Part 2 (2/2)

”What did you do to me during the fever?”

”Healed you.”

”With witchcraft?”

”I have a gift for healing,” she said evenly. ”Should I have used it, or let you die? There was no dark in it, and you are not bound to me for payment.”

”Then why do I feel bound to you?”

Her pulse jumped. His hand wasn't gripping her arm now. It caressed. ”I did nothing to tie you. I have neither desire nor the skill for it.”

Cautiously, she moved out of reach. ”You have my word. When you're well enough to travel, you're free to go.”

”How?” It was bitter. ”Where?” Pity stirred in her, swam into her eyes.

She remembered the face of the woman in his mind, the love she'd felt flow between them. His mother, she thought. Even now watching for his return home.

”It won't be simple, nor without risk. But you have a horse, and we'll give you provisions. One of my men will travel with you as far as possible. I can do no more than that.”

He put it aside for now. When the time came, he would find his way home. ”Tell me how this came to be. This place. I've heard stories-betrayal and witchcraft and cold spells over a land that was once fruitful and at peace.”

”So I am told.” She rose again to stir the fire. ”When my grandfather was king, there were farms and fields. The land was green and rich, the lake blue and thick with fish. Have you ever seen blue water?”

”I have, yes.”

”How can it be blue?” she asked as she turned. There was puzzlement on her face, and more, he thought. An eagerness he hadn't seen before. It made her look very young.

”I haven't thought about it,” he admitted. ”It seems to be blue, or green, or gray. It changes, as the sky changes.”

”My sky never changes.” The eagerness vanished as she walked to the window. ”Well,” she said, and straightened her shoulders. ”Well. My grandfather had two daughters, twin-born. His wife died giving them life, and it's said he grieved for her the rest of his days. The babes were named Ernia, who was my aunt, and Fiona, who was my mother, and on them he doted. Most parents dote on their children, don't they, my lord?”

”Most,” he agreed.

”So he did. Like their mother, they were beautiful, and like their mother, they were gifted. Ernia could call the sun, the rain, the wind. Fiona could speak to the beasts and the birds. They were, I'm told, compet.i.tive, each vying for their father's favor though he loved them both. Do you have siblings, my lord?”

”A brother and a sister, both younger.”

She glanced back. He had his mother's eyes, she thought. But her hair had been light. Perhaps his father had that ink-black hair that looked so silky.

”Do you love them, your brother and your sister?”

”Very much.”

”That is as it should be. But Ernia and Fiona could not love each other.

Perhaps it was because they shared the same face, and each wanted her own. Who can say? They grew from girl to woman, and my grandfather grew old and ill. He wanted them married and settled before his death.

Ernia he betrothed to a king in a land beyond the Elf Hills, and my mother he promised to a king whose lands marched with ours to the east.

Rose Castle was to be my mother's, and the Palace of Sighs, on the border of the Elf Hills, my aunt's. In this way he divided his wealth and lands equally between them, for he was, I'm told, a wise and fair ruler and a loving father.”

She came back to sit and sip at tea gone cold. ”In the weeks before the weddings, a traveler came and was welcome here as all were in those days. He was handsome and clever, quick of tongue and smooth with charm. A minstrel by trade, it's said he sang like an angel. But fair looks are no mirror of the heart, are they?”

”A pleasant face is only a face.” Kylar lifted a shoulder. ”Deeds make a man.”

”Or woman,” she added. ”So I have always believed, and so, in this case, it was. In secret, this handsome man courted and seduced both twins, and both fell blindly in love with him. He came to my mother's bed, and to her sister's, bearing a single red rose and promises never meant to be kept. Why do men lie when women love?”

The question took him aback. ”My lady... not all men are deceivers.”

”Perhaps not.” Though she was far from convinced. ”But he was. One evening the sisters, of the same mind, wandered to the rose garden. Each wanted to pluck a red rose for her lover. It was there the lies were discovered. Instead of comforting each other, instead of raging against the man who had deceived them both, they fought over him. She-wolves over an unworthy badger. Ernia's temper called the wind and the hail, and Fiona's had the beasts stalking out of the forest to snarl and howl.”

”Jealousy is both a flawed and a lethal weapon.” She angled her head.

Nodded. ”Well said. My grandfather heard the clamor and roused himself from his sickbed. Neither marriage could take place now, as both his daughters were disgraced. The minstrel, who had not slipped away quickly enough, was locked in the dungeon until his punishment could be decided. There was weeping and wailing from the sisters, as that punishment would surely be banishment, if not death. But he was spared when it came to be known that my mother was with child. His child, for she had lain with no other.”

”You were the child.”

”Yes. So, by becoming, I saved my father's life. The grief of this, the shame of this, ended my grandfather's. Before he died, he ordered Ernia to the Palace of Sighs. Because of the child, he decreed that my mother would marry the minstrel. It was this that drove Ernia mad, and on the day the marriage took place, the day her own father died in despair, she cast her spell.

”Winter, endless years of it. A sea of ice to lock Rose Castle away from the world. The rosebush where flowers had been plucked from lies would not bear bud. The child her sister carried would never feel the warmth of summer sun on her face, or walk in a meadow or see a tree bear fruit. One faithless man, three selfish hearts, destroyed a world.

And so became the Isle of Winter in the Sea of Ice.”

”My lady.” He laid a hand on hers. Her life, he thought, the whole of it had been spent without the simple comfort of sunlight. ”A spell cast can be broken. You have power.” ”My gift is of healing. I cannot heal the land.” Because she wanted to turn her hand over in his, link fingers, feel that connection, she drew away. ”My father left my mother before I was born. Escaped. Later, as she watched her people starve, my mother sent messengers to the Palace of Sighs to ask for a truce. To beg for one. But they never came back.

Perhaps they died, or lost their way. Or simply rode on into the warmth and the sun. No one who has left here has ever come back. Why would they?”

”Ernia the Witch-Queen is dead.”

”Dead?” Deirdre stared into the fire. ”You're sure of this?”

”She was feared, and loathed. There was great celebration when she died. It was on the Winter Solstice, and I remember it well. She's been dead for nearly ten years.”

Deirdre closed her eyes. ”As her sister has. So they died together. How odd, and how apt.” She rose again to walk to the window. ”Ten years dead, and her spell holds like a clenched fist. How bitter her heart must have been.”

And the faint and secret hope she'd kept flickering inside that upon her aunt's death the spell would break, winked out. She drew herself up.

”What we can't change, we learn to be content with.” She stared out at the endless world of white. ”There is beauty here.”

”Yes.” It was Deirdre that Kylar watched. ”Yes. There is beauty here.”

Chapter 4

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