Page 13 of Of Snow and Sapphire

“A very astute thought, my Queen. One that I myself have pondered.” Sveta tapped her fingers against the small prayer book in her hands, her brown skin blending in with the brown leather. “Ultimately, the Undertaking is a way to prove to the Gods that you are willing to do whatever it takes to protect your court.”

A weak response, but Ludelle needed to move on to a different topic. A more urgent one.

“Power is depleting faster than normal. The western villages are practically under water with how quickly the snow and ice is melting.”

“That is strange.” Sveta rubbed her chin. “It could be a sign.”

“Of what?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to know for sure. Perhaps that your Undertaking will go poorly, that you’ll fail.”

“How encouraging,” Ludelle said with a straight face but a spur of concern caught in her chest. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I am only here to listen to what the Gods tell me. If you seek comfort, then I’m sure one of your ladies in waiting will gladly provide it.”

Ludelle could always count on Sveta to bring the Gods into everything.

“My powers are also causing me trouble.”

That piqued Sveta’s interest. “What do you mean?”

“I have noticed that I am tired more often.” Ludelle put her palms upwards, creating a small flurry of snow. She winced as she did. “And something as simple as that physically hurts.”

“It’s not unheard of for the royal to struggle with their powers before an Undertaking. I wouldn’t worry too much. You won’t have them to use during the Undertaking, anyways.” She gave Ludelle a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Get some rest. Long days are ahead of you.”

Six

With Ludelle off doing her prayers, Zimyn had spare time to visit his father—something that became rarer once Ludelle had been crowned. His responsibilities had escalated, his time diminished, especially with the Queen’s Undertaking close at hand. A part of Zimyn felt guilty for not spending more time with his father—especially after his mother had died—but his father understood the role of Captain better than anyone else, so he knew what it entailed: how much time and effort it required to guarantee that his guards stayed in line and that Ludelle didn’t find herself in any precarious situations.

Plus, Zimyn didn’t appreciate his father’s sly glances whenever Ludelle’s name was mentioned. For some reason, his father got it in his head that Zimyn’s affection for her went beyond the role of her Captain. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong, but he still didn’t need to constantly throw it in Zimyn’s face.

His father lived near the castle, an honor given to him for his years of hard work. Zimyn trekked down the mountain on foot, zig zagging through the dense woods used as an extra layer of protection. With snowfalls becoming more sparse and the weather turning warm, the ground had turned to mud. The steep decline forced him to grab on to the nearby trees. Moss coated his hands.

He often had to stay inside the castle walls, not given the chance to be out unless he accompanied his Queen, which had become slimmer since Balvan had worked hard to keep them apart in public. Hence on those occasions that he did travel with Ludelle, they now acted as if they were strangers, instead of two people who’d known each other since childhood.

“My son,” a rough voice spoke out. “You have returned.”

Zimyn had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as he closed the cottage door and stepped inside. “Don’t be dramatic, Father. I didn’t leave in the middle of the night without a word. You know exactly where I am.”

“Can a father not miss his only son?”

“Not when the son has been busy taking over his father’s duties so that he could relax without a worry in the world.” Zimyn put his hands on his hips. He was careful to avoid the fur rugs dispersed across the floors to protect against dirtying them with his shoes. “What are you doing?”

His father was seated on an old wooden chair, which creaked as he moved. He was focused on a task in front of him, as his worn hands worked tirelessly. So many scars freckled his skin, showing his long tenure as Captain. He had trained many novices that excitedly joined the force, and as a result, accidents happened constantly—including some of his own. Zimyn helped bandage more of his father’s wounds than he liked to admit.

“I am an old man with too much time on his hands. I needed to get creative.”

Zimyn raised a brow as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at. There were small cubes of ice all over the table situated on a cold plate so they didn’t melt. An assortment of tools laid out beside it. Zimyn approached the scene, removing the books and blankets from the opposite chair.

“Are you creating a model with ice?”

“Exactly that,” he said enthusiastically, his hands practically shaking in excitement as he used a small knife to shape the ice. “Wood has become too easy. I needed a challenge.”

Zimyn watched his father closely, appreciating the silence as he chipped away carefully. An old clock methodically ticked in the background. The quiet was so foreign for Zimyn as he had become accustomed to the loudness of his guards or the sounds of swords being clanked together in training.

“How was your visit to the West?”

Zimyn sighed, “Discouraging, especially for Ludelle. The land is in desperate need of the Undertaking, The whole court is.”

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