. Even if he didn’t want to talk, just bask in his presence, savor the sensation of being with my best friend in the world.

  Until then, I would dance.

  The hours crawled, stuffy and dull and full of false smiles.

  Then, to my astonishment, the next person asking me to dance was August himself.

  “Where is your bride?” I asked, trying not to sound reprimanding.

  He smiled easily. How could he smile so easily? “She needed to rest a moment. Besides which, she knows we’re old friends.”

  “Mm.” I hoped he interpreted that noise to mean whatever kind of response he’d hoped for.

  The dance began. “I wished to share an interesting bit of gossip I heard.”

  “You do not usually dabble in gossip, do you?”

  He shook his head, stepping around me in time with the music. “No, but this I could not help but take an interest in, as it regarded an event I was involved in.” He spoke so smoothly now, not my wild friend at all. He was a stranger to me.

  “You have my attention,” I said, doing my best not to sound too interested. However guilty I felt about it, I did not entirely trust August.

  We were separated for a moment by the dance. I caught August’s bland smile through the people that temporarily came between us.

  Brought back together, he said, “It had to do with Espen Kjeldsen. Your former betrothed.”

  My heart stopped, and my feet did too.

  “Keep dancing, Helena, we wouldn’t wish to cause a scene.” His voice was soft, slick. Now I saw it, what I’d missed before, what I couldn’t see while the connection between us blinded me. Hatred glittered in his pale blue eyes. Hatred directed at me.

  “What did you hear?” My mouth was dry. How many months had passed since Espen had last crossed my mind? I realized suddenly that I could not exactly recall his face. Blue eyes and blond hair, handsome, b
ut the precise shape of his nose, his forehead, the expressions he’d wear, eluded me. When had this happened? I loved Espen, I’d loved him more than anyone in the world. He was my anchor, my sun and moon, my last and best reward—at least, he should have been. Old grief rippled in my chest, bitterer for my unfaithfully poor memory.

  “Only that he may not have perished that fateful day.”

  “But you saw it!”

  “Hush. No need to shout. I saw him wounded, and I assumed it was fatal. He had enough life left in him to yell at us to leave him behind, that he could defeat the beast but we had to run to safety.”

  “How could you?” I asked, the words a poisoned whisper.

  Sorrow painted his features. It did not suit him. “I have never been so ashamed of myself. But I obeyed his last wishes. Because he never returned, I, and all others, assumed he was dead. Rumors, though . . .”

  “Has someone seen him?” I knew I sounded desperate, too desperate. I felt like I’d been thrown back in time to that terrible day, when August had brought news of Espen’s death. I could see the look in August’s eyes, daring me to scream at my loss, I could hear the pity in Mother’s voice, I could feel the shock and the paralyzing pain in my chest.

  “As I said, only rumors.”

  “What are the rumors?” I kept dancing only to keep him talking, though I nearly exploded when the dance moved us apart again for ten, maybe fifteen seconds.

  “I’ve heard he learned how to shift, and that is how he has survived.”

  It seemed like something very large was falling down all around me. The ceiling, or perhaps the whole sky. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Espen, learned to shift. Espen, my best friend. My mysterious, unnamed isbjørn, who had insisted on a Binding to prevent me from knowing who he was.

  “I have to go.” The dance was nearly over, but I couldn’t finish it. I began to walk away. How long could my body contain so many maddened thoughts and emotions?

  “But it’s almost time to cut the cake!” August called after me, anger breaking through his façade in those words.