Myth and Storm, page 14
“You can’t open the door on your own?” Mara asked.
“Neither of us has that gift, miss.” The first maid bit her lips together.
Tham looked to Mara, giving her the choice.
Mara gritted her teeth and dug deep down into her soul, searching for sympathy for the terrified maids. “Fine. You can help.”
She began unlacing the front of the dress she still hadn’t become accustomed to wearing. Too much fabric. Too much restriction of her movement. Too many generations of Ilbrean traditions screaming in her mind that a woman who’d joined the Map Makers Guild had given up the protection of femininity and with it, the necessity of wearing skirts.
The maids reached into their pockets, pulling out bundles of combs and powders.
“Are you planning on prettying Tham up?” Mara wriggled out of her dress and snatched up a petticoat before the maids could stop her.
“We’ve been given orders, miss.” The maids exchanged glances, seeming to have a silent war as to which one would be forced to continue.
“The Princess wants me primped up like a getch of a doll?” Mara dragged the petticoat over her head.
It’s not worth the fight. Belligerence won’t get you closer to freedom.
“Primp me, if you must.” Mara tied the petticoat around her waist. “But stay well clear of Elle. She’s a wonderfully loyal dog who’s quite capable of sensing my displeasure.”
If Mara hadn’t known Tham, she might have missed his breath of a laugh as he gathered his own clothes and went to the back of the room to change.
In an act of loyalty no animal had ever before shown, Elle stayed with Mara rather than trotting over to bask at Tham’s feet. Elle watched as the women dressed Mara in the fine green gown, pulling the laces tight enough to display Mara’s less than ample breasts.
They then sat Mara down and tutted over how best to manage her mane of red curls.
“Just shove some pins in it,” Mara sighed. “Trust me, you’ll save yourselves a lot of angst.”
Once her hair had been abandoned as an impossible cause, they painted Mara’s face, giving her rosy cheeks and alluring eyes.
“Where exactly is the Princess taking us?” Mara asked as the women stood back to judge their work.
“No idea, miss.” The first maid patted cream onto Mara’s lips. “But you look lovely. Fit for wherever the Princess takes you.”
“Perfect.” Mara stood and went back to the bed, barely resisting the temptation to throw herself face first onto the fur blankets. “Then I assume you can leave.”
“Yes, miss.” The second maid looked to the place where the door usually appeared. “Someone will come for us, miss.”
“Maybe it’s the hair,” the first maid whispered to the second. “Maybe we didn’t do it well enough.”
“You’re not going to make it please the Princess.” Mara pulled off her fur slippers and reached for the new, black, fur-lined boots the maids had delivered. “As a girl, I spent years with people trying to ram my hair into a respectable order every day. It caused my scalp plenty of pain, and all that fussing never once worked. I have hair that’s meant to be flying in the wind as I run off on adventures. I’ll never look suited for any sort of grace or fashion. Aren’t I right, Tham?”
“She is.” Tham stepped forward, wearing an all-black suit, as though someone had been trying to make him feel at home in a vague mimicry of his uniform as a Guilded soldier.
Without a sound, the ice of the wall shifted, changing into a door that could be opened.
Two guards stepped into the room, followed by Ronya.
Both maids dropped into low curtsies their princess ignored.
“I don’t know which pleases me more,” Ronya said. “How lovely you look for our little excursion, or finding out how long you and Tham have known each other.”
“What excursion will you be taking us on?” Mara stood, brushing out her skirt, wishing her layers were at least five pounds lighter.
“I’ve definitely decided I’m much more interested in how long you and Tham have known each other.” Ronya pursed her lips.
“We met when we were barely more than children.” Tham moved to stand beside Mara, placing a hand on her waist. “We’ve tried not to be parted ever since.”
“How delightfully romantic,” Ronya cooed.
“It is.” Mara forced her voice to stay cheerful. “I will never know why the gods sent Tham to find me. But I will always be grateful.”
“The gods?” Ronya furrowed her brow. “I thought the Guilds believed in one god and a pack of saints.”
“Dudia is followed by the Guilds,” Tham said. “The common folk believe there are many gods.”
“And what do the gods all do?” Ronya asked.
“No one knows,” Mara said. “Common folk don’t spend much time worrying about it either. You just pray to the lot of them and hope for the best.”
“And this is what you believe even though you’re sworn to the precious Guilds?” Ronya asked.
“Is this really what I had to be primped up for?” Mara said.
Tham tightened his hold on her waist.
“Has her temper always been this bad?” Ronya looked to Tham.
“No,” Tham said. “It used to be worse. Now her anger only flares like fire when she means it to.”
“You sound like you fell in love with a wild beast,” Ronya said.
“Her wrath is a beautiful thing to behold,” Tham said. “The world can be changed by the right person’s fury.”
“Coming from a man who sliced his way into a mountain, I’ll have to assume you’re telling the truth.” Ronya waved the maids toward the door without looking at them. “We should be off on our little adventure, then. As much as I enjoy chatting with Ilbreans, I wouldn’t want to risk Mara’s rage. The dog stays behind.” Ronya strode toward the still-open door. “It would be too much for her.”
“Stay, Elle.” Tham rubbed Elle’s back. “We’ll be back soon.”
“Such faith from the soldier,” Ronya laughed.
“What exactly does our adventure entail?” Mara took Tham’s hand, keeping him beside her as they followed Ronya out into the corridor.
“The beginning of your adjustment.” Ronya led them in the same direction they’d traveled to reach the Regent.
“What adjustment?” Mara asked.
“You’ve been so well-behaved, I think it’s time we alter our arrangement,” Ronya said.
“In what way?” Mara studied the ice-carved images they passed. She’d seen them more than once, and the pictures hadn’t changed. But between the warmth of Tham’s hand in hers and trying to understand the full story of the woman who had sacrificed her child to the ice, she had enough to distract her from the anger still pressing against the back of her lungs.
“I’ve told you more than once, you can never return to Ilbrea.” Ronya cut into a smaller corridor, heading away from the throne room.
“Yes, we’re to be prisoners for the rest of our lives.” Mara didn’t manage to keep the bite from her tone.
“Ah, but that’s where you’ve misunderstood.” Ronya stopped, turning to face Mara so quickly, Tham tensed as though they were about to be attacked. “You can never return to Ilbrea. I can’t endanger my people in such a horrific way. But I don’t want you to be prisoners. If I have to lock you up for the rest of your lives, then it would be kinder to simply execute you.”
“Is that what you’ve done to Kegan and Elver?” Mara asked.
Tham shifted sideways, placing his shoulder just in front of Mara’s.
“The ice might revel in tasting the blood of Ilbreans, but I am not so crude. I don’t fancy having to kill my new friends, Mara.” Ronya shook her head, sending her perfect blond curls bouncing around her face. “However, there is a path to your happiness that would be beneficial to the Ice Walkers.”
“And what would that be?” Mara asked.
“You could build a life here.” Ronya turned and continued down the hall. “Isfol is a magnificent city. I think, in time, you would grow to be grateful to call it your home. And your unique knowledge would be an asset to my people.”
“You’re going to set us free in the city?” Mara tamped down the hope that bubbled through her anger.
“Of course not. I’m generous. Not a fool.”
Two rows of white-uniformed guards waited at the top of a staircase that cut down to a massive set of double doors. As one, the guards bowed to Ronya then closed in on either side of their party, flanking Mara and Tham as they walked down the steps.
“Trust must be earned,” Ronya said. “And, as I hold your lives in my hands, you have too many reasons to lie to me. To try and fool me into believing you’re friends of Isfol when really I’d be setting monsters loose in my own city.”
“Then it seems you’ll have to keep us locked in our room until we die naturally,” Mara said.
“On the contrary.” Ronya headed straight for the massive doors. “I think the most prudent path would be to allow you to see exactly what prizes can be gained by winning my trust. I have so much to offer you, dear Mara. In time, you’ll be begging to stay by my side as my closest friend and advisor.”
“I don’t know if I’m suited to be a friend and advisor to a princess,” Mara said.
“I’ll be Queen soon enough.” Ronya waved a hand, and the ice doors opened without any of the guards touching them. “Are you more suited to be the confidant of the Queen?”
Ronya stepped outside and stopped, as though she knew full well the view would steal Mara’s breath away.
Rows of white-leaved trees stretched out toward the open palace gates. Flowers, whose petals looked to be cast of silver, sparkled in the blue glow that radiated from the dome of the cavern. Fields of pale-green moss grew beyond the trees, and gardens with flowers of light-blue and pink dotted the lawn.
“The view is quite different when you see the grounds from here. None of the windows in the palace truly do the gardens justice.” Ronya led them down the steps, nodding to the well-dressed gentry that bustled out of their path.
“Your home is quite lovely. I don’t think anyone could argue with that.” Mara stopped, casting aside her pride to kneel near a flowerbed for a closer look at the silver flowers. She reached out, carefully caressing a bloom.
The petals had the same soft texture as an ordinary Ilbrean flower.
“How?” Mara looked to Tham. “By all logic, this is completely impossible.”
“If you only believe in Ilbrean standards of botany, then I’m sure you’re right.” Ronya beckoned them forward.
“The ice should prevent plants from growing.” Mara trusted Tham to lead her forward as she kept her gaze fixed on the white leaves of the trees that hung over the path. “There’s no sun here, either.”
“Are these the brilliant things they teach map makers?” Ronya laughed.
“The easiest answer would, of course, be magic,” Mara said. “But that would be too simple a solution.”
“You don’t think the Ice Walkers possess magic?” Ronya asked.
“I’m quite certain you do.” Mara dragged her gaze from the trees as they neared the gate. “The way doors appear and walls move is proof enough of magic for you to be sure we could never tell anyone in Ilara what we found here.”
“Is that so?” Ronya stopped just inside the gate, rounding on Mara and Tham.
“The Sorcerers Guild will not allow knowledge of magic outside their control to spread,” Mara said. “They hoard all Ilbrean children who show signs of magic, forcing them to go to the Sorcerers Tower whether they like it or not. Any hint of magic existing in the wild is suppressed. The Sorcerers Guild will destroy any evidence of such wonders and the source of the magic itself if they can.
“If you were to let us go, we could never tell anyone in Ilbrea what we found here. If we tried, we would be considered heretics. The Sorcerers Guild would dispose of us.” She took a tentative step closer to Ronya. “At best, they’d execute us for some crime they made up. At worst, we’d just disappear. We don’t know what happens to the people who vanish after angering the sorcerers, but any sympathetic heart would pray those people are dead.”
“The Sorcerers Guild is so terrified of the truth of magic?” Ronya looked up toward the peak of the massive cavern.
“Yes.” Mara tightened her grip on Tham’s hand as she dared to take another step forward. “Which is why letting us go is no threat to you. We could never tell anyone about the Ice Walkers. The Sorcerers Guild would kill us for you.”
“Then you should be even more grateful for the life you’re going to build here,” Ronya said. “Magic does not belong to its purveyors. It’s larger than any country or clan, larger even than Ilbrea’s precious sorcerers. You shouldn’t wish to go back to such close-minded, possessive hoarders. Things are better here. Our magic is for everyone.”
“But we don’t―”
Tham squeezed Mara’s hand as he cut across her. “Are you saying everything in Isfol was created by magic?”
“I can’t just tell you our secrets.” Ronya laughed and beckoned them to follow her out onto the streets. “You’re explorers. Handing you the answers would lead you straight to boredom.”
My captor has no right to understand my heart. A fresh flare of anger broke through Mara’s wonder, but stepping out onto the street dulled her resentment.
Mara had managed to catch glimpses of the city through the palace windows on the rare occasions she’d been taken from her room. But seeing the sea of buildings made of ice from inside the palace and walking down the bustling street were two entirely different things.
The people of Isfol, dressed in their brightly colored clothes, all stopped to bow to their princess, but none of the citizens seemed shocked to have royalty walking among them. The guards stayed behind Ronya, flanking Mara and Tham, as though only concerned with their prisoners attempting escape and not worried at all about their princess being attacked.
Rebels would have nowhere to run. There isn’t a place for malcontents to hide from their ruler.
The hue of the ice that made the buildings stayed the same as they traveled farther into the city, the color unchanging no matter the size or shape of the structure, but the people seemed to have found their own way to break the monotony of the blue.
Richly colored tapestries hung outside the shops, woven into images that displayed what they sold.
A patisserie had a pink and purple image of a cake. A clothier, a man and woman posing in fine apparel.
Mara peered over the heads of the people they passed, trying to peek into as many shop windows as she could.
“Whoa!” The call came from up ahead followed by a round of barking.
A dogsled skidded to a stop in front of their party. The musher hopped down from his perch, bowing deeply to the Princess. “Apologies, Your Highness.”
Ronya nodded to the man and skirted around the sled.
Mara peeked down into the crates the musher had been hauling. Bottles of wine had been packed in with wool.
“The glass bottles,” Mara whispered to Tham. “I hadn’t thought of it before. Glass bottles means they have a glass blower. That kind of heat―”
“Means there are enough mysteries in Isfol to keep an intrepid map maker entertained,” Ronya said.
Mara chewed the inside of her bottom lip, her desire to ask a thousand questions warring with her loathing of implying Ronya was right. Mara could spend ages exploring every secret Isfol had to offer. And if she could do it while walking through a beautiful city, proudly holding Tham’s hand…
Ronya turned left, leading them down a street that seemed to be populated by homes rather than shops. Tapestries still adorned the fronts of the houses, but they were woven into brightly colored patterns rather than images. No two banners were alike, almost as though the families within had been given designated patterns to distinguish who lived where.
“As beautiful as the city is and as well guarded as we keep the secrets of Isfol,” Ronya said, “our home is not without its dangers. You cannot be allowed to roam without guards.”
“In case we find an escape?” Mara asked.
“You couldn’t.” Ronya cut down a street barely wider than an alley.
Two guards stepped in front of Mara and Tham, walking almost shoulder-to-shoulder as they followed Ronya.
“Even if you trusted your gods to somehow ferry you to the outskirts of the city, which you’d be foolish to even dare attempt,” Ronya said, “you could never leave the mountain. Even Tham and his ice axe couldn’t carve you a path out of our home, no matter how badly he let his hands bleed.”
It was Mara’s turn to tighten her grip on Tham’s hand.
The narrow road opened up into a little square with a stone statue at the center.
The figures hadn’t been carved of marble or any of the other coveted materials Ilbrean artists fancied. The stone was plain gray, yet the shock of something being made of anything but ice was enough to make the figures astounding.
A man and a woman stood side by side, their hands locked together, their chins raised as though looking toward a brilliant future. But the ground around them had been carved in jagged, fang-like spikes, giving the base of the statue the look of a vicious mouth determined to devour the pair.
Ronya stopped in front of an unassuming, one-story structure.
The building had no colorful banner marking it as important, but Ronya and all the guards assumed a solemn air as though they’d entered a sacred place.
“The people try to record as many as they can”―Ronya touched the wall, running her fingers across the notches carved into the ice―“but there are some poor souls whose names are never marked down.”
Mara leaned closer to the wall, studying the texture.
Words. Tiny words carved into the ice. Hundreds and hundreds of names.
“What happened to them?” Mara asked.
“The ice is a living thing,” Ronya said. “It grows and changes just like everything else in the world. The palace lies at the heart of the mountain―things shift very slowly there. The ice allows us to protect our home. But the outskirts of the city, the shortcuts that sometimes lead to entirely different places, the twisting passages that lead to hidden wonders…all of them change. These poor people were caught in the metamorphosis. Once swallowed by the will of the ice, there is no coming back.”
