Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison
Chapter Twenty-Seven
This time when we arrive, there are rows and rows of people to greet us, and their smiles are contagious. Einar and I wander through the crowded passageways and alleys, taking in the sights and reluctantly enjoying one another’s company.
I tell myself that it’s just for show when he holds my hand as we walk, just as the other couples do. I tell myself that it’s all right to pretend to enjoy the way it makes me feel to be so close to him.
Something in the distance catches my eye, and we make our way to the outskirts of the festival to examine it. People are crowding around and building a dome-like structure out of snow, solidifying the creation with cold water that forms an icy glaze around each snow brick.
There are several more further down the hill, but this one sits a little further back and looks a bit bigger than the others.
Einar notices me watching, captivated by the strange creations.
“They’re called igloos.”
“Igloos?” I ask, trying to recall if I’ve ever heard the word before in my studies of the country.
“Yes. They are basically natural huts that the villagers camp in for the duration of the festival.”
“Aren’t they cold?” I ask, trying to imagine how miserable it would be to sleep in a frozen room surrounded by snow and below-freezing temperatures.
Einar chuckles. “No, it’s actually quite enjoyable.”
“Sure, it is.” My brows twist in disbelief, and he laughs again.
It’s difficult not to completely lose myself in every sight and sound and smell. It would be so easy to become attached to this place and these people, if I could only let myself.
A vendor calls out and beckons us toward him, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Eiswein! Eiswein for Your Majesties.” I don’t miss the plural in the titles.
Einar doesn’t correct him, either, and I mentally tuck that away for later.
When we approach the vendor, Einar speaks the common tongue.
“Henrick! My good man!” Einar clasps wrists with the man, their grins stretching wide. “What’s it been, forty years since I last laid eyes on you?”
Henrick laughs and hugs the king tightly.
“I think this to be so, Einar,” he answers in the common tongue as well, his accent thick and endearing. “Though, I have been back to here for two year. You have just not been coming to festival to know this. In fact, I hear it has nearly been twenty years since you are come to festival.”
Einar sighs, but before he can respond, Henrick places a hand on his shoulder and smiles.
“I figure you must be going through phase. You were so young when you become the king. You are still young, my friend. It would make the sense if you needed a few decades to learn more about who you are.”
I swear I see a small flush in Einar’s cheeks at the words, but my mind is spinning. Finally, Henrick looks at me and introduces himself.
“I am think this is more than phase.” He laughs again, but bows to me, placing a kiss on my hand. “It is pleasure to meet my friend’s bride. Welcome. You would try the Eiswein, Lady?” he asks, holding out a delicate wooden stein with intricate carvings and details of a winged woman with pointed ears next to a tree.
“I would be honored, Sir.” I happily take the mug, examining every gorgeous detail.
Henrick offers one to Einar as well, and they clasp hands again, speaking Jokithan and catching up on what has been happening in the years since they’ve seen one another.
It’s one more thing that’s strange to think about with these people. And how young Einar is by comparison. A phase, for twenty years?
I catch a few statements in their conversation that nearly bowl me over entirely.
The man was his father’s best friend. And while his dark skin is smooth, his eyes full of life, I nearly choke when I realize that he is well over one-hundred-and-fifty years old.
I take a tiny sip of my wine, testing it while I wait for them to finish catching up. It is smooth with a hint of spice, but the aftertaste is sweet. Far too sweet not to be suspicious of, but I can’t deny that part of me wants more, if only for its famed warming properties.
After a few minutes, I take another slightly longer taste and notice how it feels ice-cold at first, but quickly warms on my tongue, almost like the heat of tea. The texture is smooth, and while sweet, it has a kick similar to whiskey when it burns at the back of your throat.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tried. The complexities in the flavor and temperature are baffling. I take my time drinking it while the men catch up, but by the time they are finished, I have downed the entire cup.
The vendor notices and gestures to refill my stein, but I decline.
“As tempting as the offer is, I believe I should hold off.”
His face falls slightly as if I have offended his generosity.
“But, if it’s alright with you, could I have some bottled for later? I would love to purchase this stein from you as well. It’s such magnificent craftsmanship.”
He beams and nods, happily filling several bottles of the wine for me.
“I thought you didn’t like sweets,” Einar says.
“I don’t usually. But alcohol doesn’t really count.”
“I see. Maybe we’ll have to find something that makes you change your mind then,” he says, inching closer to me.
There is something predatory in his eyes, the way he looks at me when he says it, that makes me wonder if he’s even talking about food at all. I glance away from his intense gaze, not able to endure the million different ways it makes me feel.
The kind vendor hands us a leather bag with four bottles inside. When I go to pay him for the stein, he shakes his head, insisting that it is his gift to me.
I dip into my purse and dig out a couple of the heavier coins. I don't look at them too closely, because it's still bizarre for me that they hold the face of the man standing next to me.
I press the coins into the vendor's hand, not wanting his kindness to go unpaid, and he takes them graciously. Einar watches wordlessly but shoots me an inquisitive glance when we leave.
"I thought it was more than worth it to finally feel a little bit warm." I shrug as though it was nothing for me to be able to give that man something for his trouble.
And indeed, I already feel markedly less frigid, like tiny embers are being stoked within me to warm me from the inside out.
"Perhaps I should go back and buy several more jugs since you seem to be in a constant state of freezing at the castle," he offers, a hint of teasing in his gaze.
"Perhaps you should. Or better yet, we could line every inch of my rooms in these glorious thermal rocks." I gesture to the pits spaced evenly all around us.
The king laughs.
"Those are usually used to heat vast outdoor spaces, specifically where they would be safer than a fire, but also because they would be stifling in a smaller area."
"It's a chance I'm willing to take so that I might be able to feel some of my extremities on occasion." I wiggle my gloved fingers for emphasis, giving him a wry smile.
He huffs out another chuckle, but it is drowned out by a decidedly louder huff nearby.
I glance around him for the source of the noise, only to find another tent, this one larger than any we have seen so far. The wooden sign hanging from the open doorway has Jokithan words and the image of a horse engraved on it.
"Horses," I say aloud, angling myself toward the tent. I have to admit I am curious what would merit them being brought to the festival.
"You could say that," the king mutters as he trails behind me without objection.
Khijha growls in protest at the smell of the animals inside, but I press on anyway, knowing she won’t stray far from my side.
Ten stalls line each side of the tent. Most of them are empty, save for a few.
The horses they contain, much like everything else in this kingdom, are larger than the average steed. They have thick, long white hair, like that of cows I’d seen once in the countryside. Their hooves are taller, wider, and denser than normal as well, no doubt to survive in this icy region.
Their manes are locked in knots instead of braids, the same way many Jokithans wear their hair, and they all seem well-behaved and tame — placid, even.
All but one.
At the far end of the makeshift stables is a stallion covered in the warmest chestnut-colored coat with a white blaze. He bucks and bites at his handlers in an effort to be rid of them. Each time he raises up, I can see the white stockings on each of his legs.
He doesn’t belong here.
The thought harkens back to my own presence in this place, and I can’t help but feel a kinship with the creature who so clearly feels trapped by his circumstances.
The horse, if you can even call it that, towers over the Jokithan handlers by several feet.
So, naturally, when I approach, they fear I will be flattened by the anxious beast. The king makes no move to intercept me. In fact, he leans against a pole in the center of the tent, as though he doesn't have a care in the world. Maybe he doesn't, for that matter. Maybe I would be doing him a favor if I got knocked out by this crazy horse.
Though, I don't think he's crazy. Not really. Just discontent. I move closer, shushing him and clucking my tongue, which does a good job of getting his attention.
“Get back, Lady. It is too dangerous,” the women tell me while throwing another rope around the horse's neck.
Even Khijha hisses in warning, attempting to stand between me and the behemoth.
I ignore them all. The steed locks eyes with me, and I can sense his fear, his anger. He is a kindred spirit, wild and untamable, locked into a fate he didn’t choose.
“How much?”
The trainers look at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have, but I ask again anyway.
“You do not want this one, Lady. Let us show you better hestrinn. Ones that not try kill you.”
Ah, so that’s what they’re called.
“I appreciate the offer, but I want to know how much for this one.”
“Lady, this one is mutt. It is no good for you. It is no good for anyone. We take him to the dragon.”
I assume something has been lost in translation since dragons have been extinct for centuries, and I push again, impatience quickening my movements.
Taking out a fair amount of the gold pieces in my purse, I present them to the handlers.
“Is this enough? Or shall I ask the king for more?” I add flatly.
Regardless of whatever this dragon is, I can only surmise that this hestrinn’s fate is not promising.
Vaguely, I gesture to where I know the king still stands, silently taking in this scene. I can't decide if I am gratified or frustrated that he doesn't bother to step in, but I know that reminding the handlers of his presence will stop their objections in their tracks.
Sure enough, the handlers look to the king, then exchange only a single glance with one another before nodding.
“We will have him brought to castle for you, Lady. But we do not think this is so good idea.”
“Thank you,” is all I say, handing them the coins before walking away, the king at my back.
Khijha hisses and growls to remind me of her disapproval, so the king remains the only one not to have made his opinion known.
Strange.
His long strides are at my side within a couple of steps, and I peer sideways at him only to find him studying me intently. I raise my eyebrows, inviting him to ask what's clearly on his mind.
"Why that one?" His face is inscrutable.
"You disapprove?" I ask, immediately on the defensive from the interaction with the handlers.
"I didn't say that. I was just curious why you chose that particular one out of the bunch." He is careful to leave out his opinion and avoid singling my purchase out as the worst in the lot.
My guard subsides a bit when I realize he is genuinely asking. I turn his question over in my mind, trying to give him an answer that's real.
"He is wild and spirited. But just because he isn’t bending over in submission as their captive doesn't mean he shouldn’t have a chance to live a different sort of life." I glance back at the tent where he had been tethered to such a short lead, where he would have lived out the rest of his life like that until they fed him to this ‘dragon’ of theirs. "You never know what he could be capable of without those chains.”