Never again.
He trudged indoors. Dripping and wet, Stellan retreated to his quarters. Shivering violently, he lay down, denying himself the comfort of blankets. Flashbacks lodged in his mind of his first few nights in Vandeborg. They struck with the speed of lightning, forceful and unpredictable. Strokes of rejection and abandonment saturated the canvas of his memories.
This is the way it will always be for me, and I accept my fate. I do not need the aid of others. I don’t need the love of others. I never have, and I never will. Shutting his eyes, he fell into a fitful, haunted sleep.
Chapter 18
After five hours of an exhausting ride, Clarysa rode up to the front gate of Vandeborg castle at midday. She was laden with a heavy coat of snow as well as relief. This time, she had wisely avoided the path through Dungeon Forest and had located Vandeborg by way of the main roads, posts and other markings with relatively little trouble.
Thanks to her cousin Mirabelle and a cleverly planned visit, Clarysa had a cover story that would give her at least two days in which to execute her plan. Before her time ran out, she had to convince Stellan her father was worth the effort it would require to form an alliance.
The sun slid behind a veil of portentous mists. The blinding white of the Snowflake Kingdom made for a stark and lonely place. Despite the ominous surroundings, Clarysa dismounted and yanked on a lonely bell rope, the only object left to greet her out front.
The gate creaked open slowly, splashing wan torch light onto the snowy ground. A calloused, milky white hand thrust a lantern forward. “Who’s there?”
“Ghyslain, it’s me!” Clarysa pushed back her hood and tried to smile past her chattering teeth. “May I enter?”
“Yeah! I mean, please come in.” He hurried to raise the rusty portcullis.
Clarysa guided the horse behind her and stepped inside. She shivered. The air felt like an oven compared to outside.
“Let me get Mum, and then I’ll see to your horse.”
Clarysa nodded, shaking the snow from her hair. A moment later she heard Gretchen’s voice.
“Is it truly the lady there?” The gypsy woman strode forward, extending her hands. “Oh, how wonderful to see you!” They embraced. Gretchen observed Clarysa at arm’s length, a concerned stare etched across her face. “What are you doing? Don’t tell me you rode out here all alone?”
Clarysa withdrew the invitation from her cloak pocket. “Gretchen, I know I’m late, but I’ve come. My father…sends his regrets. Is Stellan here?” She held out the invitation.
“What’s this?” Gretchen read the parchment, and then bit her lip. “Oh. Well, he’s in his tower, but… I don’t know if he’s up to receiving any visitors.”
“Please, you must tell him I’m here.”
“Of course, but as to what’ll happen then only the gods know. But enough chatter out in the cold! Go to the kitchen and warm yourself. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.” Clarysa strode into the now-familiar setting and settled onto a chair by the kitchen hearth. She held her frozen hands out to the blazing fire and focused expectantly on the doorway.
Several anxious paces around the kitchen later, an ashen-faced gypsy appeared. Clarysa rushed toward her. Gretchen walked forward with feet of lead. Clarysa frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Gretchen held out cupped hands. Coarse shreds of the invitation filled them.
Clarysa gasped. Icicles stabbed at her heart.
“You have to understand, Princess, he took it very hard.”
Clarysa fingered the pile, her gaze softening. “I knew he would. That’s why I’m here. I must see him, Gretchen.”
“He won’t budge. Around here, his stubbornness is legendary.”
“Then I’ll have to convince him.” Clarysa donned her cloak. “Please tell the prince I’ll be waiting for him. Outside.”
Gretchen’s chin dropped. “What?”
“You heard me.” Clarysa bustled from the room.
“But that’s insane. You’ll freeze to death!”
Clarysa turned with a wry smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not. My fate is in Stellan’s hands, now, isn’t it?” She exited the castle through the postern gate and stepped out into the subzero environment.
The wind had picked up. If Stellan didn’t come soon it was going to be a very, very frigid wait. But wait she would. She had to prove herself to Stellan. Aldebaran’s future depended on her perseverance.
Clarysa pulled her hood down low over her eyes and covered the lower half of her face with a scarf. Giant snowdrifts towered above, leaving little room to maneuver. Very well. She had planned on standing there anyway.
After a few moments of fretful hovering, Gretchen disappeared inside.
An hour or two passed. Maybe three. Abstract concepts such as time began to muddy. Clarysa had difficulty concentrating in the white hell surrounding her. The air’s frigid fingers had sapped all of her warmth some time ago. After her feet had given out, she hunched down in a groove of densely packed snow. A thick coating of flakes devoured her in a suffocating blanket of white. But she didn’t move. He’ll come. I’ll wait as long as it takes.
Faith in her strategy, however, began to wane ever so slightly. Lest she forget, Stellan was a sorcerer born of the Western Wastes. They were demons in human guise, all of them–or so she’d been taught. Only the might of Aldebaran had kept them from taking over the Five Lands. Was Stellan as civilized as he seemed? Or would his true nature call him back into the abyss?
It was now perilously dark. Her body was numb from the cold. Finding her way home now, in this condition, would be nigh impossible. Failure loomed heavily. And fear–she could die out here. What if Stellan meant for her to die, to teach her father that only fools
