Chapter 44 Caspian
Caspian
The entirety of Frostfang has gathered for his departure.
Dressed in their furs, they’ve marched from the capital to the bluff, a sharp cliff that overlooks the sea.
There isn’t a breeze. It’s as if even the wind has paused to pay its respects.
The ocean is so still I can see the reflection of the fading pink sun.
A small boat drifts out to sea. Irahn is finally at rest, hands crossed over his chest on his sword. The sword he’ll never swing again.
I don’t join the crowd but sit on the edge of the cliff above the ceremony. The people of Winter would not welcome me. Not when it was my mother who brought this fate to him.
Why do I even try? I’ll never be one of them. Never belong.
Wrapping my cloak tighter around myself, I turn my attention to the front of the crowd. Keldarion leads the procession, Rosalina at his side. The other three princes march behind them. A strange pang hits me in the chest, something that I never thought I’d experience when looking at her.
Jealousy.
Rosalina is everything I could never give him. Everything I can never be. Beautiful, kind, the right heritage. Someone the people of Winter can look at beside their high ruler and feel hope, not despair or disgust.
Not that Keldarion ever cared about that. Often, he disregarded the opinions of his realm and stood beside the Prince of the Below. And look at how that worked out for him.
For years, they whispered he was in league with the Below. They whisper it now. Even perched on the side of the mountain, I hear it, and I know he can hear it too. I’m sure it’s only Rosalina’s hand squeezing his that helps block out the noise.
“How could he have let Irahn fall? Was he not powerful enough to stop it?”
“He invited the Below in like last time.”
“Have you heard? The Prince of Thorns is back. The high prince is in league with the Below. Again!”
“Keldarion is not worthy to be high prince.”
I grit my teeth and throw my hood over my head, trying to ignore the insistent chatter. Of all their claims, none is more false than saying Kel is unworthy.
I’ve known it since I fell beaten and bloodied at the gates of Castletree and he first held me in his arms. I need your help, I had said, thinking it was a lie.
Only he had helped me. Helped me in ways I didn’t even realize were possible.
The High Prince of Winter showed me what it was like to love, what real friends were, and what it meant to be a hero. Because that was what he always was from the very beginning: shining silver, with an air that drew people in.
I saw in him what it meant to be a leader. Kel was so different from my mother, from even his own father. The citizens loved him, respected him.
And I so desperately wanted to be saved by him.
But you broke him, my mind spits.
Tears spill down my face, freezing almost immediately on my cheeks.
Through my blurred vision, I watch as Rosalina and Keldarion draw their bows.
Farron steps forward and ignites both arrows in flame.
In perfect synchronicity, the arrows fly into the sky and land on the boat, lighting Irahn’s final passage.
It would have been better if you died in the Below.
Drawing my knees to my chest, I bury my head in my hands, blocking out the view of the princes of Castletree and Rosalina embracing. You don’t belong with them.
My thoughts consume me. I shouldn’t be here. I’m barely holding on to control. Sooner or later, they’ll all suffer because of me. I’ll hurt Rosalina. I’ve already ruined Kel’s life; it’s only a matter of time before I ruin hers as well.
The icy air burns my throat as I gasp for breath. My body shakes. I reach into my pocket, searching for a handkerchief, but my fingers brush something wooden. A small camel. Why did you give this back to me, Anya? After all these years, what does it mean?
“Is this seat taken?”
I shoot my head up, blinking through my blurred vision. A bundle of fur with a large hat trudges up beside me. His cheeks are red, but his blue eyes—such familiar blue eyes—are bright.
I wipe my nose. “I was actually saving that icy slab of rock for the abominable snowman, but he hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Abominable,” George says, settling next to me with a huff. “That’s a human legend.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “A human man once told me a lot of those.”
George stares at me, eyes crinkling around the edges. You don’t remember anything, do you?
His gaze shifts to the wooden camel I hold. “May I?”
I shrug and plop it into the old man’s hands.
He removes his mittens and holds it up to the light with an explorer’s curiosity. “I used to ride camels back in the day. But I did have a favorite.”
“Let me guess. Cleopatra.”
George chuckles. “Why, yes. Called her Cleo. Poor beast wasn’t brighter than a sand mite.”
I turn my gaze. The crowd of Winter folk are starting to wander back to the city. “Why did you come up here, George?”
He runs his fingers over the curves of the camel’s humps. “You looked so alone. So alone and sad.”
“I’m used to being alone and sad.”
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “You remind me of someone I once met in the desert. There was a young boy…lost in a storm.”
“You don’t say?”
“Where did you get this? Anya liked to carve trinkets like this.”
“Take a closer look, O’Connell,” I say, a hint of a smile on my face. “It’s quite obvious by the shoddy job. I made it myself.”
George brings the wooden beast to his nose. “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’d say it’s rather cute. It’s got character.”
That’s the same thing you said last time, I think.
I had begged and begged for Anya to make me a figure. But she had forced me to carve one myself. The first few had all been turned to kindling. After some time, I got better, managed to find something I liked in the wood. And I gifted it to her.
In return, she clasped her hand on my wrist, and the golden rose bracelet appeared. New magic thrummed through my body. “You have shaped this. Now shape yourself, Prince of the Below. You decide what to do with the magic you bear.”
George plops the camel into my palms. “It’s a good carving, Cas. Reminds me of Cleo.”
I close my hands around it. Why did she give this back?
“You know, the thing about Cleo,” George muses, “is that she had an uncanny sense of direction. She got us out of more than one or two mighty bad sandstorms.”
I clench my fists tighter, almost feeling the rough fur, the sand in my mouth.
“My Anya used to say this thing.” A strange smile spreads across his face. “Trust yourself to find the way.”
“When the path is lost, the journey begins,” I finish for him.
George puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles softly. Then he stands and turns to walk down the hill. “That’s quite right.” He glances back at me. “Look at that. Perhaps you’re not so alone after all.”
My heart stutters in my chest, and I struggle to blink the crusted ice out of my eyes. But I’m not imagining it. Coming up the hill are Ezryn, Dayton, and Farron.
Dayton gives me a wide grin. “Y’know, in Summer, it’s custom to have a long night of drinking and celebrating after a funeral.”
“We’re planning to raid Kel’s stores of mead,” Ezryn says.
“What we’re asking, Cas”—Farron grins, then reaches for me—“is…do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.” I stagger forward and grab his hand, letting these princes—these friends—pull me out of this storm.