Cross the Silver Moon

by Jessica Daw

  “She acts rather like she’s in love with me now,” he said doubtfully. The balm and music and warmth from Kristian saying he wanted to marry me changed into a dropping heart. Before I could speak, he said, “Although . . . on one occasion, when Espen was mentioned, she reacted . . . strangely.”

  “Don’t you think she’d be as happy marrying him as you? Unlike me—I’d much prefer marrying you.”

  “That’s the whole of your plan?” Kristian asked slowly.

  “Well. Yes.”

  “And if Niviaq doesn’t agree? Qila will not allow such insubordination. You’ll get yourself killed, Lena.”

  I didn’t want to see the fear in his gray eyes, so I scooted closer, wrapping my arms around his enormous chest, placing my ear against his heartbeat. “What else is new? I’ll be fine.”

  His arms went around me, pulling me closer, and I was sure, just then, that everything really would be fine.

  “You wouldn’t really prefer me to marry Espen?” I asked after a moment.

  That earned me a grunt and a shockingly perfect, thrillingly thorough, and very possessive kiss. I smiled against his mouth, pulling back to whisper, “I didn’t think so,” and then kissed him again.

  When I came up for air, I realized I was getting very distracted, and extracted myself from his embrace. “I’m not the first woman you’ve kissed, am I?” I asked. Which was also not very related to the purpose of my supposed audience with the prince, but I was curious.

  He scowled. “I’m not the first man you’ve kissed.”

  That made me blush, though I doubted he could see it in the firelight, especially considering how flushed I already was. “Actually . . . you are.”

  He looked pleased, then distrustful. “You never kissed Espen?”

  “Not once.”

  “He never kissed you?” That seemed more unbelievable to him, which was sweet and flattering.

  I grinned, girlhood pangs and worries melted in the warmth of Kristian admitting he loved me. “I am not irresistible to everyone.”

  “I disagree,” he grumbled, reaching for me.

  I backed away, smiling, feeling impish. “How many women have you kissed?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I laughed and surrendered, throwing my arms around his shoulders and tucking my face into his neck. “No. Just don’t kiss anyone else.”

  “If your harebrained scheme works, I can promise I won’t even be tempted.”

  “Don’t make such a silly promise, there are many beautiful women. But don’t give in to temptation.” I found I enjoyed speaking next to his neck, feeling his pulse speed beneath my lips.

  “I won’t give in, but I won’t be tempted,” he reiterated.

  “I won’t kiss anyone else either,” I promised without prompting from him. “But I don’t promise I won’t be tempted. Some men are better looking even than you, coxcomb.” I was only teasing. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to kiss anyone else, and while I appreciated Kristian’s looks, it was him that made me want to kiss him, and not his face.

  His laugh rumbled in my chest, rewarding me delightfully.

  “Now,” I said, breaking away from him and standing. “You said you had that waxy shirt.”

  He stood, too, surprising me with his height, a head taller than me, and at least twice as wide, and I was no china doll Yulia. Stepping around me, he reached for a box sitting on his vanity.

  “I can’t believe you never had it washed,” I said as he pulled out the nightshirt he’d worn when I spilled wax on him and kissed him the first time.

  Shrugging, he fiddled with it. “I told you I love you, Lena. I didn’t want to lose the only physical reminder I had of you. Should’ve—not fair to Niviaq when I meant to marry her. But I couldn’t quite do it.”

  I shook my head. “Niviaq. I wish she was old and wrinkled.”

  Kristian’s smile broke like the dawn. “You sound jealous.”

  “Did you kiss her?”

  He laughed. “What happened to it doesn’t matter?”

  “I just want to know,” I snapped, but I was still smiling.

  “I never kissed her.”

  “But she kissed you,” I surmised.

  A lock of thick white hair fell onto his forehead as he nodded. I brushed it away, putting my hand on his cheek. “If I have an excuse to throw fire at her, I’ll take it,” I informed him.

  “I hope you’re jesting.”

  “Mm. Mostly.”

  “There isn’t anything I can say to convince you to go home and stay safe?” he asked, sitting back and pulling me next to him.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder. “No, except that you would rather marry Niviaq and mean it.”

  My body rose with his sigh, a gentle wave. “If I said it and didn’t mean it?”

  “No luck.”

  “What will I do if I lose you?”

  I took his hand in mine, rubbing my thumb across his knuckles. “You won’t.”

  After that, we sat still in the warmth of the dying fire. At some point, I fell asleep.

  It felt like only moments had passed when Kristian woke me. “It’s almost morning. Wait by the door—don’t let Niviaq know you spoke to me. I don’t know how much Qila is in Niviaq’s confidence, but it’s best not to take any risks.”

  Blinking and feeling very grumpy at the thought of leaving Kristian, I didn’t reply for a moment.

  Kristian stood, pulling me up with him, kissing me so tenderly that I nearly cried, tired and unsure as I was. Ending the kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine. “It’ll be fine.”

  The trite words trying to reassure me, coming from him, made a tear or two slip down my cheeks. I hoped he didn’t see. “I know. I love you.”

  He walked me to the door and helped me sit down, then went over to his bed and became the unmoving corpse he’d been for the past two nights.

  “It’ll be fine,” I whispered to myself, leaning my head against my knees, trying very hard to believe my own words. I couldn’t accept the alternative.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Kristian

  I listened to Lena breathe, using all my self-control to hold still and not peek at her face. Before, the pain of being separated from Lena and the life I wanted kept me awake. Now, ironically, having Lena so close kept me awake. Considering how beautiful she was and how in love I was with her and how badly I wanted to kiss her, just once more, it wasn’t much of a surprise that sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.

  Using all my self-control, I did not move, not even when my door opened. Even the surprise at hearing my servant Katu’s voice instead of Niviaq’s did not make me move.

  “Come along, miss,” he said quietly. I heard the gentleness there, but doubted Lena did. I only heard it because I’d grown to know Katu rather well in the past month.

  She sniffed, and I listened to her stand, seeing her as clearly in my mind’s eye as if I watched. Golden hair a mess, dark eyes surrounded with irritated pink skin, mouth pinched as she held back tears.

  It was strange to think of the day I first met Lena. I’d been utterly determined to be unimpressed by her, and yet . . . now I could admit to myself that I had been impressed when I’d seen her, head held high, a goddess but a goddess of war rather than of beauty or love. Even the insults she’d flung at all of us, though they’d made me angry, had earned a degree of admiration I would never have admitted to. She was not a coward. That much had always been certain.

  Now . . . I should have tried harder to convince her to walk away. I had always been so selfish. It had not once crossed my mind to think about Lena’s feelings when I’d taken her from her family with scarcely an explanation. And Eirik, my long-suffering brother. What had I ever done to make his burden lighter? I had been excited at the chance to take a year away from my duties, hoping to run around hunting and doing whatever I pleased while the brat princess stayed at the castle.

  I wanted to be better, yet I was still allowing her to take s
uch a great risk for my benefit.

  Lena wouldn’t have liked that thought. I could hear her, insisting it was her life too and that I couldn’t make these decisions for her.

  The charade of sleep would not have fooled anyone. I rolled over and sat up. The whole room was barren for Lena’s absence.

  Katu returned so silently, I jumped when he spoke. “I see you’ve risen early today, my lord.”

  I gave him a sharp look, and guessed immediately that he knew Lena had not been so unsuccessful. That sly dog—I thought of how ignorant he’d played at being when he’d informed me of Lena’s presence. He escorted her away from my room in the mornings! Of course he knew precisely who she was.

  That nearly made me smile, but I did not want Katu to regret helping me.

  “It is my wedding day,” I pointed out, standing.

  “True, my lord. Do you wish to breakfast or dress first?”

  I rolled my neck, taking a breath. “I’ll not eat this morning, Katu. Dress me.”

  Sikken culture was fixated on power, and the wedding clothes were no different. I had agreed to wear traditional Sikken costume, as I’d thought it would be best to embrace my new home as well as I could. Masks were always worn into the ceremony, and I was to wear my isbjørn mask, made by Niviaq. It was fiercely done, snarling teeth and razor patterns around the edges.

  The rest of my outfit was red on white, emphasizing the width of my shoulders and chest. The tunic was long, with fringe on the ends. The collar was red with sharp shapes in white and black, probably what it would look like if my neck was slit. Red rimmed my wrists. It all felt utterly foreign, and I itched to take it off.

  As soon as I was ready, Katu escorted me to the beast of a cathedral that sat near the castle. I hadn’t noticed but he was dressed up as well. Though he still wore fur, it was finer, the colors bolder, the designs more violent. Only the richest of the rich could ever afford something as superfluous as clothing enchanted to keep the cold out more efficiently than animal skins.

  Niviaq called the cathedral a church. The first time I’d seen it, three years earlier, I’d been picturing a tidy white building, with a black steeple and maybe stained glass windows to decorate. How I could have expected that after being in Sikuvok for longer than ten seconds was beyond me. It was not a tidy white building.

  It broke the sky, its numerous jagged spires tearing through the steel of the clouds like they were nothing. Its façade reminded me of a stone cliff face, carved imperfectly to play the part of a cathedral, still black and rough and forbidding, despite the glinting windows. Probably because the windows seemed more like malevolent eyes staring down at us puny mortals with disgust. It was as if the castle was the fearsome, defending husband and this was its haughty, hateful wife.

  The interior of the cathedral was silent, but the silence seemed to echo. The ceiling was so high above my head it looked like a shrouded night sky, the walls stretching up into eternity. The spare light that filtered in through the windows was misty and weak, casting silver shadows over the onyx ones residing in the depths of the cathedral. It was difficult to see anything clearly beyond the thorn-crowned archway, lit by the only large window in the building.

  On the left side of the archway stood a figure that was unmistakable. Queen Qila’s ink-black hair was gilt by the light behind her, a crown that reminded me very much of the cathedral’s dark and heaven-reaching façade on top of it, and her dress was a symbol of power in and of itself, reminding me of immortally pounding waterfalls and ancient vine-draped trees and battle-stricken armor, surrounding her in glory all the more marvelous for its intentionally ragged state.

  I could not see her face, but her posture was exactly as it should have been for a warrior queen who had threatened war if her daughter’s hand was refused.

  “They await you,” Katu whispered, and in the twilight of the cathedral I could not see his face at all.

  My insides twisted, my whole body sprung to stand and fight. I’d meant to face this calmly, but it seemed that the best I could do was pretend calmness. Even that was not going well for me.

  I walked forward, wearing confidence like a shield.

  “You look every inch a warrior,” Queen Qila informed me, her eyes pits in the dark of the cathedral.

  Choosing not to respond, I stood in my assigned place, looking out on the crush of people that filled the cathedral. They were amazingly quiet. Their silence should have been strange, but it was not a surprise to me. I was aware that Queen Qila ruled with an iron fist, that the rebellions that had been small and unorganized had spread and grown. The daily patrols were not for show.

  Still, it was strange. I had attended wedding ceremonies before in Tryllejor and even when the couple pronounced their vows there was always a susurrating whisper to be heard in the background. The only sound was that of fabric rustling. Not so much as a cough. I hoped that Lena’s plan worked and that I would not be left to rule such a country, full of fear and anger, teeming even in that ear-shatteringly silent cathedral.

  Exactly when it was supposed to, the music began. It was hauntingly lovely, played by a single string instrument I did not have a name for. It sounded different than any I had heard before, but that might have been because the cathedral was changing the sound to make it its own. The melody reminded me of a story Lena had forced me to read of a woman from the sea who’d been trapped on the land. Her tears had run down the cliff she could not leave and formed a lake that was said to bring even the bravest men to shiver and forget how to laugh.

  The song suited this farce of a wedding perfectly. Anything joyful or romantic would have been out of place and inappropriate.

  A wintry sigh of wind announced the opening of the door. No bridesmaids preceded her, no father escorted her. Princess Niviaq of Sikuvok walked entirely alone.

  Her aloneness was as fitting as the haunting music. She wore it very well.

  As well as her dress, which could not be dimmed even by the accursed shadow-soaked hall we stood in. She glowed like burning noonday sun, the kind of sun that was never seen in Neria.

  It seemed suddenly very improbable that she would fail the task I had to give to her. But I put that thought aside, and she came forward.

  The ceremony was very similar to Trylle wedding ceremonies, other than being in Sikken which made everything seem harsher, the first part requiring little participation other than two yeses from us. The priest spoke without feeling, neither loud nor soft. Many Sikkens seemed to speak that way. I wondered if they were hiding from their queen as much as I was.

  Then it was Niviaq’s chance to require a task from me. Her voice rang out, bringing life to the hall that the priest had drained away. “To prove you are worthy to become king of Sikuvok, I request that you shift into an isbjørn.”

  I had removed my shifting mask for the ceremony, and at her words I replaced it. I felt a twinge of guilt. She was asking me to do something she knew I could do, and something that really would help me be a better ruler.

  The shift was easy, easier than I’d ever dreamed it could become when I’d spent hours studying every muscle and tendon and bone of the isbjørn, trying not to drown in the grief of my mother’s death.

  After I shifted and stood for a moment in all my isbjørn glory, I heard a smattering of whispers. I thought I could guess the subject. I knew enough of the Sikken rebellions to know that they were focused on the nobility’s possession of the majority of written spells, including shifting spells. But how many people had died trying to shift before it became illegal throughout most of the world?

  I shifted back, standing, only slightly out of breath from the effort.

  “And you, Prince Kristian? What task would you have your future wife perform?” Queen Qila asked the question that should have been in formal language from the priest.

  That made my breath speed more than shifting had. “It is a simple task.” I motioned to Katu, who brought forward the shirt I’d given him earlier without explanation, other
than instruction to bring it to me when I required it. “I spilled wax on my shirt. It’s one of my favorites. I wish the wax to be removed.”

  I hadn’t realized how well I could read Niviaq’s face until that moment. I saw the irritation, the surprise, the dismay, the confusion, before she hid it with confidence. She held out a hand for the shirt, which I gave, hiding my reluctance.

  Finding the wax embedded in the fabric, she summoned water from the air, letting it condense on the largest spot, where Lena had nearly lit me on fire. I kept my face impassive as she rubbed the fabric together, to no avail.

  She then let water condense in her hand, blowing on it to heat it, then poured it onto the wax. Nothing.

  In Trylle, her language of magic, she began chanting, “Wax, I command you to remove yourself from this shirt. You are separate, you are to leave, separate, separate, separate, separate!” The stubborn wax was not moved.

  Her jaw worked as she stared at it for a moment, and then another. “I do not know how,” she finally admitted in a low voice.

  “If no one else can do it, then it was clearly an unfair task,” I said, which was close enough to tradition. I hoped. I was painfully aware of how my entire future hung in the balance in those moments.

  I had expected Niviaq would throw a tantrum or set the shirt on fire, but that was more in Lena’s character. Niviaq was calculating. She turned and held up the shirt. “Let anyone who wishes to prove themselves more worthy than I come forward and clean the prince’s shirt!” For example, that little speech was precisely calculated to make the whole audience very aware that their future monarch would not be pleased if they stepped forward.

  Still, Lena stepped forward. She was beautiful, but my eyes were caught by the burning courage in her dark eyes. Without speaking a word, she marched the length of the cathedral, her footsteps echoing to the shadow-black ceiling.

  Upon arrival, she held her hand out for the shirt, wordless. Her golden hair outshone Niviaq’s dress, in my opinion. It also boldly announced that she was not Sikken, as they were uniformly dark-haired. Her clothing was simple, warm, and also certainly not Sikken.