Fantasy of Frost (The Tainted Accords Book 1) (21 page)

“It only occurred to me afterwards,” I say, “that you have not had good…dealings with sleds in your family. I can forgive your worry, if that is what it was.” I keep my face forward. “It was your intimidation I objected to.”

He is silent for a long time. My heartbeat increases as I try to guess his reaction.

“You are right. I do not do well with sleds anymore,” he says, as though the words are being dragged from his mouth. I grin under my veil.

He continues, “I admit I was surprised by your reaction, though. You have not responded in this way before. Even when I was in your room when you first came and had you against the wall.”

Somebody gasps behind us. Jovan turns and glares, scaring them away. He turns back with a frown.

It is my turn to be silent as I decide how to answer. It had cost him to admit he had overreacted. I feel I owe him for some reason. Maybe for letting me live or maybe because he knows my biggest secret and has proven to be discreet.

“I did not have an easy time on Osolis,” I say and his eyes shift to my veil and flick down, perhaps taking in my posture as I do to others. “You will remember Blaine saying the Tatum hates me?” I ask. He nods. I turn forward.

“That was putting it lightly. As a result of the…as a result of
this
, I don’t like feeling intimidated. In fact, I do everything I can to avoid feeling vulnerable,” I finish, regretting having told him more than I had intended to, more than I had told Kedrick.

My eyes look to his hands, which are still draped over his knees, but now balled into huge fists. His tone when he speaks is the soft voice I have learnt means I should run as fast as I can away from him.

“Then I’m doubly sorry. The reports of the Tatum have certainly not been favourable. To what extent were you mistreated?” he asks. I shift on the seat.

“I do not think you need to know the details,” I say, hoping to dissuade him from the subject.

“I don’t need to know, but I would like to know. If you will tell me,” he says in his rough approximation of a gentle voice I have only heard once before.

I shrug my shoulder and look behind me. The crowd is several strides back. “Similar to how I was beaten here, some worse, some not as bad.” I keep my voice emotionless.

“You were physically beaten?” His tone is horrified. I tilt my head to the side. What did he think I had meant?

The King stands up as though he needs to punch the stone columns surrounding my bed again. He sits back down after a few moments. “
Fuck,”
he says in a voice I have not heard from him before.

“Did Kedrick know?” he demands.

“I think he suspected, but I never told him. I did not want him to try and intervene and get hurt or create a problem between our worlds because of me.” I look around for inspiration to change the subject.

“What is that thing on the end called?” I ask. 

I know he wants to hear more about my mistreatment. “A drum,” he answers finally. I let out a breath.

The King stands making the bench wobble. “Come, I will take you to meet the musicians.” He holds out his hand.

“I do not want to put them off,” I say looking at his hand.

He rolls his eyes. “Come with me, bloody stubborn woman.” I huff and place my hand in his. His hand encompasses my own. My hands must feel like blocks of ice to him. His skin is so warm. I see him glance down at my hand with a small frown. He leads me to the musicians and holds up his hand, stopping them mid-song.

The man who sits playing the third and unknown object looks up and shares a nervous look with the others.

“You don’t like this song, my King?” he asks.

“Your music is good as always, Tonio.” He pulls me forward. “This is the Princess of Osolis. They don’t have music there and she is curious about your instruments.” The three musicians turn their attention to me. I step forward, hands clasped in front of me.

“I cannot find words for how beautiful your music is,” I say. This seems to relax them. “I heard the violin from my room and had to see where the sound came from. We only have singers on Osolis.”

They thank me and offer to show me how their instruments work.

The drum player holds out one of his sticks which I take with some trepidation.

“Like this.” He grunts and hits the barrel which has a tight skin of some sort stretched over it. I tap the stick on it gently and a soft noise come out. Jovan snorts. I glare at him and see one of his eyebrows raised in challenge. I bring the stick down hard, jumping at the noisy sound and then laughing at my fright. I bang away on this for a few moments and then another man moves behind me and tucks his violin under my chin.

A horrible screeching sounds fills the hall when I attempt it. I shake my head to get rid of the sound as I would a bitter taste. Laughter sounds through the hall, I look up to see there is a massive audience watching. I hand the instrument back.

The last man gestures to his seat and places the guitar in my arms. “This guitar is much too big for you. I would make a smaller one for you if you were going to learn.” I look up at him in disbelief.

“I could not learn the guitar,” I say laughing and shaking my head. The man shrugs.

“Put your fingers here, on the second fret.” He puts my middle three fingers on the instrument.

“Second fret,” I repeat, feeling stupid. I hear a snort from Jovan and try to kick him in the shin.

I strum the strings awkwardly with my thumb, wincing as a strange muted noise comes from the strings.

“Press with your fingertips.” Tonio moves the position of my hand and the other musicians give me words of advice. I try again and get a fuzzy sound from them. I rearrange my hand again and this time all of the strings produce a mellow sound. I look up, sure I am glowing through my veil at my success.

“Very good, Princess. We will make a musician of you yet,” he says, taking his guitar back.

I look up at the watching crowd and feel guilty for stopping their dancing.

They start back up with gusto, making the crowd cheer and scramble to find partners.

I rub the tips together feeling the tenderness there. My fingers have shallow indents in them from the strings. I wonder how Tonio is able to play all night, I think my fingers would bleed.

I join Jovan and Roscoe who has walked over.

“You have taken a liking to the guitar, Tatuma?” Roscoe asks.

“Yes I have and you may call me Olina,” I say.

“I’m honoured, thank you,” he says with a deep bow. I nod back.

“What do you mean you’re honoured?” the King asks with furrowed brows.

“Being given permission to drop the Tatuma’s title is considered a privilege on Osolis.”

Jovan looks down at me and I laugh at his expression. He has called me Olina for many weeks now.

“I know it is not as formal here. Many of the Bruma here call me Olina,” I assure him.

“I heard little Cameron call you by your shortened name the other day,” Roscoe says.

“Yes, but he is too young to know otherwise. I cannot get angry at him for it.”

“I know many Solati who would become angry anyway.”

I shrug in response, but he is right.

“What is your shortened name?” Jovan interrupts.

I fidget a little. Roscoe frowns at the King, who ignores him. “Lina,” I say, keeping my tone short and uninviting.

He is not deterred. He and Kedrick share the same perseverance. “What does it mean when people use your shortened name?” Somehow he makes his question sound like a demand.

I sigh and share a glance with Roscoe. “Only people you love deeply are allowed to call you by your shortened name before you are married. Family, friends and lovers.” I smile when I say the last word without fumbling.

“Kedrick called you this?”

I look at him, surprised with the reference to his brother, who he always seemed to avoid talking about. “He did,” I say.

I look past the pair to a group of females standing across the room from us. If their eyes were daggers I would be dead many times over.

“I think I will return upstairs now,” I say with a nod in the direction of the women. “There are many people who want some of your attention.”

Jovan looks over his shoulder and turns back with a sigh. The females preen under his momentary attention. I see Greta pushing at her hair and smiling.

“It could be worse. You could be watching a play,” I say. He snorts and walks towards the females with his hands clasped behind his back. I turn to Roscoe who is smiling and watching the King leave. He turns to me with an air of speculation I do not understand.

“He does not laugh much anymore. It is nice to see him do so,” he says.

Confused as to why he is saying this to me, I say goodbye and walk towards my guards.

A hand grabs my wrist, nails dig in. I whirl around, breaking their hold.

Arla looks down at me, eyes wide. I let out a shaky breath. For one moment, I had thought my mother was here.

“Chill, Solati. I’m not attacking you,” she says, crossing her arms and stepping further away. She keeps a beaming smile on her face for the benefit of the people watching. I doubt it is for me.

“Yes?” I ask.

“I wanted to have a girl chat. We haven’t really talked yet,” she says.

I narrow my eyes. “You do?”

“Yes, plus we are all wondering how you thought Kedrick was in the sack.”

“In the sack,” I repeat.

“I thought he was pretty good myself, he did this thing with his tongue. You know what I’m talking about?” She nudges me and I realise what she’s talking about. Gross.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I say, turning to walk away.

“Why not? All of us swap stories. And Kedrick has had sex with pretty much all of us.”

Her barb stings. I remind myself I shouldn’t believe a word out of her mouth. I know she is trying to hurt me on purpose as revenge for the nose comment.

“Arla, what you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your back in a dark corner by now?” a voice says.

I tilt my head back and see Greta approaching.

“We were just talking of Kedrick and his…skill,” Arla says. “You know what I mean, you and he were together at some stage if I remember correctly.”

I gasp, I can’t help the sound. Arla’s lips curl up at the sound.

Greta’s freckled face turns pink. “Well, yes we were. But it didn’t mean anything. That’s how it is here.” She ducks her head.

Greta’s words hurt more than she will ever know. I would have discounted anything Arla said as nastiness, but Greta wouldn’t lie. It was true. How many of these women had Kedrick been with? I couldn’t believe it. Tears well in my eyes.

“Oh, I know dear,” Arla says to Greta. “Don’t be embarrassed. Olina knows we can’t keep it in our pants.” I turn and quickly leave the hall before my tears fall to the ground.

I’m surprised to find the food hall is full the next morning. On closer inspection, though, it becomes apparent the Bruma just haven’t been to bed yet. Most of the men are half naked, the ladies now wearing their tunics. I sit at my usual table and look around the sorry looking group. I’m still feeling sorry for myself. But I cannot help a grin at their misery.

“Get rid of her, she’s laughing at us. I can feel it,” Jacqueline says to Roman, stabbing a finger into his eye.

“Yes, m’love,” he slurs, resting his head on top of hers, appearing to fall asleep instantly. I giggle and go to retrieve my morning pear. Rhone approaches as I am contemplating whether to add a biscuit to my meal.

“You look like you feel better than the rest,” I say.

He nods. “Couldn’t drink too much last night. We’re leaving soon.”

“Who? Me?” I ask, turning to face him.

Rhone snorts. “No. Me and the King. I’m taking him on his tour of the sectors. Won’t be back for a month.” I blink twice at the length of Rhone’s speech.

“A whole month,” I say, and get a more typical grunt from him in reply. “Is that wise, considering what is happening with my world?”

Rhone looks at me, weighing what to say. “Negotiations are ongoing, they take a long time. Perhaps the King wants to keep up appearances.”

I nod. The last war between our worlds had taken six years to be declared and it had only been six months so far. Still, I don’t know if the King’s decision to go is particularly wise.

Rhone looks sideways at me as I reach for a biscuit. “The King has just sent another response. He will be back from his tour before the reply from Osolis arrives,” he says softly.

Without turning to him, I nod and speak just as quietly. “Thank you.”

I’m intercepted by Fiona on my way back to the table. She looks like she has been dragged under a sled backwards. She leans her head on my shoulder and the smell of sweat and the sweet aroma of the goblet drink floods my senses.

“I heard what happened with Arla,” she mumbles and straightens to look at me through blood-shot eyes. I stiffen.

“Yes, Arla was being a …bitch,” I say.

“Not hard f’her,” she mumbles. “Listen. When we sleep with other people here, it doesn’t mean anything. It feels good sometimes, and it’s fun, but it doesn’t mean anything. Marrying someone and telling them you love them. That’s what counts.”

“Kedrick said he loved me,” I say, hope tinges my words. I desperately want her to say he never said it to anyone else.

She nods, then winces as though the movement hurts her head and stops. “He never said that to any of the woman here, I can assure you. Ignore Arla. Everyone else does.”

I am so happy with her answer, I hug her. What Kedrick and I had was real. I’d known it deep down, I had just needed the reassurance.

“Oh, and Greta said to tell you sorry,” she adds.

“If you see her before I do, please tell her she has no need to apologise.”

I help Fiona back to the table and eat my meal, laughing at the still-intoxicated Bruma around me. There is a flash of a shining sword and the swirl of a fur cape as the King moves past the archway. Standing from the table, I hurry after him, hoping I can catch up.

I reach him as he is swinging one of the massive entrance doors open with one hand. It takes me two hands and all my strength to do the same. Rhone stands waiting outside, covered from head to toe in overlapping fur garments.

“King Jovan,” I say, raising my voice over the howl of the wind as the door opens.

He looks over his shoulder. “Yes, Tatuma,” he says, voice brusque. Maybe he is eager to be on his way. I shiver as the chill reaches me.

“Have you heard anything more from Osolis?” I ask.

He opens his mouth and closes it again. There is a pause of a few seconds.

“No, there has been no further reply.” He nods to me and stalks past Rhone. Rhone waits for the King to pass before sharing a look with me and turning to follow him.

We both know he was lying, unless Rhone had been misinformed and he was not the kind of person to talks without being certain. Why was the King lying? If war had been declared, he surely would not be leaving the castle for a month. He had seemed uncomfortable, like he had wanted to avoid the answer. Did the news involve me?

It takes two days for the castle to recover its normal bustle. Everybody is readying themselves for the shift to the first sector. Not having much to pack, I spend the time with the children who are the only Bruma who look half alive. I’m delivering my usual reply to a young girl’s inquiry about my veil, when Cameron looks up at me.

“Is your mum still on the fire world?” he asks. I nod.

“Then why do you still need to wear your veil? She won’t know. We won’t tell her.”

The other children erupt into a chorus of promises.

For the rest of the visit and, indeed over the next two days, I think on his innocent and quite profound words. The deep parts of my mind have been whispering the same words to me since the confrontation with the mirror. What was to stop me looking at my reflection, apart from my own fear? No one had to know. The King appeared to have defrosted towards me, but this would disappear fast if I were to cross him on the matter of showing my face.

With Cameron’s innocent words came a swift resolve. This small defiance had, I believe, always been present in the back of my mind. My fear had shrivelled it into dormancy. With the opportunity now presented to me with the mirror and the awakening question from Cameron, this resolve was now the only thought in my mind.

With nothing else to do, I had time to think of what I have overcome in the past year. Kedrick’s death, climbing the Oscala, the hostility of the Bruma, my various broken bones. The thought of taking it off would have never entered my mind a year ago. In fact, I would have done anything to prevent its removal. Having someone else see my face had been terrifying to the point of crippling fear. But to see my own face. To never be able to go back to what I knew before. That fear was indescribable. Unspeakable. I think of one of the court members on Osolis who has a fear of water. He will not wash in the springs at all, and once I saw him scream in terror when someone spilt water on the table in front of him. That is how I felt when I thought about removing my veil.

But whether by choice or not, the veil had been removed several times now and with every removal the terror had lessened. Maybe it would be the same if I practised looking at my face.

On the third morning after the King’s departure, I wake knowing it’s time to be rid of my mother’s oppression. I drag myself down to the food hall ignoring my mind’s attempt to convince me to abandon this plan. I grab a pear and approach my friends.

“Fiona, what are you doing today?” I ask. I cannot be sure she has a mirror in her bathroom, but I was unable to think of a good excuse to go to Jacqueline’s. There isn’t one in my room, I assume it’s because it could be used as a weapon. They would have been worried about this in the beginning.

“I haven’t got any plans. Did you have something in mind?” she asks. This needs to be done today, I do not know when I will find my resolve again.

“I was wondering if you could start teaching me how to sew,” I say. My stomach lurches at her reply.

“Sure, it will be fun. You will have to excuse the mess, though,” she says. All the assembly households are being packed for the shift to the first sector in two days’ time. Sanjay looks at her fondly. I nod at her, unable to speak. It’s going to happen. This is it.

I am filled with nervous tension on our walk to Fiona’s. Sadra and Jacky are joining us, too. I try to act normal, but I know the three ladies notice. My senses are in overdrive. My body tingles as it does when I’m in the middle of fighting Olandon. I hope they put it down to excitement over Fiona teaching me to sew.

Fiona lays out material over the parlour floor. She takes me through the measuring, cutting and threading process. Jacky and Sadra are not at all interested and play cards, sitting on top of wooden chests because the chairs and other furniture have been covered and put away now. They chat amongst themselves about the shift to the first sector. The journey will take three days. Most of it is done on the sleds and then the last day is done by wagon or on foot. They make it sound like all they do is drink for three days. Sadra is complaining about riding in a sled with a hangover.

Fiona looks over my shoulder at intervals and, during her next assessment, exclaims over my erratic stitching. She grabs it to unpick my poor work. The thudding in my stomach comes back, this is my moment. I have been procrastinating all morning. If I wait any longer I will talk myself out of it. 

I excuse myself from the room and make my way to the bathroom. The hallway seems to narrow as I get there. The walls throb in time with the heartbeat lodged in my throat.

I hurry into the bathroom and press the door closed, sinking to the ground. I lower my head between my knees in an attempt to regulate my breathing and clear my head, knowing if I take too long the others will come to check on me.

Pushing back against the wall, I stand and start towards the mirror.

My movements are heavy, weary, and memories peck at my mind making each step feel like a hundred. Cassius hacking off my hair, mother laughing as guards whip me, her screams as she hits my head against the ground, a five-year-old Olandon crying as they break my leg.

Bile surfaces. I hold a shaking hand over my mouth and swallow several times before turning to face the mirror.

I take in the small covered girl before me. She looks afraid and helpless. A sudden conviction that I won’t be able to remove the veil, settles over me. I don’t have the strength. I’m too weak - not good enough.

I’m the girl who lies on the floor and gets beaten.

Tears sting my eyes. I lean forward onto the table beneath the mirror. I know what I have to do, why can’t I just do it? Mother is right, I will never be strong enough to rule.

A thought steals through my churning panic. I lift my head to look at the girl again. Maybe I can pretend Kedrick is taking it off, like he did in the forest. My sweating hand barely twitches at my side. My head falls back down.

Then I think of Jovan and the night he burst into my room demanding to hear about his brother. My back had been to the wall and he had snatched off my veil as you would rip off a bandage stuck to the skin.

Quickly, boldly, without thought.

I straighten, and look at the heavy black veil over my face once more. Underneath this pathetic bit of material is a face I have both longed and dreaded to know. This cloth is just like the tower I was locked away in for ten years of my life.

It’s time to be free.

Lifting a shaking hand, I grasp the edge of the coarse fabric and with a deep breath, I rip the veil off.

The world is timeless as I take in the impossible sight before me.

My eyes are blue.

My sluggish mind is trying to understand what they mean. Kedrick had blue eyes, so does Jovan, Fiona, Jacky, all the delegates. All of the assembly have them.

On Glacium everyone has blue eyes, but Solati… they have brown eyes, green eyes, grey eyes. Never blue. My mother’s eyes were brown, and my father’s eyes were brown too.

I stare at them and will them to change, to turn brown like my brothers. They stay the same. A vivid, devastating, damning blue.

The sluggish part of my mind catches up and in an instant everything I have known, the truths of my life - that I have brothers, that I am Solati - evaporate like a drop of water on the hot ground.

My eyes belong to a Bruma.

I am Bruma.