"I agree, Myk." After all, it was a small request, insignificant, one easily done.
Myk got to his feet and crossed to his flauto case. From it he withdrew a white bundle of cloth and carried it to me.
Gesturing at Tuki I said, "Bring me water and soap."
Tuki nodded eagerly and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
As we waited Myk again kneeled in front of me, taking my hand and looking up at me. "You are patient and kind, my queen, to indulge me in this tradition of my homeland."
I was reassured by his words and by the warmth in his voice. And yet there was something about him, I noticed suddenly, something different.
Tuki returned and handed Myk a bucket that was filled with warm water. Myk brought it to me.
I shook out the white cloth and held it up. It was a shirt with a dull gray stain on the front. Where had Myk gotten this shirt? I wondered. Something was not right. But there could be no trick, no deception. The slank had never failed.
I took the bucket of water from Tuki and a bar of white soap he also handed me. I did not want to kneel over the bucket—that would not do—so I ordered a table brought. I set the bucket on the table.
"In the country of your future king," I said to my people, speaking loudly and with dignity, "they have a ritual before binding, and it is to honor him that I cleanse the shirt."
I dipped the shirt in the water, rubbed the stain with the soap, working it in until the fabric was covered with suds. In truth, I had never washed cloth in my life, for that is servants' work, but I had seen it done. The stained part was hard against my fingers, which puzzled me. But I concentrated, felt the tingling of power in my fingertips. Then I rinsed the shirt. Holding it up so the stain faced me, I saw that instead of fading away, the stain was, if anything, larger and darker than before.
Something bubbled in my brain. This was not right. It cannot be.
Calling on my arts, I immersed the cloth again. The soap churned white in the water; the surface of the soapy liquid swirled and foamed. Iridescent bubbles fizzed up into the air. All eyes were on me as once again I lifted the shirt from the water.
The stain had blackened, hardened. I let out a cry of rage. This could not be happening. Was it some sorcery? One of the southern trolls seeking to undo me? But why? My eyes found Myk. He was not looking at me but at someone walking toward him, wearing a dress that resembled the moon. I had seen it before—She stepped forward.
"May I try to wash the shirt?" she said.
Then I knew. She wore a mask, but it was her. The softskin girl. She had come for my Myk. It was impossible. Yet there she stood, her face hidden by the mask, but her eyes filled with the most provoking bravery. Did she not know I could destroy her with little more than a thought?
I should have done so, right then, but everyone was watching, and it would have looked like weakness to refuse. If I with my arts had failed to clean the shirt, then so would she. Myk must see her fail once again. There would be ample time to destroy her after she had been defeated.
I saw Tuki cross to the softskin girl. She said a few words to him, and nodding eagerly, he darted away. Urda was speaking to me, buzzing in my ear, asking who the troll girl in the moon dress was. I told Urda she was a fool—this was no troll. Did she not recognize the softskin girl whom she had waited on in the castle? Urda recoiled, muttering under her breath.
I stared at Myk. His face was unreadable. Had he planned this? With Tuki? I could not believe it of him. Myk was mine, body and soul.
Tuki returned with several pieces of kindling, a large stone tile, a bar of white soap like the one I had used, and an iron pot with water in it. He gave these to the softskin girl. Urda ran to Tuki, taking him by the arm and hissing at him. He merely smiled at her, shaking her hand off gently, then gestured toward the softskin girl.
My people had been murmuring during Tuki's absence, but all grew quiet as we watched the softskin girl stack the kindling on the stone tile, light it with a striker Tuki had also brought her, and set the pot of water atop it.
Rose
I MADE THE SHIRT. I spun the thread from sheep's wool and white-bear fur. I wove the thread on the loom. I stitched the cloth into a shirt that fit the man who had been a white bear.
And I knew the way to remove tallow from fabric.
But the Troll Queen, with all her arts, had been unable to remove the stain. Was there really any hope that I should succeed?
I held the cloth in my hand, remembered well the feel of it in my hands as I folded it every morning and laid it on his side of the bed in the castle. And also the feel of it, wet and soapy, the many times I had washed it.
I dipped the shirt into the hot water, pulled it back out, then worked soap around and onto the stained, stiff area. When the water was boiling, I carefully lowered the shirt into it, then stirred the bubbling brew into a froth with a wooden stick Tuki had given me. I suddenly remembered the rhyme Estelle had taught me.
The old woman must stand at the tub, tub, tub,
The dirty clothes to rub, rub, rub;
But when they are clean, and fit to be seen,
Shell dress like a lady and dance on the green.
After a few minutes had gone by, I used the stick to lift the shirt out of the water. It gleamed white, steaming in the cool air of the ice palace. There was no stain.
A murmur swelled from the trolls standing closest to the front, then it grew even louder, working its way around the enormous room and up into the balconies.
Before anyone could move, Tuki bounded across to me and said in troll language, with a loud voice, "It is Rose—Rose will marry the prince from the green lands!"
I looked up at the Troll Queen then, and the ferocious and baffled rage on her face was a terrible thing to see. Instinctively I dropped the steaming shirt on the ice floor and reached for Tuki, thinking somehow to protect him, but too late, too late.
Troll Queen
I DID NOT THINK. I wanted heat, destruction. First Tuki. Then her.
I called on the sun. White hot, searing, blistering. Sent through my fingers. Straight, like a shaft of blazing flame, into his body, Tuki's body, obliterating him in an instant.
I heard Urda scream. My eyes were blinded by the heat and rage. I would kill Urda. I would kill them all. I rubbed my eyes.
Then I heard a deafening, rending explosion of sound. Beneath; below my feet. My eyes cleared and I looked down. Saw a jagged crack in the floor of my palace; followed it with my eyes to the place it began, the place I had sent the heat of the sun into Tuki.
My beautiful ice palace, splitting.
Then the ice crack opened up, yawning wide into nothingness. Immense, thundering sound filled my ears.
My palace, my glorious ice palace ... Splintering, breaking apart...
Myk!
Rose
IT WAS LIKE THE END of the world. The noise was massive, crashing, ear pounding, as the ice palace broke apart.
I saw it in only an instant. A scorching burst of heat, then the enormous crack in a moment spiderwebbing outward where Tuki had once stood. And the Troll Queen herself, teetering on the edge, only to be swallowed by the monstrous, gaping fissure.
I looked up. Saw the sheer windows shattering, turrets bending, toppling. I knew I was going to die.
As knifelike slivers of ice rained down, I ran. A large chunk of something slammed into my shoulder. I staggered, falling to my knees. More ice fell on me. I crouched, trying to protect my head with my hands, but ice continued to strike me, causing staccato bursts of pain. My head swam. Where was the man who had been a white bear? I had to find him—but I could not move.