“You spent too much time in that cave,” Zarev groans. “You’ve become cryptic.”
“That’s what you get when you ask things of me that I can’t deliver on,” I tell him with a smile. “Go, see what can be done. I’ll be in touch, brother.”
“You’ll be in touch sooner than a month’s time,” Zarev corrects.
“If you insist,” I reply, bowing my head. Zarev copies the movement, his glowing eyes lingering on me for a moment before the image fades, and the seeing stone darkens again.
After stuffing it into the shadows, I peer at my surroundings. Yesterday’s rushed visit with Legs meant I needed to hurry back to the Frostlands, braving Icicle Pass with the help of my shadows. I’ve fallen from there once, and I won’t do so again. I can’t use my shadows to cross from Wonderland to the Frostlands; the icy cliffs are far too high. It’s a one-way sort of excursion.
The detour was necessary, and although my friends have issues of their own right now, I can’t turn back. Not when I’vehurried across the land, dodging the Icebound, and sought out a queen who would rather see me dead.
The Ice Queen. The kinder of the queens of the Frostlands, but still, I won’t risk the Snow Queen discovering me before my task is complete.
Without Z there to chatter my ear off, I leap into the shadows once more. My magic strains against the constant use, but there’s nothing to be done about that. I heard the whispers between civilians as I hurried here, their wails drawing my attention even from the shadows before Zarev reached me.
The Queen has raised taxes. The Queen is locking down on curfew. The Queen wants a better harvest. The Queen needs soldiers. The Queen means to bleed us dry.
All the sorrows of those who weep will go unnoticed by the Dowager Queen, even en masse. If the cries of the people do not align with her means to an end, she won’t humor them. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
Who ruled before Andor and Snedronningen? I don’t recall, but perhaps my parents once knew. I’ve never seen or heard mention of the rulers of the past, and since Neve drifts on in her frozen sleep, there’s little mention of the current ruler, either.
That will change soon though, once I can reverse the Queen’s rage.
I’m panting when I step from the shadows again, feeling the strain of my magic. I’m at my limits, yet I still need to wake the Queen and, hopefully, not get blown to pieces when she recognizes me.
We left things on poor terms, considering she thinks I killed her father with malicious intent. I’d like to set the record straight, but right now, I need to be able to get close enough to her when she’s awake to plead my case.
As I glare up the North Mountain, I spy the lone dwelling high in the cliffs. It’s built off the edge, undoubtedly enchanted to withstand harsh winds and lecherous Icebound for all these long years. It took me ages to find this spot after Andor’s funeral, and longer still to figure out what the Snow Queen was up to.
Keeping my eyes peeled as I climb, I hear Legs’ voice in my head as I let my ice magic take over, carrying me higher into the mountains.A century of sleep will leave the Ice Queen weak. Give her the salve to ease the stiffness of her body, the drink to help calm her mind. One hundred years asleep will leave the mind fragile, and if she intends to take over again, she’ll need her wits about her.
I haven’t the faintest idea if Neve will want to be queen once she wakes, or how she’s going to respond to the time gap. When I died, both times, I was only out of commission for a short while, not even a month. Let aloneyears.
The thought stays with me as I climb, envisioning how Neve might react to waking and seeing me. I won’t be her Prince Charming, and I’m prepared to take the brunt of her hate.
Prepared, at least until I round the last corner of the mountain, the lonely cabin coming into view. The moment I spot horses, I disappear into the shadows again with a grimace. There’s only one person whom I’ve seen travel up here, and it’s never for anything good. As I pass the horses, creatures built from fluffy snow and sculpted to the size and shape of two magnificent beasts. The snow gives them an ethereal appearance, with unnatural glowing blue eyes, and I’ve learned from testing fate that I can pet them when I want to.
Staying in the shadows, the beasts are none the wiser to my presence. Eyeing the landscape and cliffs above us, I don’t spot any Icebound. That might be the only thing working in my favor now. Fading through the walls, I find the cramped space already overrun by Ronnie herself.
The Snow Queen hasn’t changed much since I first met her a hundred years ago. If she could freeze her likeness in snow I believe she would, and unnatural youth clings to a face that should be in the grave. She has snow-white hair that hangs past her waist, pale, frosty skin, and eyes so translucent they are nearly white too. Everything about her has a frozen quality, even down to the lush white dress and delicate frosted crown that decorates her head.
I’ve never seen a Dowager Queen wear a crown. That’s reserved for the reigning royal, but Ronnie doesn’t seem to care particularly. As I draw closer to her stiff form, leaning somewhat over the bed, I notice her fingertips are tinted white with small dots, almost like a snowflake. It clings to the Snow Queen’s skin.
Studying her, I look for signs of the curse that’s plagued the Dowager Queen these long years. She’s supposed to be slowly turning to solid ice, freezing into nothing, but she moves just as well if not better than she did a century ago when I was in her dungeons.
And that stolen youth is all thanks to the queen lying on the bed, frozen in sleep.
Neve’s eyes are closed, her short, dark hair creating a halo around her as she sleeps. She’s wearing a pale blue dress, hands resting gently against her middle, her legs stretched out beneath the dress in a perfect line. There are no blankets to cover her skin, not that I think the Dowager Queen, who can wield snow, cares much about the cold. But seeing her like this, the few times I’ve visited, never covered or cared for, just reminds me that Ronnie is using her and nothing more.
Sometimes, Ronnie speaks to her daughter, letting lies slip from her tongue. Today it’s stoic silence, her cold gaze lasered in on the true queen. I wonder what she’s thinking, or if she already came and cast her spell once more.
It’s no matter. The needle in my pocket will right the wrong, whether or not the spell was recently strengthened.
Heaving a sigh, the Snow Queen turns stiffly and angles toward the door. She manages to look annoyed as she moves slowly from the bed, shaking her head. Her voice is softer than expected, like she’s mumbling to herself. I’ve heard what she sounds like when she speaks to Neve, usually at a normal volume. “The magic is thinning. What a useless girl.”
Pressing my lips together, I fight back the desire to say something or mess with her. If anything happens to the Snow Queen before I have an opportunity to speak with Neve once she wakes, odds are she will just blame me for that too.
I watch Ronnie’s slow gait back to the horse-drawn carriage, peering at the precarious cliffs she will contend with on the ride down. The further she moves, the more her body relaxes. As though the stiffness that’s known to plague her thanks to the curse is suddenly shedding from her body.
