Chapter 31
Talvie
Two days later, the Ice Queen arrives with all the bluster of a winter gale.
Her carriage runners swish across Ylvara’s snowy streets, no heed paid to any unfortunate soul scrambling to avoid the charging white reindeer.
The silver tips of their antlers reflect the midday sun in blinding flashes, and when the whole procession finally glides to an elegant stop outside the Laisi Mula Inn, and the harness bells fall silent, the hushed crowd gathered to watch look frozen in place. Ylvara isn’t ready for this.
Then a footman dismounts and opens the carriage door, and my stepmother-dearest emerges in an avalanche of velvet overcoats and embroidered skirts.
She gazes at the building in front of her without expression, only a pursing of red lips below her inky hair.
It’s pinned in an intricate series of loops today, with the lock of pure white at the front left curled by her cheek.
An attendant rushes to gather Queen Taynia’s train, lest her skirts dare to brush the packed snow.
A pit opens in my stomach, and I’m quick to duck back around the corner of the inn. Leaning against the wall, I suck in a fortifying breath.
“I can do this,” I whisper to no one.
Lumi believes in you.
“Thanks, and I believe in you too, because if your reflections don’t hide me, we both know what happens.”
Lumi has this. Now go slay your dragon.
I can’t help but smile. My moon friend has been hanging around my dramatic orphan friends too much.
Since we revealed her, she’s spent several evenings hovering around inside the cottage, chatting up the kids, imparting random facts, and helping them run lines.
I think they like her. Oddly, none of them have brought up what a celestial is doing with a Wilder Fae since that night in the forest. Maybe Lark said something to them.
The inn is humming when I enter from the rear door, my braid askew from my quick run outside. I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to see her, needed a moment to breathe. To prepare.
Since we received word yesterday that the queen’s entourage would stay here at the Laisi Mula, it’s been all hands on duty. Even Lark’s little beasties are helping. My arms ache from scrubbing every surface to gleaming perfection, and the tension crackling in the air has worn my nerves thin.
Daria’s voice breaks from the back like lightning. “Plates! Where are the extra plates? Anyone?”
There’s a crash near the pantry, a muffled shout, and Helkki’s distinctive, “I’m not a server!”
Then the front door opens.
The air shifts. Conversations die mid-word. Even the fire in the hearth seems to lower its crackle to listen. Daria appears, her hands smoothing her apron and tugging back wisps of silver hair as she bustles to the front.
Beron is the first to enter.
Casual and confident as always, he’s dressed in black with his travel cloak crisp and sharp, down to the royal blue embroidered collar standing stiff around his neck. No smile, no slouching, not a duskwine hair out of place. Just cool composure and tension in his jaw as his gaze sweeps the room.
It passes over the hearth, the tavern entrance, the stairs to the rooms above…then it catches.
His expression doesn’t change, not exactly. It’s only a breath. A blink. But his eyes find mine.
Then he looks away. Takes in the coat closet, the staff waiting…
Only the prickle up my spine tells me I didn’t imagine it. But I must have. There’s no reason for him to suspect.
I shake the strange moment off, adjusting my grip on the tray I picked up. Lumi’s illusion is holding. I don’t need to check or hide, no matter how strong the urge.
Behind another pair of guards, the Queen enters.
Where Beron moves like a soldier trained to read dangerous ground, Queen Taynia sweeps into the room like it belongs to her and always has.
Her gown is deep burgundy and smoke-grey, and it shimmers with frost-edged lace and iced embroidery.
She looks about, gaze sweeping over all our heads like a blade too cold to notice when it’s cut you. We’re far beneath her.
Guards file in, too many for a village this small.
Two ice-blue robed advisors follow next, noble spouses in tow.
I glance to the front desk where Daria has dropped a deep curtsy.
A blast of cold from Lumi alerts me to the fact that everyone is kneeling or dipping in curtsies, and I hurry to follow.
I bow my head, but not before catching Beron glancing my way again.
In my defence, I used to enter with the queen. I never bowed to her.
“How quaint,” Taynia says, with all the ice-cold derision I would expect.
Daria rises. “Welcome to the Laisi Mula, Your Majesty. You have our humblest gratitude for gracing this establishment with your patronage.”
She’s good. Only because I know her so well, can I hear the sharp edge under the saccharine words.
The queen doesn’t blink. “I hope the food is fresher than the decor, at least.”
“Of course, my Queen. Right this way. We’ve prepared a special lunch.” Daria gestures into the tavern.
With a sniff, Taynia waves a hand, and two guards go in first to secure the tavern. From the sound of chairs scraping, I assume the few bold patrons who remained today have now been told to scram.
I slip away toward the kitchens, careful not to trip over the extra furniture piled in the back hallway out of sight.
Loading my tray with hot butter-eye buns, I ease into the tavern and try to walk normally toward the tables.
Halfway to the queen’s table, I feel it again—that tingle at the base of my neck, heavy with the weight of eyes on me.
I want to turn and run, but that would only bring attention.
It’s Beron. I know without looking, but I risk a glance anyway.
He’s looking away now, but the set of his shoulders is tense.
I set the plate of buns on the head table with a mumbled, “Majesty,” before backing away.
As I turn to go, a flash of green catches my eye.
Light reflects from an emerald ring on Beron’s finger.
Strange. I’ve never known Beron to wear jewelry.
Don’t linger, Valkie.
With a jolt, I heed Lumi’s warning and hurry away. Taynia’s deliberately bored tone reaches me as she snips at Beron. “Why are you staring after that serving girl like a fool?”
The tray tips in my grasp.
Before it can fall with a clatter, a quick hand darts out to catch it.
“Val?” Lark materializes beside me with a grin and a perfectly timed rescue, just when I need him most. “Everything okay?”
I nod too fast.
His brow furrows, then he traces the path I just took back to the table until his gaze lands on Beron.
“I think he recognized me,” I breathe.
“Go.” He nudges me toward the kitchen. “I have a plan.” He turns to face the room and lifts his hands.
With a flick of his fingers, an entire tea set appears in midair, accompanied by pastries spinning like dancers.
The teacups twirl and turn each other around a faintly shimmering ballroom, enticing their saucers to join with exaggerated swagger.
When the teapot begins to shimmy, a few laughs break out.
And by the time a full array of dishes and sweet rolls have performed a mesmerizing waltz, Lark takes a deep bow to a round of polite applause from the nobles and guards.
Daria looks like she might kiss him. I echo that sentiment.
With my hands buzzing, and my chest too tight, I hurry for the safety of the kitchen.
By the time the sun breaks over Ylvara, Redcurrant Cottage is a war zone of costumes and rehearsal lines.
Someone left a single shoe on the stovetop, and I’m fairly certain the twins are sword-fighting with prop antlers in the entryway. I dodge a swoop of trailing fabric as Katja flutters past.
“She’s still getting the line wrong!” she huffs.
“Who?”
“Aili.”
“Isn’t her only line ‘Behold the Fairy Queen, the fairest of them all’?”
“She keeps yelling ‘the barest of them all’!”
“Well,” Lark mutters from the doorway, “if Her Majesty hears that, we may all end up beheaded, so…good warm-up, I guess.”
I sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”
Lark gives me a crooked grin, his arms full of props and picnic baskets. All our nerves are jangled. This plan is probably crazy, and almost certainly won’t work, and yet nothing could stop me from following his lead into this folly.
He tilts his head toward the door. “Alright, little beasties. It’s that time! Props, cloaks, courage, go.”
“I’m coming!” Aili hollers, but she’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor, frowning at her sash. “It’s the wrong purple.”
“It’s the only purple,” I say gently.
“I look like cabbage.”
Lark pretends to faint against the doorframe. “The tragedy. The betrayal. The produce comparison.”
“You all go ahead,” I say over Aili’s whine. “We’ll catch up.”
The others shuffle out, but Lark leans close to murmur in my ear. “Don’t let her talk you into a whole new costume.”
“No promises. Have you seen that pout? It’s epic.” But I smile reassuringly.
He brushes my fingers, curling his pinky around mine. “Meet you backstage?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, then ducks out with the chaotic troupe. The door clicks shut behind them.
Aili is back to attacking the sash, which she has managed to tie in an impressive knot. Her little tongue sticks out in concentration. Lumi emerges from her moonstone to hover over us, her glow faint but steady.
“You’re nervous, small one,” Lumi says.
Is that what this is? Trust Lumi to know it’s not just a random fit of grumpiness.
“Are you worried, Aili?” I ask.
“No.”
Of course, that’s her answer. “Here, let me help.” I reach out to untangle the knotted sash.
“I can do it.”
“Of course you can do it. But it’s okay to ask for help, too. I need help lots of times.”
“You do?” Those aqua-blue eyes look up at me.
“All the time. Haven’t you seen Lark helping me?”
“I guess. But I thought you were just…”
I raise my eyebrows. I can’t wait to hear what Grumpy-pants thinks of me, but a knock interrupts us.
“Oh, lucky you. Saved by the door.”
Lumi zooms back to her pendant, and I hurry over to see what last-moment task Daria has for me. But when I catch sight of the blue collar through the cottage door’s new window, I abruptly duck behind the wall.
“Aili, remember the gremlin?” I whisper hoarsely. “Get in the same cupboard. Now. Hide! And don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”
I wait until she obeys, her eyes wide.
Another knock makes me jump.
Pulse pounding, I round the entryway wall and open the door, fighting to keep my face neutral. I haven’t had enough acting practice for this. “Y-yes?”
Beron’s silhouette fills the stoop. “Forgive the intrusion.” His voice is low and smooth as ever, but my hands tremble. “The queen has been gifted a bottle of fine plumot cordial and a basket of red apples, both of which need to be delivered to her private festival tent.”
“I see. And you want me—”
“The innkeeper suggested you could assist me with the delivery.”
“D-Daria did?”
“Are you not in her employ?”
“No, I—yes, I am. Of course. I’ll be right there.”
He doesn’t move.
“Oh, right now?”
“That would be best, yes.”
I cast a glance toward the cupboard where the door is ajar. There’s no way I’m letting Aili anywhere near Beron or any other huntsman. I spot a bright eye in the gap, so I give a tiny but firm head shake before grabbing my cloak off its hook. “Lead the way.”
The door closes behind us, and Beron gestures me ahead of him. Unease crawls up my spine on spider legs.
At the front stoop of Sparkwillow cottage, he gathers a basket of shiny, red apples and passes it to me before tucking a bottle wrapped in frosted silk into his own cloak pocket. He really could carry both.
“This way,” he says, gesturing not toward the front of the inn and the direction of the festival, but toward the path that goes to the clearing and the forest beyond.
“Her tent is this way?” I try to keep my voice light.
“She prefers quiet.”
That didn’t use to be true, but since my father’s death, Taynia was always on my case about making too much noise.
“You chew too loudly, Talvie. Walk quieter, Talvie. Must you speak at full volume, Talvie?” I take the narrow path ahead of Beron with my hands fisted tight around the basket handle to stop my shaking.
We don’t speak as the path wends its way through unfamiliar trees.
This path differs from the ones I’ve taken with Lark and the kids.
It’s taking us to the side of town where I first came upon Ylvara all those days ago.
Fear prickles under my skin. Have I come full circle?
From fleeing Beron’s axe, to walking with him to see the very woman who ordered my death.
My boots crunch over frosty needles, while Beron’s steps are eerily quiet behind me. My heartbeat flutters as I risk a peek over my shoulder. He’s still there, moving with a hunter’s grace.
I’m distracted by a flash of movement several paces back, but when I look, there’s nothing but a rustling bush.
An animal, no doubt. Beron watches me closely, one hand resting on his weapons belt.
A glint draws my eye to the emerald ring on his finger again.
It’s strange to see Beron wearing something decorative, when his outfits are always minimalist and practical.
What was it he always said when we were training and I forgot to remove my jewelry?
Oh yes, glitter gets you killed on a hunt.
His throat clears, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“That’s, uh…a beautiful ring.”
He smiles. Which is odd for him. “Isn’t it? It’s also a very helpful bit of witch magic I got from a trader. Lets the wearer see through illusions.”
Ice clogs my veins, freezing my throat.
He can’t mean—
But he does. It’s obvious in the way he looks at me. This is no delivery. I’m walking into a trap.
I swallow.
“Beron…”
“Princess.”
Drowning Deep.