White as Frost

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Despite the early hour and the dry topics, lessons the next morning were not quite as dreadful as I’d imagined. Miss Groves was a good enough teacher to make even the history of Raine interesting.

“Rosaline, is it?” She pushed up her glasses and gave me a matter-of-fact look. Her hair was grayish brown; her eyes were the same. She was one of those perplexing people whose age was difficult to determine; I could not tell if she were younger than Mama or much, much older.

“Yes, Miss Groves,” I said. “Though I prefer Rose.”

“You do?” Neeve glanced at me, as though the idea of a short name had never crossed her mind.

I supposed, since her name was already short, it hadn’t. I tilted my head, considering. One could condense Neeve down to Nee. Somehow, the thought of anyone calling her Nee was quite ridiculous. Which was why, I thought, I might be tempted to do so—after we’d gotten to know one another a bit more.

“What do you know of Raine, Rose?” Miss Groves fixed me with an encouraging look.

“It’s an island,” I began, feeling suddenly unprepared.

Neeve let out a snort. “That’s obvious.”

“If you would let Rose continue,” Miss Groves said mildly.

“It has a cooler, wetter climate than the rest of the Continent, being located to the north and west.”

Neeve rolled her eyes, but refrained from saying anything.

“It… Um.” I scrambled to recall the tiny bit of history we’d touched on in my previous classes. In the grand capital of Parnese, anything not on the Continent was considered barely worth studying.

“It is known for the production of bellarmes, an herb used in expensive creams which supposedly restore the complexion,” I said triumphantly, glad to have recalled something of substance. “My mother has some, I think.”

“A waste,” Neeve said, her mouth pinching together. “Here in Raine, we call it nirwen, and it has more uses than you know.”

“I don’t care what you do with some provincial herb,” I said, tired of her scorn.

Miss Groves gave me a look over the top of her spectacles. “I encourage you not to dismiss information out of hand, Rose. It behooves us all to keep an open mind in the pursuit of education.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Groves,” I said, chastened. Though I was not sorry for the flash of temper I’d sparked in Neeve’s eyes. I preferred her anger to her disdain.

“The plant of which we speak,” the teacher continued, “is, as Neeve said, useful as more than just an ingredient in beauty creams. Known in an even older tongue as cailindeora, it has other restorative powers. A small amount is a valuable addition to any apothecary’s store, though if used in too large a dose, or too frequently, the effects can prove toxic.”

“If it’s so special, why don’t the Parnesians use it more often?” I asked.

“It is a rare herb,” Miss Groves said. “It cannot be cultivated, and we prefer to keep most of what is harvested here in Raine, selling only a small amount to the Continent. Now, Neeve, what else do we export?”

“Amber,” my stepsister answered. “And aromatic woods.”

“Again, both in small quantities.” Miss Groves gave me a slight smile. “Raine is not a particularly powerful country, economically or politically. Why do you think that is?”

“It’s too isolated,” I said. “And not largely populated. There seem to be more trees here than people.”

Miss Groves looked amused.

“Our trees are better company than most humans,” Neeve declared, which was an odd thing to say.

I glanced out the window. The schoolroom was located in one of the turrets and had curved windows on three sides. The north and west windows looked out on forest, while the south held a view of the castle courtyard and the road beyond. From this height, I could glimpse a village just off the main road, tucked back into the trees.

“I want to know more of the Darkwood,” I said, my gaze still fixed outside. A wind stirred the feathery tops of the evergreens, which seemed to stretch forever into the distance. “Is the castle located in the very center of it?”

Neeve laughed, a hard, icy sound. “Hardly. We’re just on the outskirts. If you ever reach the center of the Darkwood, you’ll know it.”

“What’s so special about the forest, then?” I turned to her. “We have woods in Parnese, you know.”

Of course I was baiting her. It was clear there was something out of the ordinary about the mysterious forest that covered most of Raine. Something magical, though I was hesitant to say that word out loud—especially after what had happened to me in the forest the day before.

Magic.

In Parnese, such talk was heretical. While it was acknowledged that sorcerous powers existed, only the priests were permitted to wield the blessings of the Twin Gods.

My stomach twisted with the memory of what had happened to my mother’s friend, Ser Pietro—a merry fellow who could make tiny flames dance at the ends of his fingertips. He would come to Mama’s dinner parties and entertain everyone by spinning illusions of birds made out of fire.

“Be careful,” my mother had said, frowning at him. “The priests do not like anyone but themselves to show such powers. I hear they are proposing laws—”

“You worry too much,” Pietro had said, waving his hand at her. “The infighting among the followers of the Twin Gods is notorious, and nothing for us to concern ourselves over. Those foolish laws will never pass.”

As it turned out, however, he had been wrong. The balance of power shifted radically within the temple, and decrees had gone out under the authority of the Parnesian high court. All those with sorcerous ability were required to report to the temple. Those who did not would be hunted down.

Pietro went into hiding, but a few months later he was found. Mama wept bitterly at the news.

“They mean to make an example of him,” she’d said. “I cannot let him die all alone.”

I had not understood what she meant, or why she took me to the main square in front of the temple of the Twin Gods so early in the morning.

Despite the hour, there was already a crowd. Mama pushed through the throng, forcing us to the very front. I didn’t know why a wooden platform had been built at the base of the stairs leading to the temple, or why dry kindling was stacked all about it.

“Bringing a child?” the woman next to us said, with a glance at me. “How old is your girl?”

“Seven,” my mother answered, her face turned toward the temple. “She must see what the priests can do.”

“Old enough to know the truth, aye.” The woman nodded. “A pious woman, you are. Walk in the light.”

My mother returned the ritual gesture of the Twin Gods: two fingers laid against her upraised palm. I blinked to see it, but said nothing of my confusion. As far as I knew, we were not worshippers.

The sun rose higher in the sky. Finally, a group of red-cowled priests descended the stairs, a prisoner in their midst. Pietro.

I leaned forward, and my mother gripped my shoulder hard, in warning.

“Be quiet,” she murmured. “Whatever happens, say nothing.”

Behind the group walked a tall figure, all in scarlet. Galtus Celcio was his name—spoken in fearful whispers—Warder of the red priests. His hair was red, too, darker than mine, and smooth, as though it had been oiled. My mother stifled a small gasp when she saw him, and flipped my hood up to cover my hair.

I glanced at her in surprise and saw that she’d drawn her scarf up around her head. Hand still clenched on my shoulder, she pulled us back a pace. Two men surged forward, eager to take our places at the front.

We were still close enough to watch as the priests chained Pietro to the platform. To hear the condemnation of his powers. And to shiver in fear as the warder lifted his hands in the air, called upon the Twin Gods, and brought down a column of flame to engulf Pietro.

Everything burned.

His hair, his clothing. His flesh.

I turned and hid my face in Mama’s skirts, crying and choking, but she did not turn away. She watched her friend as the fire consumed him, and I finally understood what she had meant. I had no doubt Pietro knew she was there, in the crowd. Perhaps his last sight had been of her, silent and powerless, but present, witness to his suffering. So that he would not die alone, surrounded by enemies.

I shuddered at the memory. The intervening years had not blunted it.

And yet, despite the horror of what had happened, I became fascinated by all thoughts of magic. I had seen sorcery with my own eyes. Magic existed in the world, not just in the pages of the books I read. If you had powers, my voice suggested, you would be special. Worthy. Your mother would love you.

I scoffed at the notion, but could not quiet my curiosity. Over the next few years, I hunted down anything I could on the subject of sorcery; a perilous undertaking in a city where possession of such things was a death sentence.

Still, I’d found bits here and pieces there, cobbling together a few rudimentary spells and attempting them in my room late at night, after I was certain Mama was asleep. Something inside me was certain if only I tried hard enough that I, too, could work magic.

Nothing ever happened—except that Mama finally discovered me. Pale with anger, she’d gathered my notes and thrown them all into the fire.

“No!” I reached my hand out to try to rescue the papers, but she slapped it away.

“Never, ever attempt such things,” she cried, her eyes glittering with tears of rage. “Never! Don’t you remember Pietro?”

“Yes, Mama.” I blinked back tears as all my hard work, my scavenging and spending precious hoarded coin, burned to ash. I felt hollow inside. Even though I’d never managed to produce even the smallest spark of sorcery, it had seemed possible.

Now, though, all that was gone. I was nothing but an ordinary girl, without even the pretense of power.

“You endanger us both.” She took hold of my shoulders, her nails pricking through the cotton of my nightgown. “If you ever bring a hint of sorcery into this house again, you will be banished from it. Forever. Do you understand? We could die.”

Her breath was hot with panic.

Ashamed, I hung my head. “I didn’t think—”

“You have more sense that that, Rose.” Mama’s voice turned pleading. “You are growing up—why, next year you’ll be fourteen. Promise me you’ll stop this dangerous interest in sorcery. Promise!”

She gave me a little shake, and I realized in surprise that I was only a hand span shorter than she was. It had been that long since she’d stood so close.

“I promise,” I said, and I’d meant it. No matter what the little voice might tell me to do.

Only a few months later, she’d wed the King of Raine.

Now here we were, in a land where magic shimmered like a promise just inside the shadow of the Darkwood. I could feel my old yearning spring up, my fierce desire to discover everything I could about sorcery burning hot and insistent inside me.

Outside the turret window the trees swayed, their feathery green boughs beckoning.

“The Darkwood is ancient,” Miss Groves said to me. “There are many stories surrounding it. I will give you a history to read, if you like.”

Neeve shot the teacher a glance. “Those are just fables and children’s tales,” she said. Despite the mocking words, her voice was serious.

“If Rose is to live here, she ought to know something of it,” Miss Groves said. “Now, let us turn to mathematics. Rose, do you know your multiplication?”

I did, well enough to satisfy Miss Groves, and so we moved on from the subject of the Darkwood and into the far less interesting realm of numerations. For the rest of the morning we worked sums, until the small pendulum clock on one of the bookshelves dinged a dozen times.

“Lunch,” Miss Groves announced, closing her textbook. “Tidy up, the both of you.”

There was a washbasin and ewer on a stand in one corner of the schoolroom. I let Neeve go first.

“Is lunch served in here every day?” I asked Miss Groves, already tired of the gray stone walls and view of the overcast sky.

My heart yearned for the sunny streets of Parnese and my cheerful companions, for days spent splashing in the fountains and darting about the colorful marketplaces near our apartments.

“Every day that we have classes, yes,” Miss Groves said.

I shot a look at Neeve, still at the washbasin, then leaned forward.

“Are there any other children here?” I asked in a low voice. “Someone I could be friends with?”

Sympathy flashed through the teacher’s eyes. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps in the village, but you’ll have little call to go there.”

The schoolroom door swung open to admit two maids carrying trays. Our lunch had arrived. Dutifully, I traded places with Neeve and washed my face and hands. The pitcher teetered as I set it back on the stand, and I caught it before it smashed on the floor.

It reminded me of the countless plates and cups I’d accidentally dropped, back in Parnese, and homesickness stabbed through me.

What was Mama doing today? It was strange not to take breakfast with her. She had briefly looked in on me after dinner the previous night—and if that meal was any indication, we wouldn’t be returning to the quiet suppers we’d shared in Parnese. I tried to tell myself I didn’t miss her, but there was no denying the hollow ache just under my ribs.

Trying to ignore the feeling, I sat down beside Neeve and began spooning up mouthfuls of broth. At least the food was good; the soup flavorful and rich with vegetables, the bread still warm from the oven, with plenty of creamy golden butter to slather upon it.

“Do have some carrots, Neeve,” the teacher said.

I glanced over to see that my stepsister had fished out every scrap of meat from her bowl and sipped up only the broth, leaving all her vegetables behind.

With a look of distaste, Neeve lifted a carrot to her mouth and chewed it. Slowly.

Miss Groves’ mouth firmed, but she said nothing more, only turned to me.

“Have you been shown the library yet?” she asked.

I shook my head, unwilling to answer through a mouthful of bread, though my interest leaped at the words like a starving dog for a bone.

“I will take you down to it,” the teacher said.

I swallowed my bite. “I’d like that very much.”

Giving Miss Groves a genuine smile, I scraped the last bite of vegetables from the bottom of my bowl.

I did want to see the library—though the timing was not the best, since I’d planned to follow Neeve after lunch.

Ah well. Perhaps Miss Groves would simply show me the library and leave me to myself. In which case, I’d know where to find it and could return later. After I stalked Neeve.