Lord of Snow and Ice. Heather Massey

tale of his most recent adventure. After he finished, a stoic Clarysa shook her head slowly.

      Lionel shot her a bewildered look. His cousin was obviously a glutton for excitement. But hadn’t he delivered enough tonight? “What’s wrong?”

      “I don’t believe you.”

      “You think I dislocated my arm while eating breakfast? Do I look like someone who needs that much attention?”

      “To answer your questions, no, and yes. But what I meant to say is about this ‘Prince Stellan.’ I’m sure you made that part of it up only to tease me.”

      Lionel snorted. “Cousin, I have better things to do with my time than conjure up whimsical fairytales.”

      “Nonsense. You have plenty of time to do all sorts of things and you know it.”

      Lionel smiled. She had him there for sure. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I spoke truthfully. Many of the stories we heard about the Snowflake Kingdom while growing up may turn out to be true.” Lionel cocked his head. “Heh. Oddly fascinating isn’t it?”

      Clarysa nodded. “So what’s he like?”

      “I just told you!”

      “Tell me again!”

      “Excuse me, Your Grace, but your bath is ready.” Johann stood patiently by the door.

      Lionel stood. “Thank you. That will be all for now. As for you,” he said, glancing at his cousin, “I’ll tell you about him again at supper. You are staying the night, aren’t you?” Clarysa nodded. “Splendid. Now be off with you.”

      Her shoulders drooped while she offered Lionel a supplicant look.

      “Shoo,” he said, motioning her out the door.

      Clarysa dragged herself toward the exit as if trudging through quicksand. But then she whirled at the door and blew Lionel a kiss. “Hope you feel better,” she said before closing the door firmly.

      * * * *

      Clarysa stepped into the brightly lit hallway. Servants nodded as they passed, some carrying linens, others tending to small children or other errands. Supper lay a good hour away, but she felt not so much hungry as bored. She ambled down a wide, curving stair to the next level, swinging her arms and humming a tune sung by a minstrel who had visited the castle earlier in the day.

      Though her uncle’s estate was smaller in scale than the King’s, she had more freedom here. Or at least she had the illusion of such. Not that she couldn’t go about as she pleased, but there were certain…restraints. Then guilt about her resentment made her sigh. She didn’t crave more wealth or privilege–simply something different.

      Clarysa ducked into the Hall of Tapestries. Elegant glass lanterns illuminated the giant woven canvases spaced regularly along the walls. They featured a kaleidoscope of tales, including historic battles and legendary quests. Vivid colors of every hue greeted the visitors who came from all over the Five Lands to see them. But as evening approached, the hall stood silent.

      She veered to one side and ran fingers along each tapestry as she walked. The creations had taken years to complete, and so demanded careful preservation. Clarysa shook her head, knowing she would never have such patience. She had a restless energy, always, her body thrumming like an instrument in constant play.

      How one could ever find the patience to devote months, or even years in some cases, to constructing a glorified rug was simply beyond her understanding. Without a doubt, she admired those who possessed the quality, but the thought made her heart sink. She wished she had something of equal measure to offer her people. Well even if I did, I’m sure I wouldn’t be allowed to use it. So being denied endeavors such as politics or agriculture, she channeled her energy elsewhere.

      She liked animals and books and physical activity of any sort. Horse riding thrilled her, and she wondered if it weren’t too late for a quick ride before supper. The best part of her visit had been the day before when she’d spent the morning scrambling over rocks and sunbathing by the Elysian River. The trip had been wonderful until that strange calamity had sent her scurrying back home. Insatiably curious, upon her return she had promptly ordered a contingent of guards to investigate. Perhaps they would locate the strange man who had so urgently warned her. Against what, she hadn’t been able to determine, for the interior of the woods had been very dark.

      But the guards had found nothing except an area of burned earth deep in the woods. In their estimation, it was an accident born of a careless vagrant. Clarysa knew otherwise, but kept her silence. It figures. The moment anything exciting starts to happen, Fate conspires to bury it.

      Nearing one of the lanterns, she bent to inspect the set of scratches on her knees. Regardless of the adventure that wasn’t meant to be, the river had been bursting with bright stones and odd-shaped fish and slimy weeds. She’d had to experience them all. The scratches still stung, but they made her feel alive. That was much more than she could say for this dreary place. She briefly traced a few old scars.

      Unbidden, her older sisters’ scolding voices penetrated her thoughts. “How could you let your skin get so marked up? It’s unbecoming, especially for a princess. Why can’t you sit still? Have you been kidnapped and a boy put in your place? Good heavens, stop wrestling with that dog! You’re an embarrassment to the monarchy.”

      Clarysa let her skirts drop. Her life was dull and sheltered, and she hated it.

      Sometimes she hated herself more for having such ungrateful thoughts. Undoubtedly there were thousands of folk who would gladly trade their downtrodden lives for her privileged one. What was wrong with her, anyway? Why couldn’t she accept the inevitable?

      Thank goodness for Lionel. He understood her need for thrills. Perhaps this was because the same adventure-craving blood pumped as hotly in his veins as it did in hers. He could always be counted on for some fun. Unlike Edward. Now there was someone best avoided at festivals, if he even bothered to show up at all. She loved her brother, but he was so caught up in the politics of the royal court she couldn’t relate to him at all.

      True there were a few ladies, mostly kin, with whom Clarysa could spend time when a longing for those distinctly female diversions took hold. Her cousin Mirabelle on her mother’s side shared Clarysa’s interest in books about dragons and fairies and faraway lands. Occasionally they’d weave flower garlands while spinning tales for each other, ones that often slipped into territory deemed too mischievous for “innocent” maidens.

      But the others were often close-minded and vapid. They would only titter politely whenever she proposed recreation beyond the castle walls. And her sisters, well, “peculiar” would not be too strong a word for their view of her. Surely she had been adopted into the family. She couldn’t have possibly been birthed by the same mother as those creatures.

      Clarysa sighed heavily. She envied Lionel and his freedom. He could ride wherever he wanted, see whomever he pleased. She frowned. Her mother the Queen had been hinting recently of marriage in earnest, probably because her next oldest sister would be wedded three months hence. Unfortunately, the suitors who came calling often revealed irritating narcissistic traits within the first five minutes. The cads among them skipped talking altogether in favor of groping. Regardless, Clarysa feared none would truly want or love her given her overactive nature. She had spent so much time with Lionel and his entourage that they treated her more like a sister than a potential lover, so no luck there.

      There must be a more exciting life than her current one, but how would she find it? Where would she find it? Clarysa frowned. She didn’t begrudge her lofty station in life, she…

      No. She did. Yes. But only when it was boring. Which was daily. Hourly.

      And as she aged the trappings of royalty became like a noose around her neck. A silken noose replete with gold perhaps, but a noose nonetheless. Nothing scared her more than to wind up as an elegant tapestry on the wall–beautiful, yet lifeless.

      “Life is what you make of it,”