The Queen of Ice Ch. 01

Dawn broke quietly over the tips of the glacial mountain range, scattering bright light across the vast expanse of the castle below. The sounds of the early laborers attending to their duties was muffled by the heavy cold of the air, a chill blanket that muted even the gentle songs of the snowbirds. Occasionally, a northern breeze carried the scent of ancient ice off the mountain, a teasing reminder of the awesome power of the Glacial Range. None who passed the range could survive the harsh winter beyond - or if they had, they'd never returned to share their tale.

From her tower balcony, Fiona watched the pale light of morning bleed across the sky in a dazzle of color, enjoying the smells of winter cold and cooking fires. Her tower was one of many in the Northernmost Fortress, an ancient, sprawling marvel of hard stone and black timber built at the base of the mountain pass. As it towered over the descending forest valley below, it was dwarfed by the incredible height of the Glacial Range at it's back. The Northernmost Fortress was an impressive sight, a true testament to the power of the Winter Kingdom. It was second in might only to the Capital, the home of the King. Fiona had never been to the center of the Kingdom, but she had heard that the Capital was a marvel of stonework rising out of the tall forest around it.

A steaming cup of mead was nestled in her hands; a special treat for a special day. The King was arriving for his annual visit to see his brother, Fiona's father and the Lord of the Northernmost Fortress. It was a trip that both families eagerly anticipated. The hunters and warriors would bolster the stores of meat for the coming winter while the gentler family members would gossip and build quilts together. Traditionally, these weeks were seen as a seasonal celebration of community and prosperity in a land of scarce game and hard living. Realistically, the Winter Kingdom was prosperous through trade with the southern kingdoms; large stores of timber, steel, and fairy gold mined from the mountain kept the population fed and warm. The days of hard living were a distant memory even among the oldest in the Winter Kingdom.

Fiona sipped her mead, a quiet bubble of excitement in her stomach. She would be thrilled to see her cousins, aunt and uncle, but she was most excited to see the queen's bastard son, Damhain. Before Queen Rhona met the king, the queen had been a lesser noblewoman living in the Capital, pregnant with a fatherless baby and scorned by polite society. Not long after, the king's wife, a princess from a southern kingdom, passed away giving birth to their fourth child. After the appropriate period of mourning, the king had decided to choose a new wife from the nobility of his own kingdom and invited eligible women to request an audience with him. Despite her disadvantages, Queen Rhona had requested an audience, and King Callum was instantly smitten. It was a romance from a bard's tale, almost impossibly perfect..except for the bastard son, who ruined the vision of "queenly purity." Damhain was cared for, but he was treated as an embarrassment, even by his own mother. He had no title, land, or money of his own, relying on the charity of the king to keep him fed. As such, he was often relegated to the guard's quarters and treated like a nuisance by his four step-brothers and two half-brothers.

Fiona had bonded with Damhain in this respect. She was a Winter Child, born with snow-white hair, deathly pale skin, and eerily blue eyes. It was an uncommon condition, especially among the nobility, and her very presence was considered unlucky. Winter Children were thought to have a demonic, magical connection to the fabled Fey People living in the mountains. Had she been a commoner, her parents may have left her in the woods at birth; it would be seen as a mercy to the child and a protection for the community. As the second daughter of the Lord of the Northernmost Fortress, she was spared from infanticide, but that didn't mean that people had to enjoy her presence. Her own servants were uncomfortable being around her and her mother secretly despaired of her marriage prospects, especially as she neared eighteen. However, unlike Damhain's situation, Fiona's siblings treated her with kindness and respect. She often thought that she was lucky to have such a loving family who defended her against the superstition of others.

Thinking of Damhain brought a flutter of excitement. They'd always been close, but something about the last time he'd visited had been different. They'd spent all of their time together, reading in the library and exploring the tamer parts of the mountain pass; at one point, he'd even kissed her, holding her against his massive frame with aching gentleness. Something primal and wordless pulsed deep in her body, causing her hands tightening over her goblet. That memory had carried her through the rest of the year without him and given her a warm self-assurance that she'd never had. Perhaps this time, she would get to kiss him again... and maybe more.

Fiona heard her chamber door open and her mother called out to her. Lady Annag Cabryt was a tall, imposing woman with a mess of black hair and a powerful presence; it would be difficult not to notice when she entered a room. "I'm on the balcony," Fiona called back cheerfully. "Would you like some hot mead? There's a pot over the fire." Fiona's chambers were small but cozy, littered with books, parchments, and ink wells. A cluttered desk sat in the corner next to a tall, crowded bookcase filled with tomes on history, math, and natural sciences. A small fire popped in the hearth, casting a warm light over the messy room.

"Would that I could," her mother said remorsely, joining Fiona outside. The door to the balcony had been left open, as usual. Fiona enjoyed the smell of the mountain air while she studied. If her room became chilly, it didn't bother her, which of course bothered her mother. "Good lord, child," her mother continued, wrapping her fur cloak tightly around her slender shoulders, "At least wear some slippers or a coat, you'll catch your death of cold."

Fiona grinned impishly as she sipped her hot wine, wearing nothing but a sleeping shift against the frigid air. "I like the cold stone against my feet. It wakes me up in the morning."

Lady Annag's brow furrowed as she shook her head. "Strange child. Finish your wine then see to your handmaidens. The King and Queen could arrive at any minute, and you'll want to greet them properly before the midday feast begins. Remember, this is Lyall's first year as the Master of the Hunt." Lyall was Fiona's older sister, a fiercely protective warrior maiden who had fought for years to lead the annual hunt. Warrior maidens weren't as uncommon in the Northern Kingdom as they were in other places, but Lyall still had to struggle for recognition.

Fiona grinned with anticipation. "I wouldn't miss that for anything. Prince Ethan is going to be green with jealousy." Ethan, the king's first son and heir to the throne, had been competitive with her, and the fact that Lyall would be Master of the Hunt had probably bothered him.

Lady Annag laughed. "Most likely. Now hurry and dress, your handmaidens are waiting in the bath." She turned in a sweep of furs and left the balcony, calling out orders to the servants inside. Fiona gulped the last of her wine, feeling breathless as she headed inside.