A Heart of Ice Page 11

  Cara is barely awake, barely alive, giving a soft moan of pain and whispering incoherent things, squirming weakly. The healer begins working immediately, taking her case of supplies and ordering ingredients—from the kitchen and the alchemist and the sorcerer—mixed together by one of the healer’s assistants who saunters in. The girl hurries off as the healing woman pulls a wineskin from her case and forces Cara’s mouth open, pouring the mixture down her throat. Cara coughs and struggles against the liquid, but the healer is insistent, forcing the concoction down. Then, she begins working on the wounds, Cara fighting for every breath while Heather works on her leg.

  I can see from Cara’s face that she’s in a world of agony and madness, fighting weakly, bravely, against the pain and against death as the women work on her injuries. The assistant hurries back, what seems like hours later, with a jug of a mixture that the healer has her steadily pour into Cara’s mouth and force her to consume.

  I take a step back, nearly trembling. I…I did this…I…

  The women work through the night, guards and maids and assistants and healers in and out of the room until the small hours of the morning. I had been so tired when I left the dining hall for my chambers that night that I have no recollection of how I managed to stay awake through it all. Denair—Dena—and Petara, my two sisters, come into the room some time in the night; they do not speak to me, but they exchange a few words with the assistants and healers. Dena, the youth, sits down beside me and the Inferno woman for a long while before falling asleep against my arm.

  It amazes me when the realization comes that these people are fighting desperately to save the life of their enemy. And yet, not one of them even stops to consider that they are aiding an Inferno, although I am certain it helps that Cara’s temperature is not much warmer than mine.

  Petara stands by and occasionally gives orders for someone to get out of the way, but the healers are very competent and patient people. Her husband joins her some time later, Kale, and she greets him with a soft sigh and a visible sign of relaxing. To the Inferno, such a motion may have gone entirely unnoticed as Kale goes to my sister’s side, but to a Crystalice, Petara might as well have run to him and embraced him and kissed him all over his face with the delight she showed.

  I give her a half smile but sigh and shake my head. “Kale…take the princess to sleep. She has a long while left to carry. She will injure the babe if she does not sleep properly.” Kale meets my eyes and holds them for a long moment before giving a single nod. He knows my fear.

  Catherine. My young bride. My beautiful lover.

  Gone.

  A day of great joy and great mourning—my son’s birth. My wife did not make it through the weeks following, and Kale knows well that I fear for my sister’s health. I never chose Catherine for a wife; my parents selected her just after Mit’an’av was crowned several years before—in order to abate some of the unease in the people—but I had not disliked her. She was a fair woman, a Flora, although she spoke little. I learned to delight in her humble smiles and quiet laughter—I would find myself waiting for them, longing to hear them. I felt no great passion for her, but I loved her and treated her well, and she was dear to my heart in the two years that we were wed.

  My gaze returns to Cara when Petara had gone, and I sigh heavily. Some of her color has returned, but not much. She is breathing regularly now, and I begin to hope that the worst is over, that she will make it through the night. I reach out, touch the side of her face. This is my doing. Have I become such a heartless bastard to so ruthlessly attack a woman and leave her to suffer and die? What sort of monster have I become?

  Is this the cost of war?

  “Gabriel.” My father’s imposing form stands in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine from across the room, and I snatch back my hand from the woman’s face like a child caught stealing a sweet. He says nothing of it, his expression tired but passive. “Go to bed, son. You are exhausted. Put Denair to bed as well.”

  My breath leaves me in a quiet rush, and I look back down to Cara before nodding and saying to Heather, “Wake me should anything change.”

  Heather spares me a glance from the corners of her eyes before looking back down at the woman’s wound and tending it once more. “Good rest to ye, highness.” There is no warmth in her voice. Does she blame me for this as well? Does she see me as the monster I am?

  Regret grips me hard, but my face remains blank as I gather my young sister into my arms and tuck her against my chest. The baby of the family fits snuggly against me and barely moves when I take her from the room. I carry her down the hall to her own bed chambers where her lady-in-waiting is preparing to receive her, having laid out her night clothes.

  The woman bids me a quiet goodnight before I leave to return to my sleeping chambers and collapse on my bed without even bothering to disrobe.

  Cara…

  Part Two

  Love has power that dispels Death; charm that conquers the enemy.

  -Kahlil Gibran

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scarlet

  It takes nearly a month to recover from my ordeal. My Magik is weak in this cold, and it suffers my body to heal much more slowly than if I had been home. Someone is by my side constantly, either a maid or a healer, tending and re-dressing my wounds or forcing down an herbal concoction. A few days and I finally manage to eat solid food again without my stomach completely rejecting it, although I still am not very fond of meat. I favor broth mostly, with pieces of poultry and venison in it, along with vegetables. And so, it normally serves as one of my meals throughout the day.

  I am fed almost constantly, and in-between my being awake and eating, my guardian always cajoles me into a few swallows of water before allowing me to rest. When I grow a little stronger, Naideen, one of the assistant healers, helps me to bathe and wash my hair before changing my dress and sheets and helping me to lie back down. Those who tend me seem to forget that I am their enemy. To some, I am a friend; to others, a patient in need; but few ever really look at me as though I am an enemy. It is…unexpected and… pleasant, and I try to be kind to them.

  My greatest joy, however, is in my newfound companion, Enté. Nearly every evening, and sometimes during the day, a waiting woman will bring him to my room whereupon he will crawl into bed. Sometimes, he just sits on the bed with me and plays with the most curious little glass and ice soldiers I have ever seen. Sometimes, he will ask for stories of my homeland, and I will try to remember all the ones I can recall from my days with my brother and his Dai’lyn. And sometimes, he will simply snuggle up to my side—myself thoroughly protected by a bundle of covers—and fall soundly asleep for a nap. He is by far the greatest joy of my day.

  On the second day of the third week is the first time that he visits me. I know that he is speaking with the nurses and healers concerning my health, for they often mention “the young master ordered…” or “I spoke to the prince this evening and…” So I know that he is aware of my state. But as of yet, he has not come to see me. I find myself wondering if I would rather him keep his distance or come to visit me so that the anxious knotting in my stomach would finally go away.

  It is not the usual time I expect visitors. Someone will come and tend to me, bring me a meal, and then let me rest. When I began staying awake longer, I would try to make myself sleep, bored from the silence of the hall which is supposed to be comforting. The maid with my dinner left about half an hour ago. The one who will bring me a meal before bed will take the trays, and so I did not expect to see anyone again for four more hours.

  The door clicks and then opens slowly. I turn my head, my gaze having been fixed upon the glowing, red line at the horizon which is most clear at dawn and dusk. A man hesitates before taking another step inside, his white hair tied back, his face clean shaven. He looks to me, and my chest tightens, knotted up. We are silent for a moment, him looking awkward by the door, watching me lay back in bed. I am propped up by a few pillows, which I prefer to laying flat, an
d so I do not have to strain to see him.

  At last, he speaks. “Has the maid gone?” Clearly, she has. “I had…hoped to speak with…” He trails off, watching my molten gaze which has fixed unwaveringly on him.

  He seems extremely uncomfortable in the silence that stretches out before us, but I am not willing to spare him and break it. He sighs and takes a step towards me. To my own disgust, I flinch and break our stare. I look over at him and see the agony in his eyes, and he takes a step back. “Forgive me, Cara…I will not disturb you…rest well…” And then he leaves.

  He does not return again for days. I know that he still inquires as to my health, but he does not again seek me out. Maids come and go. I prefer most of all when Heather attends me. She helps me to walk around, and she chatters endlessly. She fills the silence with her words, and I can always count on her to stay longer and entertain my dull hours.

  But I am surprised one morning when I awake to find an elegantly dressed young lady sitting in a chair beside my bed, her slender fingers working at embroidery. She looks to be younger than me, somewhere between a girl and a woman, and she is dressed in silk with her white hair pinned up ornately, a thick lock of it curled and pulled over one shoulder.

  I turn my head towards her and lay still for a moment, watching her baby-blue eyes glare at the embroidery while she works. Finally, I say quietly, “Your knot on the needle is too thick…it’s why the cloth keeps getting stretched.”

  The girl looks up, a bit startled, and then gives the most innocent and lovely smile that I have ever seen, laying her work in her lap. “Good morrow, Lady Scarlet. I am Princess Denair Jan’tel, but everyone just calls me Dena. How are you feeling?”

  I shift a bit and manage to sit up, leaning back against the headboard and sighing softly. “Sore, but I feel fine.”

  Dena nods once and answers, “I was wondering if you were feeling well enough to walk around some outside. It is not good for you to stay in the room too long.”

  “Outside the castle or outside the room?” I ask, sipping on some hot water before taking the large bowl of soup on the nightstand and settling it into my lap to eat it, glancing at the princess occasionally.

  “Outside the room,” she clarifies, smiling. “I know that the cold is too much for you, but I thought that you might like to walk about.”

  “I would.” She inclines her head and continues her embroidery while I continue eating; I have as of late developed a newfound obsession with food. A good while passes before I am full enough to relinquish my bowl to the table once more, and Dena looks up to me as though she is waiting for me. “Dena…I am an Inferno…” I say suddenly, finding myself uneasy with her hospitality.

  Dena smiles and answers, “I know.”

  For a long moment, I just sit there, watching her and trying to sort things through in my mind. “Why are you and your servants being such great help?”

  The young lady tilts her head to the side and smiles a bit once more, answering, “They saved your life out of command…that forms a bond despite nationality…they feel a need to protect you and guard you now, even though they are no longer under command.” She shrugs. “Besides…the way Gabriel treated you was…I do not have words for it…you may have been our enemy once…but not any longer.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “I could choose to run at any moment…stab you with that letter-opener there and run.”

  Dena shrugs. “You could…but I do not believe that you will…not anymore.”

  I study her again for a long moment, but decide to leave the subject for now. If she and that small collection of people decide to try and befriend me, by all means, I will not dissuade them.

  The young woman sets her embroidery aside and stands from her chair, coming to my bedside. “Come then,” she encourages gently, “I will help you tend your wounds and dress, Lady Scarlet.”

  “Why do you not let the servants do such things?” I ask, surprised. I allow her to help me out from under the coverings and pull off my underdress. She begins examining the wounds, unwrapping them carefully.

  “I have a healer’s Magik,” Dena explains with a small smile. “I delight in being able to aid others, and so my mother allows me.”

  Dena is a lovely girl, and I feel monstrous by comparison, bright red wounds on my neck and shoulder, a fresh, pink scar on my stomach from Gabriel, and a nasty tear in my leg. Not to mention the plethora of scars covering what little of my body is not injured. I look like some sort of rag doll, but if my appearance disturbs Dena, she says nothing of it.

  “Tell me, Lady Scarlet,” Dena asks as she cleans the wound on my shoulder and smears a salve on it before wrapping it again, “Why does Gabriel call you Cara?”

  I suppress a cocky smirk, bending my head to tend to a minor cut to my arm. “I will not answer to my name if he says it. I do not want him to speak my name. At home, they called me by my blood name, La’centa, instead of my birth name. I am not used to hearing anything but those two, but they are precious to me, and I do not want that monster to speak them.” I glare down at the dressings clenched in my hand, my body beginning to tremble with hatred and rage.

  The young princess sighs and shakes her head gently. “My brother is no monster, Scarlet…although I know well why you would think so. He has been cruel to you…but do not hold it against him, I pray you. He is a good man.” I sigh but do not speak, and she continues, “I do not think he knows what to do with you…you are his enemy, a Knight Protector to our war-neighbors, the same one who slew our older brother.” I flinch, but she does not seem phased. “But here…I think he has a difficult time seeing you as an enemy. You are a woman, a lady, and unlike any who live here. I am considered the most outlandish in the family for wanting to hold hands with my Teir and leaving my hair unbound. You are like nothing this castle has ever known.”

  I am silent for a long moment, and when Dena does not seem willing to speak again, I ask, “What is a Teir?”

  “A Teir?” she repeats, and when I nod, she smiles and answers, “In Cerulean, our parents choose a Teir for their daughters and a Senai for their sons at an early age, shortly after the woman’s moonblood begins. They are then considered…betrothed, I suppose you would say. They finish childhood normally as friends, and marry whenever they choose. Sometimes pairs never marry, and…although it has only lately become more popular, they marry others—but the Teir and Senai are very special pairs. There is a bonding ritual when they are chosen, and their Magik is linked. They can share abilities and energy, and a few pairs have been known to share their thoughts, although I and my Teir cannot.”

  With a soft smile, I nod and lean back to pull out my leg so that she can tend my thigh, saying softly, “We have something similar in Inferno. The Dai’lyn. At birth, a mate is chosen for the child by the twelve elders of our land—the ‘Wise People’ they are called. Sometimes, it takes several years for the mate to be born, and if the mate has not yet been born, then the child is kept from society until such a time. My Dai’lyn was born two years before me.”

  Dena smiles warmly and replies, “How interesting…my mother has a particular interest in the Inferno culture, and I am certain that she would love to hear of this Dai’lyn.” She unwraps my wounded thigh and makes a hiss of a sound before carefully beginning to clean it.

  The leg still hurts like hell, and I close my eyes and let out a low hiss. With a single nod, I acknowledge her and then continue through gritted teeth, “The Dai’lyn are raised together in the same house, one moon-cycle with one family, and then with the next. They are rarely ever apart. When the girl’s moonblood begins, they are married. I was married when I was fourteen years old. Never do the Dai’lyn ever marry anyone else.”

  Dena’s brow furrows, and she asks quietly, “What if the Dai’lyn do not like each other?”

  “It has yet to happen. The elders are wise and well-learned in Magik. They are very careful when they chose the mates,” I explain. “Although, perhaps it is better to say that the
pair are always meant for each other. Sometimes, you have very nasty, mean-spirited people, but they are usually mated with someone who either balances them out for the better or suits their meanness.”

  “Ah,” she concedes, then smiles and finishes with my thigh, wrapping it up. “Did your Dai’lyn not mind you joining the military? I did not think that women were allowed.” She puts her utensils away and throws the old wrappings into the fire before going to the armoire.

  “Women are allowed to be archers, but not soldiers. Or, perhaps it is better to say that…getting into the higher ranks is very, very difficult for a woman. I am the first in three hundred years, or so I am told. It is…very painful, and that doesn’t even begin to describe it. You lose yourself, you give up your life…” I go quiet for a moment, then look up at her while she lays out a lovely, red-velvet dress on the bed, the russet brocade embroidered with gold and silver, the skirts full and long. She glances back to me, inquiring more, and I sigh before continuing, “My Dai’lyn is dead…As I remember, a fleet of men led by Gabriel killed him…although I am not in knowledge as to who ended him.”

  Dena stops and turns to look at me, a delicate hand over her heart in an empathetic gesture. “I am deeply grieved for you, Lady Scarlet.”

  “Just…Scarlet, if you please, Dena…just Scarlet,” I murmur. I stand and carefully hobble over to the fire, relishing in the warmth and energy it provides. She brings me a few clothes and helps me into them, the chemises and petticoats, before she goes to fetch my dress.

  Dena does not speak again for a long while, and I sit by the fire and run a brush through my hair, wearing my silk and wool chemises and my petticoat, letting the warmth dance over my skin. Finally, Dena speaks again, and I turn my head to look at her as she stares idly out of the window. “Gabriel lost his Senai a few years ago…giving birth to Enté. Her name was Catherine.”