The Last Thaw

CW: Mention of death, grieving

The windows rattled with the winter wind, masking the harsh sound of my sister’s coughing. I weaved between the dancing shadows within the castle, my slippers clopping against the smooth stone, echoing through the empty chambers.  

Asger was close, his steps quiet yet rigid from the years in the Guard. 

I needed to find them. The meeting. 

When I reached the double-set doors of ornately carved runes, I pressed close, the sounds of hushed voices moving through the room beyond. “Three more days until the sick Princess forfeits her line to the throne.”

Lord Isolf.

My fist tightened around the doorknob and Asger’s palm pressed into my shoulder.  I slowly glanced at Asger who shifted, his blond ponytail falling over his shoulder. He regarded me for a long moment, his brows in a curious wrinkle before dissipating into a subtle shake of the head.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.

His nostrils flared. The deep dislike for Isolf radiated between us. My mother’s advisor, charged with the decision of which twin would inherit the throne. Runa was eager to be near him I was eager to avoid him. 

I didn’t wait for Asger to answer, I pushed through the doors instead. The bitter chill sucked the air from my lungs and the room expanded into a short, vaulted ceiling framed by broken stained-glass windows. Swords and axes were drawn, glinting from the soft glow of the evening sky reflecting off the snow-encrusted glass. 

Asger cut in front of me fast, his hand curling around his longsword, and with a scrape of metal, it was unsheathed and aimed steadily in front of us. 

Isolf’s eyes trailed over me, his posture straightening. I swallowed, my heart beating hard in my chest. But Isolf still held the Kingdom’s interests at heart. Sure, his group of lords was possibly scheming, filling their pockets, and discussing plans that would involve my sister and me without us present, but they were loyal to the crown and country. 

I stepped out from behind Asger. “It’s just me, my lord. I’m simply here to ask why there is a meeting without me.”

There was no answer but a breath, the iron and copper scent still thick in the air. 

I steeled myself against Isolf, his gaze shifting to me as a few of his brown braids fell over his leatherette armor. 

“You wish to disinherit Runa?” I asked. 

He regarded me for a long moment before the grip on his ax loosened, the wood and metal clicking as it shifted back into place, and he stepped out, gesturing for me to take his seat at the head of the table. 

I hesitated before the chair scratched the stone, the table approaching and ricketing as Isolf sat next to me. “The healer has tried herbs and sigils, Princess Elyn, all of which have been futile. Eventually, we have but one option to consider.”

I chewed my lip. Sigils and runes were powerful–I played with them too often, Asger’s scolding voice always to follow after. You know the dangers of casting unknown sigils, Princess. The power of the Royal Family is nothing to undermine. 

“The illness started when she ate the mugwort,” I offered. 

“Mugwort has no effect on the royals,” Isolf clipped, “and if Princess Runa did overdose, she would’ve recovered days ago.”

I blew out a breath, my thumb slipping between my teeth, an unregal posture. Our mother would’ve scolded me harshly for my comportment, but I didn’t care. The thought of losing my sister and having to wrangle with the lords in their secret meeting was worse. How would she recover if the healing sigils weren’t working? Surely if she was faking it, she would’ve stopped days ago when the threat became too much for the crown?

Isolf cleared his throat, his narrowed gaze on my wrist. “It started when we began discussing her ascension. When you’ve been absent for many of the meetings.”

“Because, my lord, you have not invited us to many.”

He remained unmoved. “Perhaps you’ve made her sick, Princess Elyn. With respect, have you a desire for the throne over that of your sister?” 

I blinked up at him. 

How unfathomable the thought was. Yet every lord nodded in agreement. 

“Would I be here, asking why you wish to disinherit her if I did?”

You don’t want to be on the throne, my sister said once. You much prefer to spend it with the ladies of the court. It was either that or the many nights where I’d help the maids wash linens–much to their behest–that I preferred. 

Ever since our parents died. 

I slipped the mask back into place, crushing the anxiety within. “Runa’s always been dramatic. Perhaps she’s been overworked,” I suggested. “Or she’s drawing attention to herself.”

Asger grunted and Isolf frowned. 

Though a bit far, the subtly was true. Like me, Runa favored the attention. But while I was seeking the approval of maids and nobles for entertainment and escape, she was the talk of the season before the previous thaw. Before the blooming petals and flamboyant curtains were drawn back, replaced with thick black coverings, the flowers wilting away with the new year’s heavy winter snow. The first winter with no King, no Queen. No parents. 

“One who covets attention is not always the best choice for the throne,” Isolf said. 

My focus snapped to him. “Are you denouncing her?”

He averted his gaze, the bone in his throat working. “Much has happened since your parents…the kingdom needs a ruler.”

“I don’t want it.”

The windows creaked and I shivered, Asger’s cloak draping over my shoulder. I shook my head, returning it to him. 

Isolf searched my face before exhaling. “We will adjourn again in a week instead of the three days. If Princess Runa shows improvement, we will reconsider.”

I didn’t answer. 

The chairs scraped the floor as each man stood, giving me a tight bow, and exited the decrepit room as if they were never there. 

With the click of the door, Asger’s heat thickened against my arm his blue eyes meeting mine, a question passing through them. Carefully, he prodded my skin to search for frostbite or ice that was already riming inside of my heart and was moments from turning my skin into the same color as his masked orbs. 

I rose, the chair blocking his path, and I marched out of the room. 

Ten steps down the corridor was where he called for me, a single, “Your Highness,” falling into the air between us. 

His silhouette was framed by the moonlight glinting through the arched doorway, his weight pressed into his elbow as he leaned on the wall. His brown tunic fluttered in the wind with the smell of snow and wood filling the air between us. 

Someone was starting a fire to warm the castle. I wanted it to warm my heart. 

Asger sauntered close until the torchlight above contoured his prominent cheekbones and tight frown. He gazed hard into me. He said my title again, his hand reaching for my wrist before his fingers coiled back, his arm dropping. 

“With all due respect,” he said, his tone firm, “have you considered that you may be the source of Princess Runa’s illness?”

I flinched. 

His features softened. “The mugwort made the Princess sick after you told Lady Isobel you hoped Runa wouldn’t bother you for days.”

I felt my brow crease. “That was because she came to my door every dawn, submitting complaints about the work. I couldn’t take it.”

“Perhaps so, but you still said it. It still happened.”

I stared at him, the thoughts swirling in my head. I did tell Lady Isobel about the mugwort, and it included details about Runa. But it was a coincidence. Nothing but that. 

“It was you who spoke to the maids soon after about Princess Runa. About how she was so sick in her youth, coughing up blood. You said, perhaps, she may do it again given the mugwort.”

My breath hitched. Why was Asger correct? “But that’s…like I said back there. She covets attention with schemes when she’s overworked, when she wants to be seen.”

Asger arched a brow. 

“I told a maid yesterday about how her vision will fade soon. Her left eye. It was a joke but–”

He huffed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. My stomach dropped. This was the first time Asger treated me with anything but gentleness even in the wake of my naivety. To him, I deserved this reaction. 

“You’ve always talked about people.”

I opened my mouth to retort, my index finger inches from his chin, but I stilled as an unsettling chill bristled the hairs on my neck. I shivered and Asger reached for my wrist, his warm fingers tracing over my flesh, touching what he was scared to moments before. 

I sucked in a breath. 

There on my wrist was the sigil I’d made, a mix between the sigils for deceit and control displayed in thick kohl. Asger lingered on it before meeting my gaze. “Admit it, Highness. You are careless with your words and your actions.”

I stared between the mark and his eyes as vast as the fjords that glittered like a thousand gems before the collapse of the monarchy. The water used to be bright, shimmering with every angle of the afternoon sun. 

“Why do you think I grabbed my sword in front of Isolf?”

“Because,” I responded, “you felt more confident with the sword.”

He gave me a look. We both knew it was a lie. “I’ve never preferred the sword over the ax, Highness. You and I both know that you spoke to–”

“Isolf. He must–”

“Highness,” Asger frowned. 

My chin quivered. I knew what he meant, but I wanted to pretend that I didn’t. It was easier than admitting the truth. 

“The Royal Family has immense power at wielding the sigils and even if you did not intend it, you must accept that you did it.”

You know the dangers of casting unknown sigils, Princess. The power of the Royal Family is nothing to undermine. 

But part of me still wanted to deny it–that deep voice inside my chest holding onto any tethers of pride I had left. It was a wrestle between the truth and the egotistical denial in my head. I talked about people but that didn’t mean that I didn’t love them. 

Yet it was me who made Runa sick. 

Asger’s grip on me tightened, and I looked up in time to see another guard standing at the end of the hall. Her cheeks flushed, her head bowed, she said, “It’s Princess Runa, Your Highness. She is bleeding out of her left eye.”

Asger met my gaze, a vine of anxiety snaking between us before his hand tightened on mine and we ran. The walls passed in a blur of brown and green, the stone and vines intermingling through every corridor. 

I wanted to cry. 

In my mourning, I started seeking assurance and approval from others. I left my sister alone to struggle with the duties of the Kingdom while I selfishly mingled with the ladies and maids. 

I allowed pride to eat into me. To swallow me. To distract me. And now, Runa was paying for it. 

When we reached her room, Asger stopped, his arm reaching around my shoulder. 

I swallowed my labored breathing, staring at the door. My thudding heart was the only sound as I traced my fingers over the door’s familiar carved design, a copy of mine. “How do I fix this?” 

Asger’s voice came in a low response. “You atone for the magic.”

I bit my lip and, with a breath, I entered. 

My sister lay on her bed, the scent of fresh herbs still lingering from the healer. Her hair was tucked into many braids beneath the goose-feather pillow, her face plastered with bandages, cloth, and herbs I couldn’t name, pulling my heart into my throat. I took her hand in mine, the warmth lacing between us as I used her palm to scrape my arm, freeing it from the black marking. 

Until there was nothing left. No kohl. Only red, raw skin. 

The sigil was destroyed.  

“I’m sorry, Runa. I’m so sorry.”

The floor creaked as Asger entered. But I didn’t look. A hot tear trailed my cheek and fell onto Runa’s kohl-stained arm. “I treated Isolf as a threat,” I said, “but the real one was me. He tried to warn me.”

Asger said nothing.

I brought my gaze to his. “Will she get better?” 

His lips parted but Runa stirred, her chest shaking. “Elyn?” she asked. 

I sucked in a breath, my heart filling with hope. “Yes, it’s me, Runa. Do you hear me?”

Runa said nothing in response though she moved. 

“Highness,” Asger called, his tone wavering. I looked at him, his brows dipping into a wrinkle before his eyes crinkled, a small smile beneath. He held out his ax. His technical grip was perfect once again. “It’s returned.”

A noise of relief escaped me, and his eyes trailed over the curve of the ax before moving to Runa. Her hand found mine and my heart fluttered. She smiled weakly. “Did your…” Her cough wrenched from her throat. 

“Don’t speak. You’re sick,” I said. 

I didn’t know if I wanted to tell her the truth, but I swelled in guilt as each cough broke through my barrier. 

“I cast a sigil. It was an accident but–”

“Elyn,” she shook her head. “I know. I saw it days ago. Just…no more magic for a while, okay?”

I paused. She saw it? “My lips are sealed. I won’t talk about you or anyone ever again.”

She released a soft chuckle before pressing her fist to her ribs. “It’s not the act, it’s what you say and why.” 

I pondered over her words before her arm wrapped around my back, pulling me down. 

“Under the covers,” she commanded, “you’re freezing.”

Despite her pale face, her eyes glittered like the fjords once did. 

For the first time in a while, I felt close to Runa, nestling under the warmth of the thick bear fur, her arm tight around mine. Asger regarded us with a flicker of a smile, before bowing to exit, leaving Runa and me alone to watch the snow fall. Something we hadn’t done since the last thaw.