I Smiled. Huge.

Valentine

 

Valentine Rousseau’s eyes opened and she stared at the dark ceiling.

Then she slid out of bed, leaving the young, slumbering, firm, naked male form in it.

Bending gracefully, her red-tipped fingers tagged the slip of green silk and lace off the floor. She pulled it over her head and the soft material slithered down her body.

She moved out of her bedroom, down the hall and to the room with the salmon-colored walls.

She did not bother herself with turning on a light. She knew every inch of the room, her house, for not only did she live in it, she’d been born to it.

She glided through the dark to stand at the small, round table on which the large, clear, smooth, crystal sphere sat on top of a bed of emerald-green velvet.

The tips of her fingers skimmed the ball and instantly a wisp of jade smoke curled inside the crystal.

She stared at its glow through the dark and felt her mouth get soft.

Just as she thought.

What she didn’t understand was why she cared. Cared so much it woke her.

On this thought, her mouth grew hard.

“Annoying,” she murmured as the smoke twisted, coiled and curved.

Valentine took in a delicate, displeased breath.

For years, she cared about very little. In fact, nothing.

But herself.

Then came her little goddess of love, Seoafin, Finnie.

Now, caring seemed to be all she did.

And not just about herself.

In fact, all the troubles were sorted in that other world, but was she quit of it?

No.

She was not only not quit of it, she was home in New Orleans and still checking in frequently to see how things progressed with not only Franka and Noctorno, but Seoafin and Frey, Circe and Lahn…

All of them.

This going so far as to wake her in the night so she’d seek her crystal just to make certain all was well.

She cared, there was no denying it.

This didn’t mean she didn’t lament doing just that.

Valentine studied the smoke, sighed and watched Noc laughing and Franka glowering as they sat together in Franka’s chamber.

It was no surprise he’d made little headway. Not only Franka’s history would inhibit things moving forward, she’d lost a lover in a dramatically sad way.

There were many wounds Franka Drakkar needed healed but only some of them Noc could assist in this effort.

The loss of her lover she’d have to come to terms with on her own.

Suddenly, Valentine tipped her head to the side as she felt it. Within seconds, the room turned green. Not Valentine’s green, which shaded emerald to jade. No, Lavinia’s green. The green of Lavinia’s goddess of the other world, Alabasta, which was the color of a fertile meadow.

Every witch with any amount of power had their own color.

It represented their soul.

Thus Lavinia’s was fresh and nurturing.

And Valentine’s was rich and precious.

Valentine directed her eyes to the vortex forming and watched Lavinia appear.

“My friend,” Lavinia greeted when her feet were planted on Valentine’s priceless Persian rug.

“It’s late,” Valentine replied.

Lavinia, accustomed to Valentine, took no offense at her reply and smiled but looked to the sphere on the table.

Her eyes moved back to Valentine.

“The knight of your world is making progress,” she noted.

Valentine swept a hand to her crystal ball.

“This, I’ve noticed,” she drawled.

Lavinia nodded. “What you may not have noticed is that her mother’s magic was revealed, but Franka’s was not. We both felt the swell of it that terrible night some days ago, but she has not come forward as a witch. No one else is aware of it, save perhaps Noctorno. This concerns me.”

“She’s coping with a good deal, Lavinia, perhaps you’ll give her more than a few days,” Valentine suggested.

“It’s my duty to my country to share that I hold this knowledge, my friend,” Lavinia replied.

Valentine sighed a delicate, displeased sigh.

“It would be nice if you would come,” Lavinia urged. “I do think she’s of your…” her friend’s lips tipped up, “kind, and you will speak well together.” Her voice dipped quieter. “In times such as these, she may need something just as that.”

“I’ll return,” Valentine replied.

Lavinia nodded. She knew if Valentine said she would be there, she would be there.

Unfortunately, Lavinia knew Valentine would be there because she cared.

“You came to my world just for this?” Valentine asked.

Lavinia looked through the dark room but shook her head doing it, stating, “I was curious.”

“Do be curious at another time,” she invited. “When it’s not the dead of night and I don’t have a lovely body, not mine, obviously, currently warming my bed.”

Lavinia eyed Valentine. “Now I see why you returned home.”

Valentine shook her head. “You see nothing. He’s just a body. A trifle. A useful one, but only that.”

Lavinia eyed her far more closely. “No one is just a body, Valentine.”

“He is,” Valentine sniffed.

“Have you had another who meant more?” Lavinia asked.

“Ah,” Valentine breathed out. “I see you’ve come in the middle of the night not only because you were curious, but to discuss my love life, which means you’re not simply curious. You’re nosy.”

“It’s morn in my world,” Lavinia reminded her.

“I do know that, chérie,” Valentine sighed.

“I know you know. I also know you didn’t answer my question,” Lavinia pressed.

“When the time comes, I’ll choose a man to make me round with a daughter. But even then he’ll just be a body, though he’ll also be his seed, so rest assured, I’ll select him with great care.”

“That’s wretched,” Lavinia said gently.

Valentine lifted her brows in surprise. “You wish to be tangled up in a relationship?”

“I’ve lived a life where I was quite content with my own company. But I must say, watching Finnie and Frey, Maddie and Apollo…”

“That was about magic. And destiny,” Valentine eschewed.

“All love has its own magic,” Lavinia returned, her eyes sliding toward the door, her words the truth, of course, with caveats. “Even love that doesn’t span universes.”

“It also can be used for ill, if turned into a weapon,” Valentine retorted. “And this happens often, in both worlds.”

Lavinia returned her gaze to her friend.

“Quite right, my dear,” she whispered. “Odd, we seem to have this conversation often. With varying results. This suggests love is foremost on our minds most of the time. Including yours.”

Valentine didn’t deign to reply.

“You must come soon,” Lavinia urged, wisely changing the subject. “I’ve only visited with Franka once, and I didn’t know her before, but from what I knew of her, she’s much changed, though I think she’s discomfited by it.”

Valentine knew very well how that felt.

Lavinia spoke on. “Not to mention, when I’m with the others, they speak of her already not simply with compassion for what she’s endured, but with humor and even growing affection.”

This, Valentine had seen in her crystal, finding herself looking on…happily, doing so hoping it would continue.

“I’ll be there,” Valentine replied.

She then wondered when she started hoping about anything.

Caring and hoping.

How vile. Both were so very vulgar.

“Until we meet in my world,” Lavinia called, and Valentine watched as she faded away.

With an agitated gesture, Valentine shook her sleek red hair out of her face and looked back to her crystal. She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers over it, searching, and she found someone she’d discovered some days ago when she’d decided that meddling with Franka and Noc would not be enough.

There was another.

And as she watched the large man go about the business of sleeping in his own bed, her jaw set and she trailed her fingers over the crystal again.

The smoke vanished.

There she went, caring about someone else.

And worse, doing something about it.

Valentine Rousseau rarely expended effort on anything someone didn’t compensate her for, except, of course, one of her trifles.

She definitely expended effort on her trifles.

Her thoughts moved to what she’d just seen in her crystal and she was pleased in this world, as in the other, he was such a fine specimen. A plaything such as him would be—Valentine drew in a wistful breath—delicious.

Alas, such as him, she had found, didn’t tend to like the way Valentine played.

He would be perfect for his intended.

An intended he didn’t know he had (yet). And that intended had no idea what Valentine had planned for her future.

A warm curl swirled in her belly.

Valentine sighed yet again as she shook off her uncharacteristically soft, romantic thoughts.

She was losing her touch.

She needed to find it again.

To do that, her thoughts moved to the young, naked, firm, male form asleep in her bed, and in the dark, Valentine smiled her cat’s smile.

She walked back to her bedroom, went to the nightstand, opened it and took out a box of matches. She struck one and lit the three candles on the night table.

She brought the match to her lips, blew out its flame and touched the glowing ember against her tongue where it sizzled.

She dropped it to the nightstand with a small smile curving her lips.

She then tossed the matchbox back into the drawer and closed it.

And then Valentine turned with languid but definitive purpose to the form in the bed.

 

* * * * *

Franka

 

I walked down the front steps of the Winter Palace somewhat stiffly, but I managed it, hoping I hid the stiffness by twitching my fur cloak closer around me.

That stiffness became more pronounced when I saw what awaited me at the bottom of the steps.

I was headed to the jail to see my parents.

Noc had told me he’d be accompanying me.

However, at the bottom of the steps, milling about at the side of not my sleigh but one of the queen’s sumptuously-appointed royal sleighs, stood not only Noc but also Finnie, Frey, Circe, Lahn, Cora and the Noctorno of my world (who allowed those close to him to call him Tor, something he invited I do at my command attendance at dinner last night with the lot of them and the queen).

What, by the gods, were they all doing there?

No.

No.

I didn’t care.

In my estimation from the message delivered by the bird my brother sent sharing when they’d left his home, Kristian and his family would arrive at the Winter Palace on the morrow.

It had been nine days since the drama in the buttery. Due to a physician’s care (and Josette’s), my back still ached, but it was healing far more rapidly than normal.

Noc and the rest had not ceased being friendly and sociable in this time. In fact, the more I was able to get up and about, the friendlier and more sociable they became.

This didn’t matter to me.

I wanted this final visit with my parents done and behind me. I wanted to see my brother. After that, Josette and I (and whatever maid she selected to accompany us, the task of finding said maid something Josette had thrown herself into with abandoned glee) were off to cross the Green Sea.

Therefore, whatever befell me at this present moment, and the next, and the next, I would endure.

Until I was away.

Perhaps the others were preparing to go into town. There were two royal sleighs waiting and a variety of horses.

That was likely it.

But due to the fact that they were friendly and sociable, for whatever reason traits like that made you behave in ways like this, they were milling about waiting to see Noc and I off.

Noc noticed me making my descent, and not surprisingly he broke off from chatting with Cora and Tor and jogged up the steps toward me.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked, his face a picture of concern, his hand capturing mine, and before I could pull it free he tucked my fingers around the inside of his elbow, drew me close to his side, kept his fingers snug around mine in a way I could not escape, and thus he assisted me down the steps.

“How I’m doing is being quite capable of descending a flight of steps on my own,” I replied.

“I’ll take that sass as you doin’ good,” he muttered.

I had learned from the very beginning that Noc decided to take whatever I said in whatever manner he wished to take it.

Hence in response I simply sighed.

Noc led us to the side of the sleigh where Cora and Tor were standing, and I noted Frey ceased speaking with Finnie, Lahn and Circe and came our way.

We stopped by the sleigh and Frey stopped at our grouping.

He was looking down on me with the same concern Noc showed.

“You’re certain you wish to do this, Franka?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I answered.

He studied me a moment before he nodded once and declared, “We’ll be there with you in case something upsetting happens.”

At his words, I felt my body jolt and knew the extent of recovery in my back for I only felt a vague twinge of pain.

“I…sorry?” I asked.

Frey indicated the assemblage with a sweep of his proud head, which now included Circe, Lahn and Finnie, all of whom had joined us, before he repeated, “We’ll all be with you in case something upsetting happens.”

Dear goddess.

They were going to the jail with me.

But…

Why?

“That isn’t necessary,” I stated swiftly.

“A sister has a sister’s back,” Cora decreed. “And a sister’s man has her back.”

I looked to her. “Rest assured I mean no offense, princess, but we aren’t sisters.”

“We totally are,” she returned.

“But…” I felt my brow furrow. “Are you, that is to say, is the other me your sister in your world?”

I heard Noc chuckle and saw grins and smiles all around while Cora answered (through her own grin), “No, babe. What I’m saying is, we’re both chicks and all chicks are sisters, blood or not. And we have to look out for each other.”

How peculiar. She, too, used these slang words “babe” and “chick” to refer to her own gender.

Mad.

And women looking out for women?

That wasn’t mad. It was delusional.

It was my experience (and not experience due to my participation in such vulgar goings-on, they were so vulgar, they were even beneath me) most women, at least women of my ilk, didn’t look out for each other.

They seduced one another’s men and uttered cruel things about clothing, hairstyles, excess of weight or not enough of it, not to mention honing in on and dissecting with malicious glee anything else that might be perceived as a weakness or unattractive. Or they would harp on it to make it seem unattractive (mostly due to jealousy or spite). The sound of a voice. An ungainly talent at a dance. A gaucheness with social discourse.

These were not the cuts I had once relished, and not because it was all too easy.

Mostly because if a woman had a man, it was lower than low to set your sights on him. And tearing apart anyone for things they could not control wasn’t sport. It was simply vicious.

But I’d lived my life with women behaving in this manner. Josette had even shared tidbits of female servants doing the same.

Three women giving up a morning where they could be at their leisure to do anything they wished in order to accompany me to a bloody jail just in case I got upset?

Unheard of!

“There’s really no need,” I persisted. “I’ll only be there a short while.”

“There’s a need,” Circe put in.

“Absolutely a need,” Finnie agreed.

I didn’t understand this.

However, this discussion was prolonging a situation that I’d like to see done. Precisely getting in the sleigh, getting to the jail, seeing my parents and returning to the palace.

So I gave in, murmuring, “As you wish,” pulled free of Noc and turned to the sleigh.

I felt movement around me as Noc reached in front of me to open the door to the open-topped sleigh. I also felt his hand at my hip steadying me as if I couldn’t climb into a bloody sleigh on my own, something I’d been doing since I’d gained control of my legs and feet.

I clenched my teeth in frustration, attempted to ignore his touch, which was firm enough that I felt it even through my furs, my gown and my warm undergarments, and found my seat.

Noc found his beside me and Cora had entered the sleigh and was settling beside him.

I didn’t stoop to looking around to see where the others had gone. I simply grabbed the fur throw that was at the ready for us on the floor of the sleigh to pull over my lap. It was large and long and while I did this, Noc adjusted it over his lap as Cora did the same.

All of us tucked in the sleigh together like bosom buddies on a jaunt (laughable), Noc reached forward to take hold of the reins secured before him.

I looked at the four horses attached to the sleigh.

For the horse’s sake, two was optimal to share a load, even on a long distance ride.

Four to sledge through town was ludicrous.

Unless you were a royal.

And since Cora was, I supposed it wasn’t outlandish.

What surprised me was that Noc took the reins when I was relatively certain that the other men mounted steeds.

I turned to him and asked, “Do you not ride?”

I heard him click his teeth and watched him snap the straps, lurched with the forward movement of the sleigh, and then saw him look down at me.

“Ride?” he asked.

“A mount,” I explained.

“Not much of that kind of riding in my world, babe,” he stated, and I felt myself blink in surprise. “Though I do ride, just not a horse. A hawg. As in a Harley.”

Cora piped in at this juncture.

“You have a Harley?”

Noc looked to his other side. “Yeah.”

“Wow. Cool. Wish I’d gotten a ride with you before I had to leave our world,” she remarked.

“Didn’t get to get on it much in Seattle,” Noc remarked. “Figure that’ll change in NOLA. Least I hope so.”

I heard this conversation but I was still back where it started.

“You ride a pig?” I asked with disbelief.

Both Noc and Cora’s attention came to me and they stared at me mutely for a second before they both burst out laughing.

Well.

How rude.

I looked forward.

“Not laughin’ at you, sweetheart,” Noc said gently, through laughter that was, indeed, at me. “But you were bein’ funny. We’re talkin’ about motorcycles. You don’t have them here. We have automotive vehicles powered by gas. Move on wheels called tires. No animals needed. They go a lot faster. Most of them are enclosed, but not bikes, what motorcycles are sometimes referred to as, a brand of which is Harleys. That’s what I’ve got. Those have two wheels, not four, and are open to the elements. You ride them kinda like a horse, except they’re motor-powered.”

“Interesting,” I said like it was not.

However, it was.

What kinds of machines would these be, no animals needed? They seemed implausible and fanciful, just like what he’d shown me that first night we spoke—his “phone.”

And yet that was real.

I had often thought of his gadgetry since, in the rare alone times I’d had, wishing I’d taken hold of it, inspected it, tested its magic.

Animal-less “vehicles” powered by gas I would adore the opportunity of seeing.

“It’s cute, you not getting it,” Noc went on to explain, noting my continued mood (as he always did, he just often chose to ignore it). “If you went to our world, you’d understand it.”

I did not share that I’d be quite interested in going to his world and seeing these fantastical contraptions at work.

I also did not share that it was not cute to laugh at someone who was ignorant about something for reasons not in their control.

I just looked out the side of the sleigh, not noticing the houses and buildings and people we sledded by, and barely noticing the whoosh of our transport, the one behind us, and the clomp of the many horses’ hooves in the snow.

But I did vaguely sense that many watched us pass.

Then again, we were a grand procession with a king, a queen, a prince, princesses and The Drakkar. But even if it was only Dax Lahn, the fellow was such a sight to see with his large body, long, bunched hair, fierce face with its abundant dark beard and unusual clothing made of hide, all would stop to watch.

Truth be told, I wished to watch him ride. I was certain he’d be good at it (though, that wasn’t the only reason I wished to do this, as fierce as he was, he was most assuredly pleasing to the eye).

“You’re right,” Noc muttered, pulling me from my thoughts of the Dax, and I felt his arm round my waist so my head snapped around to look up at him again, seeing he appeared contrite. “Wasn’t cool, us busting a gut like that. You don’t know. And there’s all sorts of shit about your world that I don’t get or know about. I probably wouldn’t like it much if I said something you thought was funny and you laughed in my face.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t cool, Franka, really sorry,” Cora chimed in.

I did not know how to take this. Outside of a servant making a mistake and apologizing to me for doing so (as they should), I didn’t think anyone had ever apologized to me. Certainly not when they’d done something wrong or hurtful. And absolutely not admitting they understood they’d done so and moving verbally to rectify that hurt.

“You cool?” Noc asked.

In that moment I did not wish to get into the fact that their usage of “cool” was like Noc’s usage of “shit” and “fuck” and a variety of others. In other words, these were all used frequently but with what seemed like different meanings.

We spoke the same language but it still felt like I was cast adrift in a foreign land with only a modicum of understanding of the native tongue and I had to decipher all with only the barest of foundations.

Nevertheless, the way they’d both used “cool,” I could only assume he meant to ask if I was over my pique.

I was not, of course, but that didn’t factor.

“Yes, Noc, I’m fine,” I lied.

His lips quirked, his eyes didn’t leave mine, and he murmured, “You so aren’t.”

I faced forward again.

This allowed Noc’s lips a direct line to my ear, and I fancied I could actually feel them whisper against the skin there, causing a chill to race down my spine that was not chilly in the slightest as he said, “Also cute.”

Considering where his mouth was, he couldn’t see my face. Therefore, I rolled my eyes.

I felt him pull away.

I decided silence was my best course of action for the rest of the journey (and the return one).

However, this was the wrong decision.

Although Noc and Cora chatted amiably together the entire distance, both of them made frequent attempts to draw me into their conversation, to which I was not rude, just short or monosyllabic, and they eventually let me be, leaving me in my head.

This was not a good place to be, especially these last nine days.

If I was honest with myself—something I tended not to be for reasons of self-preservation, but even more so the last week—I would have admitted that their company, any of them, was a boon. It kept me out of my head. It kept me away from melancholic, ashamed or anxious thoughts of what had befallen me and what was to come.

But now, as we sledged ever closer to the jail (a place I had no idea where it was so I didn’t know exactly how close it was, just that we were moving, so naturally we were getting closer), I wondered why I’d decided to visit my parents.

Yes, I was where I was. Healing. Standing. Free. And they were where they were, imprisoned, their rights stripped, my mother’s magic stripped, their abundance of pride and conceit likely (hopefully) being chipped away day to day.

But what was to be gained from this visit?

And further, what could be lost?

They had power over me. They always did. I didn’t have to admit that to myself. It was a fact I’d lived with since I could ruminate. That power they wielded whether I was young or old, near or far.

Would their being in a jail change that?

Would my confronting them somehow be turned on me and cause more shame?

These were the thoughts that plagued me not only during our journey but at the end of it, through Noc assisting me out of the sleigh and while we made our way to the front door of the jail.

Frey opened the door, Finnie on his arm. They swept through followed by Lahn and Circe, then Noc and I, and we were trailed by Tor and Cora.

By the time we made our way through the door, Frey was speaking with someone who looked official and was wearing a city guard uniform of brown leather shorts, thick brown stockings, high brown boots and a warm-looking brown sweater with deep-red epaulets stitched in along the shoulders.

The moment Noc and I entered, both men’s eyes came to me.

Unexpectedly, I had the instant desire to bolt. In order not to do it, I made my body lock.

Noc felt it.

“Frannie?” he called quietly.

My gaze shot to his. “Do I look all right?”

In the many “nevers” that I’d experienced happening recently, this was another.

I’d never asked a soul that question.

And in my heart I knew I looked nothing but like I always looked. Josette made sure of that, going extra distance considering where I was heading, fashioning the lovely chignon she’d fastened at my nape and selecting the perfect accessories for my ensemble. It was also she who’d decided on the wine-colored gown that skimmed my figure beautifully, showing only a hint of cleavage at the square neckline, the subtle, thin, vertical cable-knit at my midriff, waist and hips giving the impression that entire area was nipped in and tiny.

She’d also chosen my most expensive, most fabulous cloak. A luscious, luminous sable, its high collar when flipped up (as it was not now) covered not just my neck but up beyond my ears.

I knew all this.

But I did not.

And when I asked this question of Noc, he had an odd reaction.

His expression grew soft and kind (er) and he turned into me so we were front to front, close, dipping his chin into his throat to bring his face near, all the while holding my eyes.

“You look beautiful, Franka. You always look beautiful. Your cheeks flushed from being out in the cold, your eyes brighter because the pain is subsiding, you look more beautiful than yesterday and the day before, and I could go on with that.” His hand that was covering my fingers he’d curled inside his elbow tightened as his lips tipped up reassuringly. “It’s all good.”

I heard his words and yet I did not.

And it didn’t matter that I did and did not.

I promptly and fretfully asked him another question.

“Can you tell I still have pain? When I move,” I hastened to add. “Or even stand,” I kept at it. “Can you tell,” I got up on my toes, “at all?”

“No, baby,” he whispered hearteningly. “You can’t tell at all. Where you were, where you are now, every day I’ve thought it. You may just be the strongest woman I’ve met.”

My hand reached up and clamped over his sweater at his biceps, curling around, but in my state I didn’t notice the hardness of muscle underneath his wool.

“You aren’t saying these things just to soothe me, are you?” I pressed.

He shook his head. “No way. Truth. All of it, Frannie. Swear to God.”

I stayed right where I was, this close to Noc, holding on to his arm, but I turned my head toward where Frey was still standing, beyond which was a passageway that seemed dim and bleak.

Noc’s free arm slid carefully along my waist and my attention returned to him when he stated firmly, “If you’re having second thoughts, we’re outta here.”

I stared up into his eyes.

They’d all come. Out in the cold, they’d all come. To be there with me.

To be there for me.

And Noc was right there, close, holding me, reassuring me.

For his part, he wouldn’t have let me go without him.

I might be a new Franka Drakkar, and she was a woman I didn’t yet understand.

What I did understand was that I had to do this.

But this time it was not for my brother.

It was for me.

“You wanna do it, we’re with you,” Noc went on, and I again focused on him. “The final chapter, Frannie. The end of that book. Period. Dot. You’re done. You do this, you show them they didn’t break you, they never broke you, sweetheart, you walk away, close that book and move on.”

I heard every one of those words said in his strong, deep, rough but luxuriant voice, and they somehow seemed to sink into my flesh, my muscle, my heart, lungs, innards, all this forcing my scabbed-over back straight.

They’d never broken me.

I was free. My brother and I were safe.

And they were there. In that dismal, bleak place, a version of which they’d be in for the rest of their lives.

“You’re correct, Noc,” I stated smartly.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he replied on a grin.

I squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“Right.” This came as a determined growl, and he bent his face even closer to mine. “Then let’s do this.”

I nodded. Noc took that in, slid his hand from my waist and turned us both toward Frey, Finnie and the guard. As he did, he lifted his arm where I held his elbow and drew it and my hand in to hold them tight to the front side of his chest.

“She’s good to go,” he announced to Frey.

Frey watched Noc say this before he turned his eyes and studied me.

And then he said something that if Noc wasn’t holding me up would have set me on my behind.

“For the first time in my life, you’ve made me proud to be a Drakkar.”

I heard a little pip that I assumed came from Cora, who had closed in at my left side. It sounded like she was fighting back a sob.

What I saw was Finnie smiling at me so largely it had to hurt her face.

My eyes drifting from Finnie, Frey’s words warming my belly, my anxiety fully left me and my surroundings came to me.

I saw the building was not made of wood but cold, dull, colorless stone. There were iron bars that stood as a door to the passageway. The room we were in had several wooden chairs that lined the walls but did not invite you to relax and pass the time. There was also a high desk at an angle in the right corner where two men wearing city guard uniforms (but with black epaulets) were clearly on a riser for they towered feet above us, lording over the small room. And there were intermittent, round iron hooks on the walls, some with chains and manacles hanging from them, obviously where prisoners were shackled prior to being led to their accommodation in the back.

Thinking that there was a great likelihood my parents had been fettered thus, I felt a swell of wicked glee surging up my throat that I felt no shame about whatsoever.

The guard Frey had been speaking with moved to the bar door, jingling a large loop filled with keys.

He found one, opened the door, and with Noc and I following Frey and Finnie, the rest following us, we walked through.

The first section beyond the doors had two more guards in their guard clothing, one on each side of the space behind desks. Behind the men there was cabinetry, one side looking like it held drawers where files were kept, the other side with an abundance of locks, which meant they likely housed weapons.

They looked up at us and stood instantly, at first putting their fist to the underside of their chin, a salute to The Drakkar, then pressing themselves into bows in deference to their Ice Princess, Finnie.

They stayed in this position as our procession walked by their desks and into the wide walkway beyond.

In this area there was a line of cells to each side.

The first two sets of cells, left and right, were empty.

The third to the left held a man who appeared (and an unsavory whiff of him and the unconscious belch he emitted with poor timing as we passed proved this assumption) to be sleeping off a drunken binge.

Another two sets of cells were empty, which I found vaguely surprising. Fyngaard was not a small city. Surely there must be more ruffians running amuck than this.

There was only one other cell filled with a man wearing bad clothes, having clearly not taken care of his teeth over the years, as openly shown to us as he sneered at us from his bunk. This also was apparent in the care of his hair, which was long and lank but looked like the last time it had been clipped, this had been done haphazardly with the side of a knife.

A dull one.

I only viewed him curiously before I looked again to Frey’s and Finnie’s backs as we made our way down the passage.

I had warning when we’d neared my mother and father, this a glance by Frey over his shoulder at me.

I lifted my chin. His lips tilted up. He looked forward then right.

I looked right as well.

Noc drew me even nearer.

My mother lay in that cell, her finery gone, no soft lamb’s wool, angora or cashmere gown covering her still-youthful figure. She was wearing a rough, boxy shift with long sleeves, belted with what appeared to be rope, visibly coarse stockings and crude, tie-up leather boots.

On sight of us, she pushed up to her bottom, her lustrous hair that had only threads of lovely silver in it was plaited in a long braid falling over one shoulder and tied with what looked like a dirty scrap of cloth.

“Daughter,” she whispered, her eyes locked to me.

I said nothing.

Furthermore I felt nothing at the sight of her.

How odd.

Frey led us beyond her cell but stopped us at the wall between hers and the one next to it. There I saw my father in the last cell in the hall.

He was similarly attired as my mother, except no stockings, rather rough breeches. The only thing that looked clean on him was the bandage that had been tied on a slant to his face with a strip of white gauze that ran along his jaw to the wounded cheek opposite and up over his crown.

I noted they both had thin woolen blankets on their narrow bunks (though no sheet over the slim pallet atop it) and wooden buckets to serve as chamber pots.

Other than this, there was naught else in their cells.

Nothing.

“Frey!” my father snapped, and at his voice I pressed closer to Noc. “When he gets here, my solicitor will be having a word with the queen. Being in this building is outrageous. These clothes,” he plucked at his shirt furiously, having strode to the bars before his cell and stopping in front of them. “No creature comforts. Barely a passable blanket to keep the chill away that veritably whistles through the walls. Not even a book to pass the time. And I demand that Anneka be moved into my cell with me, or at the very least across from me so we can see each other as we converse.”

“I do believe, uncle, it’s escaped you that you’re not in a position to make demands,” Frey replied calmly.

Papa’s voice was rising. “Wait until your father hears of this!”

I held my ground even as I sensed my mother approaching the bars.

“It shocks me how little you’ve paid attention, Nils,” Frey returned. “Although you’re correct. My father will undoubtedly be outraged by your current circumstances. I just don’t give a fuck what he thinks, and I never did.”

“Franka,” my mother called softly.

I made certain my features were arranged as I wished them, blankly, before I gave her my attention.

“You cannot wish this on your father and I.” She continued to speak in that quiet, timid, beleaguered tone, which obviously I’d never heard.

Even with my first real glance at her, I saw she was broken. Without her husband’s name, his House, his self-importance and her magic to stand behind, it had been but days and she was a ghost of the spiteful, conceited, pitiless, evil woman I knew.

I’d endured torture at their hands to mind, body and spirit for thirty-four years and there I was.

There I was.

And in nine days she’d all but wasted away.

She’d never survive a life in prison. Or, more accurately, her life imprisoned would be a life significantly shortened.

“Frey, if you would,” I began, looking to my cousin who in turn directed his attention to me. “Order they be given another blanket. A pillow. And a flannel sheet to cover their pallets and help to beat back the chill. Perhaps they both should also have a book.”

Frey didn’t hide his surprise but he inclined his head and turned to the guard.

“See that it’s done.”

“Of course, my lord,” the guard murmured.

“A bloody blanket and a book?” my father asked furiously. “Franka, demand our release at once,” he ordered.

I ignored him and again looked at my mother.

When I caught her eyes, she dropped hers and said, “Your kindness is appreciated, daughter.”

“Do not mistake it as kindness,” I declared, and startled, her gaze came again to mine. “I do not request this as a kindness, Mother,” I explained. “I request this in an effort to keep you healthy. It would not do for you to catch a deathly chill and shorten your penance.”

She blanched, taking a step back from the bars.

“Franka,” my father growled in a warning tone.

I again ignored him and took a step toward my mother’s cell.

“You reap what you sow,” I said quietly, not tearing my eyes from her horrified ones. “For years, you taught me nothing but callousness and cruelty. You taught me strength was in manipulating others’ weaknesses for my gain. You taught me arrogance was a point of pride and a weapon to add to my arsenal. You taught me loyalty was to be punished. Fear was to be unrelenting. Pain was to be expected. I only hope that in the remaining years of my life I’ve got enough light in the midnight soul you shadowed inside me to burn the seed you’ve sown to cinders and plant a new one that will take root and grow. But even if that isn’t to be the case, as you’ve taught me my entire life to live my own with heartlessness and selfishness, knowing you live a life of fear and torment will suffice to see me through to my own end.”

Her hand snaked up to her throat, her eyes wide as saucers, dread wafting from her in physical ways I could not only feel, but could smell and it reeked. My father bellowed, “You’ll rue those words when we’re released, you ungrateful bitch!”

I shifted, letting go of Noc to approach my father’s cell but feeling Noc move with me, close to my back.

I tipped my head back to look up at Papa.

The wrathful, persecuted look on his face and burning from his gaze shared he had not broken. He was quite certain his position and name would change his circumstances in the near future.

He was misguided.

No.

He was a fool.

“And what, pray, Papa, should I be grateful for that you and Mother have given me?” I asked.

He tipped his head angrily toward my body. “That fur you’re wearing, for one.”

“This fur was purchased when the quarterly Drakkar stipend was forwarded to me, something that’s increased now that Frey’s brother is head of the House and managing it capably, rather than your brother running it straight into financial ruin.”

“And the Drakkar name was given to you by me,” he spat.

“Alas,” I murmured.

“The impudence,” he bit off.

I stared at him.

Without Mother’s magic, outside of retaining his handsomeness, which had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the strength of the Drakkar line, he suddenly seemed like an old, blustering buffoon.

And indeed, without Mother’s magic that was all he’d ever been.

“This is the last you’ll see of me, Papa. Any loving words you wish to say?” I invited.

“If you don’t speak to the queen on our behalf, Franka—” he began to warn.

I lifted my brows and interrupted him. “You’ll what, Papa?” I then lifted a hand and touched the bars that separated us with the tip of my index finger, reminding him of his situation. “What will you do?”

Faster than his years, which had always been the way, his hand darted up and he caught my finger in an excruciating hold, his own fingers tightening, crushing mine against the bar even as he pressed his face between them.

“I’ll break you, you revolting harlot,” he hissed.

He was able to get that out before I found my finger suddenly released.

I heard the terrible noise of bones breaking, then my father’s pained howl sounded against the stone walls, and finally Noc’s order of, “Step back, Franka.”

He’d torn my father’s fingers from mine and bent them back, using a bar to leverage his hold, a hold he still had on my father so even now I could see they were at an unnatural angle that had to be excruciating.

I felt it prudent to step back. This I did.

When I did, Noc released my father and took his own step to return to my side.

Father retreated from the bars and held his damaged hand in his other, bent over them both at his chest protectively.

“You might wish to call for a physician to set those,” Frey suggested to the guard.

“You’ll hear from our solicitor,” Papa snarled angrily, his head bent back to glower at us, but his voice betrayed his pain.

“And I’m sure whatever he says will be most amusing,” Frey drawled.

My father sent a scowl his way then asked, “Have you humiliated us enough, bringing the Winter Princess here to see our degradation? The bloody ruler of Bellebryn and his bride? The savage king and his Middlelandian queen? Have you, nephew? For if you have, I’d thank you to leave us to our ordeal further unmolested.”

Frey didn’t answer my father. He turned to me.

“Are you finished, Franka?”

I looked at Papa, pain starting to twist his face, ire still blazing in his eyes.

I then looked to my mother. She’d retreated to stand against the back wall beside her bed, both her elegant hands lifted and clasped at the base of her throat, her eyes on me.

Finally, I looked to my cousin.

“I am indeed, cousin.”

“Let us be away then,” Frey stated, sounding relieved and proving he was by moving all of us immediately to retreat.

Neither of my parents called a farewell.

I did the same, not even giving them my regard as I walked from view of their cells.

Noc took my hand and curled it at once around his elbow, bending to me and asking, “Your finger okay, sweetheart?”

“Quite all right, Noc,” I answered, my eyes straight ahead.

“You kicked ass back there, baby. Wish I had that on video. Fuckin’ brilliant,” he decreed.

I had no idea what “on video” meant, but I didn’t ask.

I also did not even try to fight back the urge to do what I next did.

I simply did it.

This being turning my head and tipping it back.

Once that was done and I’d caught Noc’s gaze, I did my last.

Slowly, and with great delight I did not hide, I smiled.

Huge.

 

* * * * *

 

“Master Noc broke his fingers?” Josette asked incredulously.

“At least three of them,” I informed her.

She stared at me a moment looking horrified but this dissolved as her body started shaking and then a loud giggle erupted from her mouth.

I felt my lips curling up.

When she controlled her mirth, she mumbled, “I wish I was there.”

“I do as well,” I replied.

I ignored her blinking at me in shock, having decided over the past days when I did something kind that Josette found unexpected and she showed her surprise, she’d eventually get used to it.

For I had found that guarding myself from this variety of camaraderie, sharing moments and news and snippets of life, and even feelings with the woman with whom I spent most of my time, was not only draining and tiresome, but also unnecessary.

Josette had not a cruel bone in her body. She’d remained steadfast to me even when I wasn’t as I’d begun to be.

She was now blossoming under my warm regard.

And I found witnessing it most pleasant.

Thus it was late afternoon and we were now sharing prior to her assisting me in my preparations to attend another dinner with the queen and the others.

“Now, tell me, how goes your search for a new maid?” I asked.

She settled her behind deeper in the chair opposite me and stated, “I’ve narrowed it down to three, Lady Franka. They all seem quite capable, have much experience, excellent references, good dispositions and are keen to go on an adventure by crossing the Green Sea.”

At her words, I frowned.

I’d found of late (that “of late” being the last several days) that the “Lady Franka” business, something of which I hadn’t thought of in the slightest in the past, was grating.

I was, of course, a lady.

Josette reminding me of it every time she spoke my name was superfluous.

I didn’t call her “Maid Josette.” The very idea was ludicrous.

“Josette, if you please,” I said on a sweep of my hand in front of me, “I’m tiring of ‘Lady Franka.’”

“I…well,” her expression turned perplexed, “what, milady?”

“That too,” I replied. “‘Milady.’ Of course when we’re in company, you’ll need to continue to address me thus. But when we’re on our own, I see no reason for you to consistently utter my title. Franka will do.”

She said nothing, likely because her mouth had dropped open and her stare had become vacant.

“Is this something that offends you?” I asked when her look persisted, as did her silence.

She snapped her mouth closed, opened it, closed it and finally got down to it.

“As you know, my, uh…well, as you know, no other maid I know addresses her lady that way. It just isn’t done.”

“I’m not just any lady and you are definitely not just another maid. If the Winter Princess herself knew of your talents, she’d try to steal you from me.”

A blush of pleasure pinkened her cheeks as she said, “I’d never leave you.”

I tipped up my chin. “And I know this and prize it. So let’s dispense with some of the formalities, shall we?”

“I…all right,” she agreed, a tentative smile forming on her face.

“Excellent,” I murmured. “Now that’s done, I’ll meet your final candidates tomorrow. Once I do, we’ll discuss them and decide. But I need to give you another task.”

“And that would be?” she asked.

“Your gowns, stockings, cloaks, boots, slippers, etc. You’ll need to visit a local clothier, cobbler and milliner as you’ll require clothing suitable for a variety of climes and a good deal of it. When we’re aboard a ship, I’m not certain there are laundry facilities, and I don’t like the idea of you donning dirty clothing because you have no spare. And please, increase the quality of the pieces you choose. You are a maid of a lady of the House of Drakkar but further, we’ve no idea what we’ll be encountering. It would be good for those who look upon us to think you’re my ward, and thus have some protection of a certain class, rather than my maid.”

“Really, Lady…I mean, Franka?” she breathed, her mouth now working, but her eyes had again gone wide.

“If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it,” I retorted.

“I would…would…would…” she finally spit it out, nearly bouncing in her seat, “adore that.”

“I change my mind,” I stated and her face fell. “We’ll go together. I want to make certain you don’t do anything frugal out of habit. Once my brother has arrived and I’ve greeted him, he’ll want to settle his family and probably rest. We’ll go out after he arrives.”

Bright-eyed again, Josette replied, “That would be most lovely, erm, Franka.”

“Indeed it would,” I agreed, regarding her thoughtfully. “With your coloring, I think greens. Perhaps pinks. You’ve excellent skin, roses and creams, pink would suit you.” I tipped my head to the side. “I do believe red would also become you, but we’ll have to see.”

She sniffled and I stopped scrutinizing her and looked in her eyes.

They were wet.

“Josette,” I chided softly. “You really cannot rush from the room under the threat of tears every time I show a kindness.”

“My Lady,” she said in a choked voice.

“I thought we dispensed with that,” I reminded her gently.

“No,” she stated. Lifting her hand and coughing delicately behind it, she dropped it and straightened in her chair. “That’s the last time I’ll say it, I promise. But I just want you to know, you’re My Lady.”

These words made me blink rapidly three times, feeling the sting hit my eyes.

I then straightened in my own chair and declared, “It would vex me greatly if our growing relationship meant we degenerated into simpering ninnies, weeping at every pleasantry that passed between us.”

“I’ll endeavor to be more hardened, Franka,” she promised.

“See to that,” I ordered smartly.

She fought it. I watched it. But she couldn’t control the strangled giggle that passed her lips.

I smiled at her indulgently.

I did not berate myself on doing this or doing it indulgently.

I was getting used to it.