Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Stellen
Ishould stop her from walking this treacherous path, a path of beautiful music that can only lead to bloodshed.
But controlling her voice would be like caging her.
I should cage her.
I should chain her to me like Antony chained her to him and keep her close to my side.
When I first saw her at the coastal village, her head held defiantly high, I thought that I could and would imprison her.
But by singing to her to keep her alive, I’ve given her a part of myself. Not a part of my cold heart—of that, there’s nothing worth giving. I’ve given her my Voice in a way I’ve never given it to anyone else.
Chaining her, restricting her, silencing her would be like chaining and silencing myself, an existence I’ve come to accept for myself, but I can’t impose it on her.
Ultimately, she needs the armor off. She can’t walk around in it. And I, in a moment of impulse I should have resisted, insisted it was under her control.
She leans in closer to me, pushing her palm to my chest, finding the rip in my tunic.
Why does it feel like her hand belongs on my heart?
“I’m prepared for whatever consequences come my way,” she says, looking me in the eye. “I’m ready for them.”
I swallow the dread I shouldn’t be able to feel. “Then I’ll teach you. But I have rules.”
“Of course,” she says, her eyebrows gently raised, the hint of a smile playing around her mouth. “I’ll consider them impositions.”
Why does she try to lighten my heart?
More confusingly…how does she come close to succeeding?
“Singing stays within these walls,” I say, and then I point to the door. “Never sing outside that door.”
She nods, her smile fading, her expression serious again. “Anything else?”
Anything else?
Dear Goddess of Snow and Stone, I want her to take off this dress right now.
Before I can break my own rules and act on my impulses, distant sounds pull my focus away from her.
I stiffen, my attention snapping to my right.
“Someone’s approaching.” I relax as I recognize Nara’s padding feet, plus the footfalls of three fae. “It’s Nara. She’s brought the staff.”
Just as well. My thoughts may be heated, but my stomach is as empty as Thyra’s must be.
As I identify the soft swishing of wicker against legs, I add, “They’re carrying baskets, but they’ll leave everything at the door.”
Thyra’s pursed lips tell me she’s craning to hear their approach and I’m impressed when she says, “Three fae.”
It could be a lucky guess on her part, but it’s pleasing that she got it right. “Correct.”
I wait a minute, listening for the fae to retreat, although Nara stays.
I’m finally forced to step away from Thyra, propelled by her suddenly growling stomach.
Swinging open the mended door, I reveal the three large baskets now resting on the doorstep. One from which wafts delicious smells. Two others from which material spills.
When I flip the covers open, it becomes clear those two baskets are full of clean clothing—one basket for Thyra and one for me—as well as fresh linens.
I catch a glimpse of the retreating fae before I whistle softly to Nara as she settles down beside the door. She gives me a contented snarl that tells me she’s eaten already.
Cold air rushes through the opening, but Thyra moves to my side, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Will Nara come inside?”
“It’s too warm for her in here. Don’t worry; her stomach is full and she enjoys the snow.”
I pull all three baskets into the room and close the door. Checking the contents, I place the baskets of clothing and linen at the door to the hallway before I carry the third to the table.
It’s loaded with food: fresh bread baked into small rolls, a pot of steaming stew, and a jar of preserved berries, along with four flasks of water.
“There’s a tap for fresh water in the bathing room,” I say. “But this water will contain sugars to help with dehydration. Never drink water from any other source and especially do not chew ice. All outside sources of water must be boiled before you can safely drink it.”
Thyra wastes no time taking a seat on one of the pastel-pink chairs. She chooses the one facing the front door, the one I would have chosen if I’d planned on sitting down, but she pauses when I take myself back to the door, where I lean up against the wall once more.
She gestures at the food. “Won’t you eat?”
“Once you’ve eaten.” I’m already listening to the sounds outside. Nara’s breathing. The distant scuffling sounds as the staff retreats along the stone path.
“What are you listening for?”
“Everything,” I reply. “Right now, Nara’s breathing tells me she’s calm.
The staff is walking away along the stone path.
The palace grounds are peaceful. But that can change very quickly.
” I focus back on Thyra. “I don’t think I need to remind you to be on your guard even when the world feels peaceful. ”
She shakes her head. “You certainly don’t.”
I believe her. She’s quiet, but that means she’s paying attention. I’ve sensed it since she regained her strength back at the Alak-Teah. She anticipates danger at every turn. In fact, she expects it.
As she loads up her plate, she says, “When I’ve eaten, I can stand guard. My father and I used to take turns watching each other’s backs in new places. We’d also take turns staying awake at night. You and I can do that too.”
She focuses back on her food without waiting for my agreement, and I let it slide.
I won’t wake her tonight. She needs as much rest as she can get.
She eats cautiously, first drinking water, then tucking into the stew and bread, but she takes deep breaths between mouthfuls, as if she were pacing herself. I’m not sure when she last ate. It’s already early afternoon, so it could be approaching twenty-four hours for her.
Every sigh she makes sounds joyous.
Simple pleasures.
After her last bite, she rises quickly and gestures to the table. “Your turn.”
Sweeping past me, she takes up position on the other side of the door.
I accept her gesture.
As I eat, I stop between mouthfuls, taking a longer break when a distant commotion draws my attention. Just a scuffle between soldiers. The guards outside the palace wall quickly break them up.
I resume eating, conscious of Thyra’s scrutiny.
“What were you listening to just now?”
“An argument over bread.”
“Between the staff?”
“No. Two soldiers outside the palace wall.” I resume eating with a brief wave. “The guards have moved them along.”
Thyra’s quiet, her eyes squinting a little. She must be trying to hear it too.
She gives a shake of her head. “How far away can you hear?”
I give her a smug smile. “Far.”
“Why were they arguing about bread?”
I consider the food on my plate.
Another cruel truth about my kingdom.
“Food is scarce in Frost,” I say. “Recent times have been even harder.”
She presses her hands to her stomach. “Did I consume a feast?”
I incline my head. There’s no sense denying it.
“Last winter, I was forced to send Lilis with a legion of soldiers into the Iron Kingdom to raid their grain supplies. It’s too cold to grow wheat in Frost, so we make flour from tubers, but a rot had spread through our crops.
I had no choice but to resort to stealing.
“During one of those incursions, Antony’s sister, Cassia, happened to be visiting the outpost that Lilis struck. I’m sure you know that Cassia is a skilled fighter, so the fight between them was brutal.”
Thyra’s expression softens. “Cassia’s fierce and kind. And loyal to her brother.”
“As loyal as Antony was to her.” I speak even more softly than before, acutely aware that mentioning Antony’s name causes Thyra’s heartbeats to become heavy and her cheeks to pale despite the warmth in the room.
Keeping my expression blank, I continue. “Antony didn’t take kindly to Lilis’s attack on Cassia. The next time Lilis struck, Antony was waiting. Lilis was lucky to escape with her life that day.”
“He would have assumed she came to assassinate Cassia. And possibly him.”
I can only nod. “I didn’t order Lilis to end Antony or Cassia, but she wouldn’t have hesitated to try.”
“Your people…their hunger…” Thyra closes her eyes.
Then presses her hand to her stomach again.
“I know how it feels to go hungry.” A frustrated sigh leaves her lips.
“The Iron Kingdom has so much food. There’s a fruit called a thistleberry that grows on trees and fills your stomach like you’ve eaten a full meal. Did you ever consider—”
But she falls silent.
I already told her I sent soldiers to steal food. As nice as it would be to think that thistleberry trees would grow in Frost, that isn’t possible.
Of all the other options she might have been about to voice, I anticipate the most fraught. “Did I ever consider asking Antony for help?”
Speaking that course of action aloud makes my jaw clench. To be beholden to the Iron King would have given Iker Silversten all he would have needed to challenge me for the throne. No Winter Strife necessary.
Let alone the problem of giving the Iron King power over me.
Thyra tips up her chin, defiant. “I’m not talking about help. I’m talking about making a deal. A trade. Offering Antony something he might want.”
I return her gaze, struck by the memory of Antony calling Thyra his hope.
Simply by listening to her, I could believe she has answers. That she could lay out a path in front of me that would give me everything I want and need.
“The Iron Kingdom has no use for snow,” I snarl. “I have nothing else to offer.”
“Not true.” She catches her breath. “You could have granted Antony freedom from his stepmother.”
My forehead puckers. “How so?”
“Your Voice,” she says, refusing to release me from her gaze, her blue eyes becoming harder. More determined. “You could have captured Galla Vividari, kept her in a tower on the border, and used your Voice to compel her to banish the dark each night.”
I can only stare at Thyra.
The sheer boldness of what she’s describing tightens my throat.
Impossible. It never would have worked. Nothing is ever that simple.
“He would have given you the Iron Kingdom’s surplus grain supplies in a heartbeat,” Thyra says with a certainty that makes me question myself.
If I imagine even for a second that she’s right… If I dare to believe my Voice could have become a gift, a way to feed my people, instead of being something they fear…
I shake my head. “There would have been consequences. Foreseen and unforeseen.”
“Trying to steal the grain had consequences, too,” she says.
I can’t deny it, but I remain firm. “We could never have cooperated. No matter what we needed.”
I’m acutely aware of the wall rising across Thyra’s expression, a wall that began building when we started talking about Antony.
Her whisper is heavy. “I guess we’ll never know.”
The final bite of food on my plate remains uneaten. My frost power makes my fingertips cold.
Thyra and I haven’t spoken about Antony’s death.
We’ve skirted around it, never addressing it directly.
Now I cast caution to the wind and ask her the question that has lurked at the back of my mind for hours. A question that could shatter the peace between us.
“When did you know?”
She understands exactly what I’m asking, her next inhalation dragging into her chest like steel rasping across iron. “I didn’t know he was a vampyr until it was too late.”
“Too late to save yourself.”
The corners of her mouth turn down. “Too late to help him.”
My eyes narrow as I wonder: what is the cost of her help?
But I ask the question that plagues me more, a question that will tell me how much Antony’s memory will influence her decisions and actions going forward. “Why did you want to?”
Why did she ask—no, beg—me to spare his life?
How did a fae like Antony, who cloaked himself in black steel and lived his life in a state of endless rage, forge a bond with a woman whose heart has so many layers, I don’t think I can ever know them all?
A bond strong enough that, despite the vampyric poison clearly consuming his mind, he used his final breath to ask her for forgiveness.
She’s pale. Tense. Pressed up against the wall. “That’s between him and me.”
A valid response, but it tells me nothing.
I listen to her pounding heart and wait for her to rage at me, to ask me how I could strike him down when he was already on his knees, to rail at me for my heartlessness, to accuse me of denying my people the food they need in a moment of cold violence.
But she…remains silent. Presses her palms to the wall. Turns her face away. Her chest rises and falls. Fast and then slower.
She becomes impossibly quiet. Soul-crushingly reserved.
Inwardly, I ridicule myself. I told her the sounds she makes matter. But now it’s the screams she isn’t uttering that matter the most.
I’m certain the time will come when she loosens her hold on her emotions.
When she feels stronger. When she finds her place in my kingdom. Once I’ve given her all of the tools she needs to destroy me.
She will confront me.
I’m certain of it.
And by then, I’ll have no defenses.