1. Stellen, Prince of Frost #3
Finally, I drag the stone down the side of an incline and across a snowy field to a rare patch of warm earth, where one of the hot springs that meander beneath the surface of the Frost Kingdom reaches the surface and vines have dared to thrive.
Mother and Safra loved these vines. When they were allowed to go to the temple, they would come here so they could sing to the vines and help them flourish.
I stop beside the warm earth, my shoulders sunk low while my breathing is sharp and angry, every exhalation a storm in which I’m caught.
Allowing the gravestone to settle onto the snow, I reach for my mother and sister and carry them onto the warm earth, laying them down, still wrapped.
I return to the stone, tipping it over, rolling it instead of dragging it across the vines, controlling its descent each time so it touches down gently and doesn’t crush the greenery.
I promise myself I will come back and carve their names into it—this stone from which the curse sprung.
Unwrapping the sheets, I hunch beside my family for a long time.
They are gone from their bodies, their souls fled. They lived their lives with gentleness, but I am left with anger. I’ve done terrible things with my rage. With my Voice. Monstrous and merciless things…
I rock forward, gripping my head with my hands, waiting for the rage to pass, trying to breathe it out, trying to remember the calming songs Mother sang to me.
It’s no use.
Night is falling and with it will come a snowstorm so cold, it will kill me.
One day, I will pay the price for what I’ve done today.
But not yet.
With shaking hands, I reach for the bloodied, yellow ribbon wrapped around my sister’s wrist and slip the material from her lifeless arm.
When Safra was born, Mother used the last of her Lethian silver to sing amulets for her and me so we could carry Mother’s songs with us.
Father claimed that silver for his own, keeping one of the amulets for himself and giving the other to Sorley.
Neither of them ever wore the amulets. Father simply wanted Mother to know he could take whatever he wanted.
But Mother was resourceful, so instead of using silver that would draw Father’s eye, she found castoff yellow threads with which to sing these ribbons into existence, one for Safra to wear wrapped around her arm and one for my first warrior’s braid.
The braid in my hair tugs toward my sister’s bloodied ribbon, the songs within them calling to each other, humming in the air, songs of kinship, trust, and faith.
Even now, those melodies can’t calm me.
“What use are these songs?” I snarl into the growing wind, the ice in the air cutting across my cheeks, the wind ripping at my voice as I shout into the storm, “What use is my heart?”
No use at all.
My hands shake hard as I make a decision.
Bringing my sister’s ribbon to my lips, I sing again.
This melody is icy cold, a brutal combination of my Lethian and Frost power.
My mother taught me this song when she was at her lowest point, desperation causing her to plead with me to use this song on her.
She knew the harmony, but could not make it work on herself, because it required my rare dual powers.
I wouldn’t do it, for fear it would harm her. But now I know I should have.
Maybe, if her heart were like ice, she would have stayed alive.
With this song, I can cut every spark of warmth from my heart. I can rid myself of sadness and anger and by doing so, I can escape the bitterness of joy and love and hope because those emotions only bring grief, and grief is poisonous.
I will live by logic, not emotion.
Note by note, I cut out every unwanted part of my heart and then I hum against the bloodied ribbon, sending into the tainted material every power of my heart that I’m discarding.
As I sing, frost dusts my skin, ice spreading across my face and arms, my torso and legs, until I’m hunched and covered in snow.
But with every note, my hands shake less.
My Voice calms.
My rage finally fades.
And slowly, very slowly, my furious heartbeats settle.
Beats that are now emotionless and free from pain and fury.
Rising to my feet, I shake off the ice, sending crimson snowflakes into the wind, casting off the blood.
I am clean again.
A snowstorm beats against me, but I don’t feel the cold. It cannot touch me.
My sister’s ribbon thrashes in the wind, gripped firmly in my fist, bringing with it the echo of her death cry.
Making another decision, I press the ribbon to the warm earth in front of the gravestone, holding it there before I push the stone over on top of it.
Thud.
The cry in the wind stops. The ribbon is buried and with it, my heart.
My heart must not be unearthed while I’m alive or my grief will resurface and with it, my rage.
Drawing on my Lethian power one last time, I call on the vines to reach up and cover my mother and sister and accept them into the ground, where their songs can rest.
Then I step away from the gravesite, tip my head back into the wind, and drag in the freezing air, welcoming the emptiness where my heart once felt.
Closing my eyes, I make my vows…
Chaos will not control me.
Fear will not control me.
Loss will not control me.
To Nara, I say, “No more.”