The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

The Frostwoven Crown

Book Four of the Songreaver's Tale

By Andrew Hunter

Copyright 2014 Andrew Hunter

Kindle Edition

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The Girl in Brown held her breath. She stood completely still, listening to the patter of raindrops upon her hooded cloak. The rain fell harder now, stinging her eyes and making her blink, but still she did not breathe. A distant part of her mind wondered if she even needed to breathe. The thought had never occurred to her before. What if this too was a lie, something the Masters had woven into her Song to make her seem more human?

Her eyes had lost focus now. The balcony where the boy and the vampire girl had stood, where they had kissed, was empty now, only a gray shadow in the night rain. They had gone inside to the warm world of men.

Men… the creatures that the Girl in Brown had been created to destroy.

She had betrayed her Masters by loving one. How stupid… how unfathomably stupid had she been?

Now a burning sensation began to spread through her chest, compelling her to once again draw breath. She did not want to. If her false body, her mock-human form, needed air to live, she had no desire to give it. She willed herself to be stone… to return to the cold earth from which she had been formed. She would not be this puppet-thing any longer.

How could the Masters ask her to go on living when they themselves had abandoned the world, when they had mingled their blood with the very humans they despised? That vampire girl, half-blooded and radiant with the Masters’ power, had taken the boy from her. He would never even know that he had lost her… that she had lost him.

That was her curse, to be eternally forgotten, even, it seemed, by her Masters, the dragons of old who had created her to be a spy in their war against the race of Men. She had dared to believe that the boy was different, that he might find a way to lift the curse and free her to be remembered… to be loved.

How incredibly stupid she had been.

Her breath came again at last. Unable to resist, she sucked in a stinging lungful of cold, damp air. It burst free again as a ragged sob, and she doubled over, sinking to her knees on the wet flagstones of the alley across the street from Garrett’s house. She cried now, unable to stop the tears. She mashed the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to crush out the ghostly vision of that kiss in the rain, when the boy she loved had given his love to another.

The vampire girl had taken him, taken everything, from her. Even vengeance was now beyond her reach. The Girl in Brown could not lift her hand against the vampire. The Masters’ blood ran in the vampire’s veins and, if the vampire willed it, the Girl in Brown would even destroy herself, obedient to the Masters’ laws. Her hatred for the vampire could find no purchase in her dragon-forged heart.

Her thoughts turned to the boy again as her weeping subsided to a dry, rasping hiss. He was only human. They were so easy to kill.

The Girl in Brown felt suddenly ashamed. She shook the loathsome thought from her head. She still loved Garrett, for all his foolish optimism and simple faith. Her shame grew colder still as she realized once more that she had already killed him.

Garrett was dead, and he didn’t even know it.

She had seen him die in the Songreaver’s tomb, his soul blasted from his body by the Guardian’s deadly touch. What magic, fell or fair, had raised him again from the dead, the Girl in Brown could not say, but the boy rose again, cold and resolute, wreathed in the power of the Songreaver’s will. Garrett would have no recollection of the event, his memory lost to the oblivion of the curse that surrounded the Girl in Brown. Now he bore a curse of his own, and must face the mystery of it alone, bereft even of the knowledge of it, because of her.

No… she did not have the sorrow to spare for guilt. Her own private pain demanded it all now. This one, exquisite hurt, she kept for herself. Her last dream died tonight, and the world must see to its own misery now without her.

The Girl in Brown got to her feet, leaning against the wall, her eyes downcast. Her clothes were soaked, and her body ached from the cold, but she ignored it. If discomfort and disease could have killed her, she would have died centuries ago. Immortality was not uncommon in the twilight city of Wythr, but rare indeed were those to whom it seemed a blessing.

She wandered into the night, seeking without thought the company of something else that would not die.

Far beneath the streets of the city, the Girl in Brown came at last to the house of Annalien the ghost. She paused at the threshold, knowing at once why the elvish ghost was weeping within.

The Girl in Brown looked inside the garden tomb of the elf woman who was bound forever to the light of the strange crystal within. Annalien lay beside a stone bench in the golden light of the crystal shard, her face buried in her arms, crying. Garrett must have gone to her after his encounter with the Spellbreaker’s shade, and Annalien had seen what he had become by taking the Songreaver’s power into himself. Annalien would blame herself for his ruin, and this too was the Girl in Brown’s fault.

She left Annalien’s house without a word. Her heart could bear no more guilt.

She wandered, bereft of all hope, her feet taking her down, deep beneath the earth, on dark paths to old places where none had walked in a lifetime of men. She did not even remember the paths herself now, led by some ancient pattern, burned forever in her mind. She walked in sightless silence with only the traces of lost memories to guide her.

She came at last to a little cavern, illuminated by a dim blue light. A little stream of water trickled down from the rocky wall to feed a small pool in the floor of the chamber. Her brother knelt beside it.

The boy stared into the pool, his body caked with rime and his rotted clothes crusted with yellow mold. His long brown hair hung down his back and draped across his shoulders, reaching down to the cavern floor. His delicate hands were folded in his lap, and a look of passionless grace hung, stone-like upon his ashen face.

The Girl in Brown crossed slowly to stand beside him, wondering if anything of her brother remained at all beneath that stony shell.

“You came back,” he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Flakes of dust fell from his thin lips. His flawless brown eyes never lifted from the pool of water before him in the cavern floor.

The Girl in Brown said nothing, but settled on the floor beside him, trying to see whatever he saw in the shimmering blue water.

“How long has it been?” he whispered.

Her voice croaked when she spoke, “It doesn’t matter.”

Her brother let out a rasping sigh. “You’ve been crying,” he said. Still, his eyes never lifted from the blue pool.

The Girl in Brown sniffed and rubbed her sleeve across her nose, looking away.

“What’s wrong, Sister?” he asked.

She remained silent for a long moment. “I did something stupid,” she said at last.

The boy remained silent and then sighed again. “My hands don’t move anymore,” he said, “I tried just now to reach for you, but they don’t move… I’m sorry.”

The Girl in Brown sobbed and leaned close, taking her brother in her arms. His shirt crinkled as bits of rotting fabric crumbled away, and she choked at the scent of mold that filled the air. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn't have left you here alone.”

“No… no,” he whispered, “I made you go… You needed to live.”

“Why?” she asked, “You were the smart one! You knew that there was nothing out there for us! I should have stayed with you here.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.”

She leaned forward, her hand on his cheek. His eyes still gazed down, locked on the rippling surface of the glowing blue pool. “Look at me,” she said.

His lips tensed, and the skin around his eyes tightened, but he could not tear his gaze away from the blue pool. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I am lost in it.”

“What do you see?” she asked.

His lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “Something wonderful, Sister.”

“What?”

“The end,” he laughed, “Doom comes to the city, and with it we may finally die.”

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" Garrett asked, raising his voice enough to be heard over the roar of the water as it cascaded from the mouth of the drainpipe down into the lower sewers. The recent rains had already flooded most of the subterranean spillways leading out of the Upper City. Only two remained passable, this tunnel and the one that Diggs and Scupp were watching halfway across town. Garrett coughed again, pressing his gloved fist to his lips.

"Cough into your sleeve, dear," Lady Ymowyn chided. The fox woman knelt between Garrett and Warren in the shadow of the tunnel mouth, overlooking the spillway.

Garrett gave her a puzzled look and then sent another wave of coughs into the gap between his glove and sleeve.

"Not
up
your sleeve,
into
your sleeve," she said, lifting her arm to hide her red furred muzzle in the sleeve of her stained tunic at the crook of her elbow. It seemed odd to see her wearing something other than a dress. The clothes that Warren had found for her were certainly appropriate for crawling around in the slimy tunnels beneath the city, but they detracted somewhat from her usual regal bearing.

Warren frowned at her. "He'll get his sleeve all snotty like that," he protested.

Ymowyn gave the ghoul an annoyed look. "Better that than making everyone around him ill as well."

"Huh?" Warren said.

The fox woman stared at him. "Don't you know how disease spreads?" she asked.

Warren shrugged his furry shoulders. "Vapors," he said, as if that explained everything.

"That is one way, of course," she said, "which is why he should cover his coughs."

Warren wrinkled his bristly snout. "What's that got to do with it?"

"When he coughs or sneezes," she replied, "he spreads infection through his breath."

Warren laughed. "That's not how vapors work!" he said, "They come up out of the ground at night when it's cold, and, if you've got yer mouth open,
shoop
, they go right in!"

Lady Ymowyn stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. She turned to face Garrett again and placed her palm against his forehead. She withdrew it quickly, gasping.

"What's wrong?" Garrett asked.

Ymowyn pressed her palm against his forehead again. It felt soft and warm against the clammy skin of his brow.

"You're freezing, Garrett!" she said.

Garrett shrugged. "I feel a little cold, I guess," he admitted, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his purple robe.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" Ymowyn asked.

"I guess since the other night," Garrett said, "I was out in the rain for a bit... and before that, we were down in the caves below the city."

"Looking for your dead king, as I understand," Ymowyn said with a frown.

"Yeah."

"Warren told me about what happened," she said, "although he seemed a bit evasive on some of the details."

"Yeah," Garrett said, "Things got a little confusing at the end... I don't know what happened exactly. I hit my head when I fell, and I'm having a hard time remembering everything."

"Let me see," she said, pulling his hood down to get a better look at his head. He flinched a little at her touch, but knew better than to try to stop her. She gently probed around the base of his skull and ran her fingertips over his temples.

"Where did you hit your head?" she asked.

Garrett reached back and pressed his fingertips against the spot where he had struck his head.

"There's no sign of injury," she mused, sounding almost disappointed, "Have you had any more trouble with memory loss since that night?"

"Uh... I don't think so," he said.

Ymowyn sighed and tugged his hood back into place. "It's a good thing boys are born with such thick skulls," she sighed, "but I'd like to have a word with your uncle about keeping a closer eye on you for the next few weeks. Head injuries can be serious and need to be watched rather carefully."