by Jessica Daw
I felt, rather than heard, his breath catch, and for the briefest, most glorious moment, he kissed me back.
Then he yelped and sat up quickly, his head colliding hard with mine.
“Ow!” I shouted. “What was that for?”
“You lit me on fire, again!” He was rubbing his chest, and I saw my candle, cooling where he’d hit it away, which was the only thing that distracted me from watching his face, barely visible in the starlight, when he spoke, examining the subtle play of emotions—and not-so-subtle anger—that was all like my isbjørn but so different, on that man’s face. I didn’t know his name.
“Oops.” I’d forgotten I was holding the candle. There was a small puddle of wax on his shirt. I was entranced by him and couldn’t focus on anything but that.
He sucked in a breath, clutching his arm.
“Did I really burn you?” I asked, confused and upset that this was what happened right after I’d kissed him. Didn’t he have anything to say about that?
He swore, and the glowy part of me drank in his voice, smoother than my isbjørn’s but still with some rumble to it, deep and perfect. The other part of me was more confused.
“Did I burn your arm?”
“No,” he said, then to make sure the word wasn’t lonely accompanied it with a few more curse words. My isbjørn wasn’t always the tidiest of speakers, but he usually avoiding swearing. He looked towards the window, his gray eyes the same as they’d always been, every bit as beautiful. How had I never noticed how beautiful they were? More swearing after he looked at the window.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
His hand tightened on his arm, pain written in his face. “Why didn’t you wait, Lena?”
“Wait?” I repeated, but I knew what he meant.
“One week.” His eyes darted towards the window, and he swore again. “I have no time. We’re in Tryllejor, far north. You’ll return home, your Binding will take you back. Your parents will explain. Or you can speak with my brother, Eirik Bjørnes, perhaps he could offer a better explanation.”
“I don’t want to go home, I want to stay here with you. I love you.” Saying the words made me feel magnificent. The words were magnificent, and my heart sang.
Looking at me, his face froze for a moment, then pain mounted in his eyes again.
“You really must be burned,” I said, hands fluttering towards him to see what was the matter.
“No!” he shouted before my fingers touched him.
It was my turn to freeze. “What? What am I doing wrong?” The window. I followed his gaze this time, and saw predawn gray. The same shade as his eyes. “Oh. It’s almost morning.”
“As soon as the sun rises, I will be gone.” His voice was flat, expression equally so. No, that wasn’t true—pain still burned in his eyes.
“Where are you going?”
“Sikuvok.” He said the word like another curse.
I shivered involuntarily. Espen had died in Sikuvok, the semi-legendary land East of the Sun and West of the Moon. “Must you go so far away?”
“I must. Eirik will explain, speak with him, I can’t have more than a minute or two left.”
“Let me come with you!” I longed to touch him, but didn’t want to make him angry or make his pain worse.
He shook his head. “You can’t.” He sighed heavily, another sound that I’d heard a hundred times but was different, from his human chest. “You’ll go home. It’ll be alright for you, you’ll be the best queen Vansland has ever seen.”
My head shook of its own accord. Then something clicked. “Your brother is Eirik Bjørnes?” I asked the question thoughtlessly, and my Binding began to burn. It began to sink into my bones that something had gone very, very wrong.
His smile was so humor-free it hurt to look at. “I am Kristian Bjørnes. Your one-time suitor, though you never asked my name. You said my beard would be excellent for hunting ducks.”
A little gasp escaped me. “You were there?”
He—Kristian—growled in pain, and I thought he’d cut off circulation to his arm with how tight his hand gripped it. “My Binding. I’ll be gone.” Without warning he stood and pulled me to him in a fierce hug, and before I could even begin to process that, he kissed me even more fiercely, making my heart turn into a big firework show in my chest.
Abruptly, he let go. I nearly fell over, my eyes opening slowly, the kiss casting a lingering spell on me.
Once my eyes opened, I screamed.
He was gone.
Kristian was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lena
I had only seconds to comprehend that he was gone before my Binding was on fire, crushing my arm, spreading to my whole body, and the world was dark and swirling and I was blind and deaf and I had never been so miserable in my life, I had never felt so much pain, I couldn’t breathe I was dying dying dying—
Then suddenly, I was standing in my room in the country estate. It all looked so quiet and still, so normal. Bright sunlight shone through the window, lighting the blond wood of the four-poster bed and the clean red brocade curtains surrounding it. My pain was gone.
What had just happened? What had I done?
Bursting through my door, feeling mad, I shouted as loud as I could, “KRISTIAN!!” The word echoed, the estate silent. I raced outside, I couldn’t stay there. The whole world was white and gray and desolate.
I didn’t even have the chance to try to find footprints showing where he’d gone, any way to trace him. It was like the last year hadn’t happened, like I’d stayed on the country estate the whole time, imagined up the whole thing to keep from going insane here, this place I couldn’t bear. All I wanted was Kristian. All I knew was that he was gone and I could not find him.
My knees refused to support my weight when I finally understood, mind and heart and soul and body, that he was gone. Kristian. My isbjørn. I loved him. He was gone. I sat on the earth in front of the country estate and learned what heartbreak felt like. It was as if those beautiful feelings I’d felt so recently were proving that they could be as painful as they had been blissful, when the one I loved was gone and I did not know where.
I remembered Dagmar, a hundred lifetimes ago, so confident that I’d find him again. Some absurd corner of me wanted to laugh at that. I had lost him more thoroughly than I’d thought was possible, and I understood nothing.
From somewhere inside me, a place I’d never known existed, there was resistance to that thought. Something steely and stubborn that would not accept that.
Once again, my body moved before my mind could stop reeling. That hadn’t gone so well last time, taking the candle and finding Kristian, but this time, my feet moved me to the stable. Eirik Bjørnes, king of Tryllejor. Kristian had said he could answer questions. Besides which, Tryllejor was further north, closer to Sikuvok, if not by much—nothing was close to Sikuvok.
I nearly burst into tears when I saw Rune standing in his stable, looking nervous, but he pricked his ears when he saw me. It was a miracle that the Binding had extended to his return to the estate too, but I did not quite have room in me to be grateful. “Hello, friend.” My voice was hoarse from all the shouting I’d done. North. Eirik Bjørnes. It was all I had. “Ready for a ride?”
I had Rune saddled and ready to go before I realized I was wearing my night things and hadn’t eaten for well over twenty-four hours. The thought of my isbjørn’s comments at that, the way he’d laugh, almost made me cry. I suspected I was not done crying yet, but fought the tears back then, dressing as warmly as I could, longing for the clothes left behind in the castle, and bringing any magic basics I could find, a few gems for emergency spells and a book of traveling spells I found in the library, though I nearly died with impatience with how long that one took. I also decided it would be wise to find at least a little food to bring.
Then we were off.
A thousand things tore at my calm. Everything Kristian had said, the sound of his voice, his face,
his disappearance, my decisions, my foolishness. Nothing around me captured my interest even passingly. All I could do was make sure Rune was moving north and cantering as fast as he could without hurting himself.
Unsurprisingly, I was soon lost and confused. Cursing myself as I stared at a lake I’d never seen before, I swung down from Rune, pacing like a caged thing. The sun was lowering in the sky, to the left of the path we’d been taking. That was good.
How, I wondered, did I intend on sleeping that night? Stretched out on the rocky shores of the lake? No, I wouldn’t sleep yet. I dug through my bag and found the book of spells I’d taken, flipping through it so quickly I gathered nothing.
Growling at myself, I slowed down and found a spell for finding things. It warned that it would not work for people, but it seemed like it would work for cities. Sterkhjem.
Simple enough, requiring a few ingredients that apparently came together to form a sort of compass that would unfailingly point you in the direction you needed to go. While I tried to find a tree that was perfectly vertically straight, I felt madness picking at my edges, trying to unravel me. Only by keeping in constant motion could I evade it.
I found a suitable tree, stole the straightest branch, engraved it with the word Sterkhjem, chanting the required words and my own additional words as I rubbed it with dirt, to keep it anchored, carefully keeping it dry. I wasn’t sure I’d find cherry bark, but as I dragged Rune around the forest, I crowed and leapt forward, tearing the bark off carelessly and ripping my fingernails. They’d gotten long while I was staying at home, doing little real work. I grimly savored the pain. My hands would have to give a lot more before I found Kristian.
Chanting on, voice sing-song, I pressed the cherry bark against my straight stick until the cherry bark absorbed into the stick, making it shudder and turn. North. “Good stick,” I said with a smile that was more of a baring of teeth, animalistic and not at all indicative of happiness.
Rune obediently carried me until I finally let him stop. By then it was too dark for me to make out anything but the vague shadow of my hand in front of my face. Snapping a twig off a tree, I whispered the end on fire. Pulling the saddle off Rune, I flipped it over and used the underside as a sort of bed. I didn’t think about what spending the night soaking in snow would do to the leather.
Exhaustion overtook me, but my mind refused to rest, broken images of Kristian and our castle and dying in the cold haunting my dreams.
Snow was falling lightly, everything in shades of pale gray, when I stood. Head pounding, I saddled Rune and we set off. I only stopped to let Rune forage for food, though I’d pace so impatiently he never ate much, too affected by my anxiety.
The snow kept falling, the flakes becoming thicker, blinding us. I could only hope my stick of a direction spell was working, pointing us towards Sterkhjem and King Eirik Bjørnes. It seemed to adjust itself in my palm when I held it out from time to time.
I began passing cottages and farms late in the afternoon. Snow had frozen in my hair, melting down my back to freeze in the fabric of my skirt. The mental barriers I’d tried to build were cracking, and all I could do was hope with all the ferocity in me that Eirik would have some very good answers for me. It didn’t help much.
The sun was setting on that miserable day when I reached Sterkhjem. I’d never visited the capital of Tryllejor before, but I knew enough to know that there were few large cities. I assumed my directions stick had led me true and rode in.
Sterkhjem sprawled on the banks of the frigid sea, coated in snow that fell lightly from the dark gray evening sky. Lanterns glowed in the approaching darkness, making the city look a safe-haven from the cold.
“Well, my friend. Do you suppose we can find one king in this city?” I whispered to Rune. He nickered in response. “Naturally. It will be easy.”
I clutched his reins tighter in my stiff gloved hands and rode forward.
Night had fallen beyond a doubt when I reached the palace. It was more of a fortress, not particularly beautiful but I instantly loved it. It was right next to the sea, rows of windows overlooking the waters. It had an outer wall of pale red brick, and the building itself matched, large and boxy and unpretentious.
I found a gate. As I approached it, a guard called, “Who goes there?”
“Princess Helena of Vansland!” I called back in my most regal voice. “I am here by order of Prince Kristian of Tryllejor to visit his brother the king!” My Trylle wasn’t perfect, but as Tryllejor and Vansland had been allies for many years, I knew enough. It occurred to me then that Kristian’s native tongue was Trylle. I’d suspected a few times that Vansen wasn’t his first language, but by the time I could sort through his growling to understand him better, I wasn’t particularly concerned about his accent.
A head appeared, staring through a previously covered window in the gate. The young guard raised his eyebrows. True, my appearance right then was not that of a genteel woman, done up in layers and riding a horse alone. But Rune was a fine-bred horse, and I was a princess, whether I looked it or not. I sat up straighter, daring him to refuse me.
I should have thanked Dagmar for the thousands of times she’d corrected my posture. “You may enter!”
The gate swung open silently. Urging Rune forward, I entered. The guard directed me to the stables, where I was met by a servant who kindly but firmly insisted on brushing Rune down himself. I decided it was probably for the best that I hadn’t won that argument, hurrying inside. I would get answers. I would finally get answers.
I was led into a courtyard, as unpretentious as the rest of the fortress, a clock tower on the far side. We went straight to the tower, which proved to be a main entryway. Once inside, a broad-faced man with a superbly calm demeanor asked, “Would my lady prefer to change or go straight to conference with Lady Magdalena?”
Mind entirely blank, I repeated, “Lady Magdalena?”
“His Majesty King Eirik is in Nyput, to concluded peace terms with the king and help with post-war reconstruction. Lady Magdalena has been given charge of many daily tasks in the castle.”
Of course. Stupid, stupid Lena! Tryllejor had just won a war against Nyput. Eirik Bjørnes had been with Father—in a flash of unrelated inspiration, I realized that my current—no, former (the word was edged like a sword) situation with the isbjørn had probably been inspired by Father and Eirik’s association during the war. Of course Eirik Bjørnes was not in Sterkhjem.
My pause was too long, but the man’s face changed not one iota. “Will she see me now?” I asked.
“She is very curious, but has agreed to wait if you wish to change.”
Curious. She was curious. “Take me to—who, again?” My head was spinning too fast. What if this lady didn’t know about Kristian’s situation? If she was just in charge of daily tasks in the castle, why would she know?
“Lady Magdalena.”
“Lady Magdalena. Take me to her, please.”
I was taken to a comfortably small room, lined with bookcases full of well-worn books, a small window on one wall and an equally small fireplace on the other. Most of the room was taken up with a large oak desk, battered from years of use. A few plain wooden chairs were tucked under one side and in the corners, and a worn velvet chair was occupied by a woman.
Lady Magdalena was not at all what I’d expected. She was young, likely around my age, though she was so queenly I curtsied without even thinking. Everything was elegant about her—from her chestnut brown hair pulled into a simple looped braid at the back of her head, to her flawless ivory skin, to her lacelike golden earrings, to her painting-like classical features.
Yet her eyes were plain brown and bright. “Princess Helena Nordskov. I ever so hoped I would have the pleasure. Please sit.”
Feeling like the biggest country bumpkin in the world, I obeyed.
“I hate to say the same thing as everyone else, I really do, but I cannot help remarking that you are precisely every bit as beautiful as the rumors make you out
to be, and that without washing up after your journey.” She studied me without a hint of shame. Despite my usual irritation at the comment about my appearance, I found myself reluctantly charmed by this odd lady who may or may not have answers for me.
Answers. “I came because I have questions about Kristian. Can you answer them?”
She smiled. “Direct—also in line with what I’ve heard. You were all Kristian could talk about the past few weeks.”
“He was here?” I asked, feeling like I’d been splashed with cold water.
“Briefly. Eirik was here, equally briefly—he tries to come back at least once a year, as we don’t have a Council, as your Vansland does, and I am not exactly what you could call a rightful ruler. Besides, he wanted to spend time with his brother. They’ve been separated for two years, you know.” She cocked her head. “It’s strange. I thought Kristian was like me—determined never to settle, or at least for a great many years, but he seemed rather set on you.”
My heart felt like it was going to burst. “Did he say so?”
“No,” Magdalena said thoughtfully. “But I am very good at reading people, especially the Bjørnes brothers. He didn’t say anything to you?”
Tears stung my eyes so abruptly I almost could not hold them in. “No. We . . . we only had a few moments before he disappeared. I was so confused . . . all he told me was that he was leaving to Sikuvok.”
Magdalena’s face suddenly settled into such sober lines that my initial reaction seemed appropriate again. “I’ll tell you right now that I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you know.” I had no energy to play political games, no energy for politeness. My hands, still in their gloves, gripped the edges of the chair I sat in. All I had energy for was anxiety, painfully bright inside me. Shame filled me, sitting there, opposite this strange woman. Dread as well. I was afraid to learn the truth. But I needed to know.
