Elspeth turned to the garden door, smiled blandly at her protesting women, and stepped outside. She closed the door firmly behind her and took a deep breath of cold air.
Silence, blessed silence. The cold air stung at her flushed cheeks, and she took another breath, watching the vapor rise.
Her private garden lay deep in a blanket of snow. The trees were frosted like cakes, and the ground sparkled as if diamond dust had been blown over the crust of white.
Her spirits lifted after a morning spent in an overheated council chamber. Oh, how she loved winter.
A path had been stamped out, and she followed its curve as it angled away from the door. Her skirts brushed along, swishing against the edges of the path. There, in what was normally a rose bower, sat two benches opposite each other, a brazier set between, filled with glowing coals. The rosebushes, cut back for the season, protruded from the snow like thin black fingers.
She settled on one with a sigh of pleasure and looked about at the trees. The sky was a pale blue, with just a few clouds that promised more snow later on. But for now, there was only the occasional fat fluffy flake falling to rest on the fur of her muff.
The snow made everything look different. Perfect, with the covering of white and the glint of ice. Cold and lovely. Her Herald-Mages had offered to set up a warm shelter or cast a warming spell on the benches, but she had refused. They didn’t seem to understand that the entire point was to be cold.
Well, that and keeping these private audiences short and sweet. No one lingered with petitions and political maneuvering in this kind of weather. Elspeth had been too long on the throne to actually chuckle, but she smiled inside.
Two pages approached, bundled up and carrying a tray and a small table. She offered them thanks as they set the table down and poured her a large mug of tea. She slipped her bare hands out of her muff and carefully took the hot mug in her hands, enjoying the warmth.
“Please let the Queen’s Own know that I am ready,” Elspeth smiled at the pages.
The two young lads bowed slowly, then ran off down the path to the door. Elspeth sipped her tea, enjoying the white perfection of the cold stillness.
She heard the door open, and one of the Herald trainees appeared, with Lord Wolke in tow. The trainee hadn’t bothered with a cloak, and he walked briskly toward her. She plastered on her court smile, setting her mug down on the bench next to her.
“Your Majesty.” The trainee looked so serious and so very young as he bowed. But all the trainees looked younger to her every day. “Lord Wolke.”
Lord Wolke bowed as well, his cloak wrapped tight around his body. Such a handsome young man, with charming manners, or so she’d been told.
Elspeth smiled as the trainee left them alone. “Sit, Lord Wolke. May I pour you some tea?”
“That would be most welcome, Your Majesty,” he sat on the stone bench gingerly, as if afraid he’d freeze off something valuable. “You honor me.”
“Not really, I’m afraid.” She handed him his mug and then refreshed her own. “This is an ‘honor’ my court avoids at all costs. I can’t seem to convince them of the loveliness of the garden after a snow. Even my Companion prefers a warm stable.” Elspeth cast her mind in that direction, to be met with a sleepy, comfortable response.
“Their loss is my gain, Your Majesty.” He flashed her a smile. Oh, yes, there was charm there indeed. No wonder half her ladies had lost their heads over him.
“Aren’t you nice,” she laughed lightly. “I’ve always loved to come out into a clear, cold day and enjoy the sun. I am so glad you could join me.”
Wolke shifted his weight on the bench and tried to adjust his knees so they wouldn’t come into contact with the brazier. “I’ve been at court for some time, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” She picked up her mug and gave him that same smile. “Without a summons or invitation. Let us discuss that, my lord.”
Elspeth watched as young Wolke retreated down the path, moving as fast as dignity allowed.
The afternoon shadows had lengthened in the garden, and thin clouds had moved in. The snow had turned a pale bluish color, the tree branches blacker in contrast. The lights from the window cast a glow over the drifts in front of the windows. Night would fall soon enough. Still, she sat, deep in her furs and white leathers, and stared into the glowing coals of the brazier.
The pages approached again with more fuel and tea. She watched as they fed the coals and filled her mug.
“I do not wish to be disturbed. I will come in when I am ready.” Elspeth said, and they bowed, and ran off, back to the warmth of the palace.
They probably thought her mad or eccentric. Lancir understood, as did some of the older members of her council. They knew it wasn’t so much the cold or the snow that drew her out of the warm palace.
Snow meant that armies were not moving to mass at the border to threaten Valdemar. The cold kept feuding lords at their hearths. Bandits did not attack settlements or raid the herds of cattle, since any fool could track the transgressors in the snow.
Ice cloaked the roads and paths in treacherous footing. Rivers froze, the ice uncertain. Various religious holidays and celebrations kept people busy with other tasks, rather than killing their neighbors. The lack of daylight concealed the world, keeping those with malice inside, their lights burning bright.
They might plan and plot, connive and ponder, but they stayed within.
Winter was peace made manifest.
She dreaded spring. Oh, not the warmth or the violets with their lovely scent. It was a joy to watch the garden come alive again. Small green leaves and delicate flowers emerged from the soil almost overnight. But the land wasn’t the only thing astir.
The fragile network of agreements that she’d built over her reign always trembled under the strain of spring. She could already see problems looming . . . she stared at the fire and wondered if she’d have the strength to deal with it all.
She heard the door open and the crunch of footsteps on the path. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, but she recognized the stride of the man coming toward her, his scarlet uniform a stark contrast to the snow. As he grew closer, she could see his face, one that still stirred her heart after all these years.
He approached and then made a formal bow with a flourish of his hand. “Your Majesty,” he said, as he knelt in the snow, his tone a mocking one. “The Queen’s Own has asked that I inquire as to your welfare.”
“Bard Kyran,” Elspeth glanced toward the door. “I take it, then, that they can see us from the windows?”
“Why else would I be on my knee in the snow, beloved?” Kyran looked up, his eyes twinkling. “Some of the younger handmaidens are pressed to the farthest window, watching to see if I can convince you to come in and get warm.”
Those eyes . . . she’d fallen for those eyes so many years ago, those eyes that seemed to glow for her and her alone. The years had not dulled their sparkle. “Sit with me for a moment,” she said, gesturing to the bench so that the watchers knew she had given her permission.
“You’ve a formal court dinner this night,” Kyran reminded her as he rose with grace and settled on the bench. “Ah. Still warm from young Wolke’s ass.” He held his hands over the brazier and rubbed them together. “He blew through the chamber without a word or a nod to anyone. Are we rid of him then?”
“Yes,” she tucked her hand back into her fur muff. “I sent him back to his lands. Young fool.”
“The ladies of the court will be crushed. He’d charmed almost all of them.”
“Idiot,” Elspeth growled. “To think he thought he could claim a position on my council. I should have boxed his ears.”
“Now, there would be something to sing about,” Kyran chuckled. “Gather now, my children, for you should truly hear, of the night that Elspeth Peacemaker, boxed young Wolke’s ears . . .” He raised his eyebrows. “There’s still time. I doubt he’s left the palace yet.”
She stared at him, a sudden sorrow welling up in her chest.
He frowned, concerned. “Elspeth?”
“Was it worth it, beloved?” She choked out, tears beyond her control filling her eyes. She clamped down on
