Gadolor

Winter

Entressa woke more slowly than the sun does on a cold, stormy day. She knew she was awake long before opening her eyes, and even then, she didn’t move. She lay in a small room floored and walled by wood, with a fire roaring in a stone hearth. A large mound of blankets was piled atop her. She watched the flames a long time before thinking, I’m alive. I’m safe. Entressa was alive, and Andel was dead. She begged herself not to think about him—it was far too painful to think about anything—but she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t have guessed how much time passed, except that the logs in the fire began to burn down, before the door opened and a man entered, grizzled but strong, the type of man who would tell good stories. Seeing her awake, he smiled. “Good afternoon, lady. Do you feel well?” She made a face that made him chuckle. For some reason, one side of her face felt stiff. “Of course, of course. But you’re alive, and that’s something.” The healer bathed her face with a warm cloth and laid a cold one on her forehead—she realized then that she was burning with fever.

“What’s your name, lady? Never mind, don’t tell me. Save your breath for the captain; he’s eager to see you. Can you speak with him?” Entressa managed to nod. The healer opened the door again, and a different man entered: well-trimmed and slim, wearing the light armor of Astor’s officers.

He bowed, glancing to the side. “Greetings, friend. I’m glad you’re awake. Our healer says you will live.” She followed his glance. Andel’s ring sat there on a nightstand. Its gold glowed warmly in the firelight.

The captain bit his lip. “Lady, you came to us with the seal of Astor on your hand, and some of my men say the ring belongs to Prince Andel. He disappeared from our land months ago, and our people are sorrowful. We lost the marriage to Esthena, and then we lost our prince. Now his ring appears. Please, what is the meaning of this? Who are you, lady?”

Romni the gypsy, Sebastian’s voice said in her mind, from a place far away. But then she remembered the way Andel used to gaze at her and found the courage to face the captain. Speaking required several tries and a round of coughing to clear her throat. It made her head hurt. The men waited patiently. “Entressa,” she said, “Of Esthena. Andel saved me, but now he is gone.” They became stiff and silent. At last, the captain bowed again, paying her the respect owed to royalty. Suddenly Entressa felt very alone.

The next few days—or were they hours, or months?—were a blur of sickness that she would never well remember. She slept and woke and tried to drink some broth, but it made her stomach want to turn inside out. She felt as if the storm had emptied her, as water rinses out a bowl. Whenever she closed her eyes, tumbling blades and senseless voices chased her in feverish dreams. Once, she woke with a cry, thinking she had fallen off the trail at the Pass. When the healer changed the bandages on her hands, she could see ugly black blisters. She learned to close her eyes and think of Andel’s springtime song. All the while, an abyss of dark sleep crouched beneath her, eager to swallow her up.

They told her the king and queen were coming. She had met Lorind and Shea once before, seemingly so long ago. They had visited Esthen when talk of the betrothal first began. Entressa had felt shy in Lorind’s presence, and the queen was rather intimidating. The Northerners all had a wildness and quietness about them that she didn’t then understand. Now, as she lay helplessly in the middle of their kingdom, dread of the meeting crept through her like chill fingers. She wondered if she could avoid it by dying first, letting the weariness take her away, falling into the silent darkness, but knew she couldn’t. She had stolen the prince from Lorind and Shea, and supposed that she owed them at least a look in the face. If only Andel were here, she thought, about a hundred thousand times.

Hearing the bustle of the crown’s arrival, Entressa felt sick all over again. One voice—a woman’s—rose above the rest. “Let me to her. Let me see the girl.” The door in her little room opened suddenly, and a lady stood framed in the doorway. The majesty of her voluminous skirts and fine woolen coat were only matched by the fire in her soft eyes. “Oh, poor child,” Queen Shea breathed. She rushed across the room and flung an arm over the heap of blankets, hugging Entressa’s whole bed at once. A wave of sweet-smelling spices came with her. In an odd way, it reminded Entressa of home.

Despite her nightmares and Sebastian’s voice that still whispered in her ear, she found great kindness with the king and queen. Whenever Entressa woke, the queen would be sitting nearby. She would lean over, stroke her hair, and whisper encouraging words. Once, she heard the queen humming a lullaby that she had only heard from her nurse, back in Esthen. Lorind would come sometimes, not saying much but always gazing at her kindly. Entressa could hardly keep from laughing at how much he looked like Andel.

Shea had brought a candle that smelled nice. It filled the room with a fresh scent that banished the smoke from the fireplace. “It’s mintweed,” Shea explained, almost secretively. “In the summer, it makes the prairies bloom white, and the leaves are bright green. When the wind blows, it’s as if you’re breathing heaven’s air. We like to ride across those hills and stay in a little cabin there. My king says life is happiest when it is simplest,” she paused and winked, “But I make sure we at least have soft beds.”

When she could sit up in bed for nearly an hour, they put Entressa in a covered sleigh and filled it with blankets. Looking across at Queen Shea was like looking across a sea of embroidered folds, and the two of them were giants sitting in its midst. As another blizzard raged, they slid across white fields to Torestin, the capital city. There, the food was better and the bed softer. King Austin, her father, was also there. He gave her a long kiss on the forehead, tickling her face with his beard, and called her by all her pet names. He looked much older than before.

It was Andel who had taught her honesty again. Entressa could eventually speak without growing too weak. The moment came when the four of them—Austin, Lorind, Shea, and she—sat alone. Entressa told them everything, from the day she met the juggler to the terrible journey over the Pass. Afterward, it felt as if her whole soul had poured out, leaving her a scrubbed-out shell.

“The prince brought his bride home,” Lorind said quietly. Entressa traced a finger thoughtfully along Andel’s ring, which they had kept with her.

“He may be alive,” Lorind mused, “Perhaps Sombron kept him.”

“He will ask for a ransom,” her father said.

“He will ask for the kingdom. And when we’ve given Sombron everything, he will kill him.”

“Enough,” Shea cut in, “Don’t let this child hear your gloomy prophecies. We’ve had trouble before.”

Andel saved us before, Entressa thought.

The two kings eventually left, still discussing. “A messenger will come from Lortosa,” one said, “We must prepare.”

In the silence they left behind, Shea stroked Entressa’s hair, humming softly. “What do you think will happen?” the girl asked.

“I don’t know,” the queen admitted, her green eyes misty. Ice tapped on the window, seeking entrance in vain. In the stone hearth, aging embers poured out heat as they settled into ash. “When he was a boy, he always played at rescuing princesses. He fought dragons and trolls with sticks and toy swords. When he left us to find you, I knew my son would bring you back.”

“Oh, Queen. I wish I could have called you Mother.”

“My dear child,” the older woman hugged her, “You still can.” The girl felt the tear in her eye before it trickled down her nose. Before long, she was weeping, then sobbing freely as the queen held her. The two women sat that way for a long time.