A Midsummer Night's Snow Read online

Cold.

  Gleaming eyes.

  Eyes that see me.

  I must run.

  I must hide!

  Gasping air that isn’t air, that strains and burns my lungs, I find a grotto of dark, its blackness so thick I can taste it and smell it and feel it smothering my skin. I try to make myself small. I try to make myself nothing.

  “Wake up, my love.”

  I jerked awake.

  The rush and roar of water nearly deafened me as I returned to myself. The echo of the voice rang in my head. I knew that voice, cherished it. But as it faded away, so did my certainty that I knew whose voice it was, and by the time it was gone, my memory of it was a gossamer, fleeting thing.

  I was in a vast, roofless cavern, the waterfall beside me forming one wall of the chamber. I was freezing. Icy mist from the waterfall seemed to blow through me—though it didn’t, not quite—and snow was falling from the cavern’s ceiling of storm clouds onto a wild, green tangle that had once been a garden. My bearings gathered, I realized I was in the kitchen wing. I shook off the lingering trappings of vagueness and the terror of being hunted.

  I did not think much time had passed for when I returned to the fire to warm myself, the cats were still sleeping. When I was no longer shivering, I wandered back through the tower and looked out through the doorway.

  The merriment was still in full swing, but it had moved farther afield down toward the lagoon. The wolves drifted over the whitening fields with floating strides, the white lion bounding with them in a pounding rush of power and pale beauty. Skies, he was magnificent. A bit smaller than the majestic black Fae lion but significantly larger than his golden brethren, and handsome as the Sky King with a golden soul.

  I looked for the others and saw them frolicking in the snow, kicking it up like horses, like children. Something stirred inside me at the thought, but before I could either focus upon or banish the feeling, I saw the black lion suddenly go rigid, his great profile visible even from where I stood, as he lifted his head and sniffed the air. The wolves suddenly howled in harmony, and the other cats began to take notice. They paced, prowled, their heads up as if they scented something, their faces as one turned toward the avenue of orange trees. And that’s when I realized with a thrilling tremor in my heart that everything was about to change.

  For that is when I saw her.

  She blew in with the snowstorm on a prancing horse of flawless white, cantering down the avenue amidst showers of snowflakes and orange blossoms. Her mare slowed to a floating trot before drawing quietly to a halt before the castle.

  She was beautiful of course. The Universe had such a dark sense of humor. Why couldn’t she have been plain? Homely even. Undesired, unloved. For then perhaps her heart might be open to…to him.

  She was fair of hair and fair of skin, so fair that in the cloud-filtered moonlight she looked almost as white as the falling snow around her, as white even as the roses that smothered our kingdom with their sweet fragrance and rending thorns. Her silken hair fell in cascades of loose, twisting waves that seemed to catch every stray breath of wind, and her eyes were winter blue. Her billowing white fur cape all but covered her gown, which was simple but fine and woven of filmy gauze in shifting shades of palest violet and even paler blue.

  She dismounted gracefully from her horse, revealing to my surprise that she rode bareback. The horse had no saddle, not even a bridle, and bore no bags or chests. The girl had nothing but the clothes she wore. But for all that, she did not appear bereft, nor did she look cold or lost or afraid. In fact, for a moment—just a flicker—I thought she bore the look of someone who knew exactly where she was and had come to us deliberately. But that couldn’t be. No one came here. Not on purpose. Not anymore.

  There had been treasure hunters for a while. Adventurers. Even a brigade of pirates once. But when so few of them returned to the outside world, eventually others stopped coming.

  The girl’s gaze wandered curiously over the castle’s collection of towers, connected by thick stone walls below and arcing skywalks above.

  "Off you go, Zeema," she said softly in a smooth, tranquil voice as she gave her horse a swift swat on the flank. The mare bolted, racing away into the fields and vanishing into the falling white. There was no one there to tell her that her horse was in danger here. That she would have done better to bring the mare inside. But then the castle wasn’t much safer than the fields for all that.

  There had been another girl before her, I think… Perhaps more. The early days were a blood-soaked blur. I have hazy memories of chaos and terror and despair. Death.

  But this time would be different.

  It had to be.

  The panthers and wolves were slowly approaching, their attempts to conceal their eagerness making their trots appear stealthy, as if they were hunting her.

  She took them in at a glance. Her gaze shifted first in the direction her horse had run, but the white mare was already out of sight, and then to the castle. She boldly approached the open entrance, and I stepped back.

  “Hello?” she called out as she crossed the threshold, bringing with her all the scents of winter and bearing the pristine perfume of falling snow. She was taller than she’d appeared at first. She scanned the circular tower and then strolled along its circumference. Her vivid blue gaze missed nothing—not the jewels winking in the walls behind the roses, not the flecks of gold in the black floor, not the dust on the obsidian thrones. She called out again, and when no one answered, she turned back to the doorway. The beasts were much closer now. I thought at first that she would close and bar the doors, but she didn’t. She stepped back outside and awaited her feral welcoming party.

  She watched them approach without any visible discomfort, alert but at ease, and I admired her courage. Usually our visitors were either unsheathing weapons or looking for a place to hide by now. With unruffled calm, she stood perfectly still as they arranged themselves in a crescent moon around her. And then with the courtesy of lords and ladies, they sank into beastly bows, the panthers lithe and lethal, the wolves disconcertingly graceful.

  She offered a deep nod in reply, accompanied by the slightest curtsey that appeared almost as an afterthought.

  “Have I the honor of addressing the lords and ladies of this kingdom?” she asked.

  The black lion stepped forward and bowed his head in a nod.

  “I hope I am not intruding,” she said with careless courtesy, and her gaze swept the castle and the kingdom and all those before her with interest. “I was lost and saw your gates. I am Delea, a lady of the North. I seek only shelter for the night before I rejoin my party. With your permission, of course.” Her gaze returned to the black lion as she finished.

  He nodded once again, and this time she curtseyed deeply in return. “You have my gratitude.” She glanced back into the castle. “May I wander about before I find a place to rest? Your home is a welcome mystery to me.”

  At the black lion’s nod, she thanked them all with a serene smile and reentered the tower.

  She removed her fur cloak, revealing a lighter cloak beneath of sweeping white swan feathers and a high collar. She tossed the fur carelessly over the rose-draped railing of the curving staircase with no apparent regard for the thorns, and looked about with vibrant eyes.

  The Lady Delea was not like the others who had come before her.

  Please, Sky Father, let her be the one.

  I wanted to be suspicious, but there was something so calming about her presence, as if she was tranquility personified.

  Let this Yule be the last we spend within the strangling grip of a dark curse. Please.

  She wandered a quick circuit of the tower and through the nearby interior gardens, her quick gaze taking in everything as I drifted along behind her. A trio of arches beyond the thrones led to the cozy garden with the fountain. A wisteria tunnel led from there to a dining garden which led to a garden ballroom which led to an endless parade of gardens after that. She didn’t explore them all, favo
ring the towers and connecting corridors despite the darkness.

  It was almost as if she was looking for something. But that was unlikely. No one living would have knowledge of our castle. And she was certainly not a simple thief for she had passed over jewels and treasures without a second glance. She was drawn to anything that shimmered, but she rarely touched anything.

  Gleaming eyes peered from under furniture and through screens of white roses as the castle’s smaller creatures watched her with hunger and hope, but she didn’t seem bothered by their presence. Or perhaps she simply didn’t notice them. We reemerged into a garden to see tree branches swaying wildly in the windless night, and I suspected the leopards were spying.

  A furtive scuffle drew her gaze and mine as well.

  I saw nothing, but she laughed softly, a pleasant, peaceful sound. “Is no one brave enough to meet me properly?” Her gaze was fixed on a flourishing hydrangea, its creamy blossoms blushing lightly beneath the sparkling lace of snowflakes. The hand-sized blooms shuddered, and I spied a massive white head peeking out from beneath the shrub.

  After a moment of obvious debate, the white lion rose from his stealthy pose flattened against the ground, and padded toward her with dignity. He stopped a few feet away from her and sat.

  “That’s much better,” Delea said serenely, and the white lion’s wary expression smoothed into a peaceful one. As if the imposing lion was as harmless as a puppy or kitten, she sank down on her knees before him and held out a patient hand. He denied her only for a moment before his innate curiosity and friendliness overcame all hesitation, and he wiggled closer inch by eager inch until his large nose was in her hand.

  She laughed softly and stroked his mane, scratching behind his ears.

  “What a glorious coat you have,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen a lovelier lion. I shall call you Winter.”

  The white lion rubbed his massive head against her, nearly knocking her to the ground, but she only laughed as she climbed gracefully to her feet. “I may have to take you home with me when I leave.”

  She returned to the main tower with the white lion as her escort and climbed the softly gleaming staircase right to the very top while I drifted along behind her. An arched door led through silver stone to a slender balcony ringing the tower’s crystal crown. Even in muted moonlight and under a skiff of snow, the crystal dome glittered zealously in the night. Delea reached out to touch it, and I knew she would find it warm. The crystal was not merely decorative. It was the earth magic’s thriving pulse within the castle walls, its conduit and center.

  She gazed out over the crenellated balcony at the sweeping vista of castle and sky, the filtered moonlight setting the falling snow aglow. Her lips curved in a small smile, and she breathed in the wintry night air. The white lion rose up on his hind legs, leaning against the balcony beside her and peering down into the gardens below, his mane ruffling and whipping in the cold wind.

  “This is possibly the loveliest castle I’ve ever seen,” Lady Delea said softly, and I felt a swell of pride in our home.

  She stood there for a long time in the freezing wind, peacefully looking out over the kingdom. I huddled by the crystal, absorbing its warmth and waiting, impatient for her to do something else and yet content to simply be near her, this serene new presence in our dark and strange world. When she at last descended back into the tower, I eagerly followed her, exhausted and chilled through despite the crystal’s warmth. I could feel the vagueness brushing at my mind’s heels, but I shook it off.

  She explored the towers and the winding halls, her gaze alert and vivid, as the white lion gamboled alongside her.

  She spent a long time in the tower of devastated royal apartments, sifting through the broken glass of dozens of mirrors with a crease on her brow marring her otherwise tranquil expression. “What heartache has happened here,” she murmured to no one in particular, but the white lion uttered a soft whimper, and she caressed his ivory mane. “This is a dismal tower to be sure,” she said, standing and smoothing her gown. “Suppose you lead me.”

  The white lion gingerly stepped past the silver shards and eagerly bounded to a smooth section of wall. He reared up on his hind legs and shoved at the wall until it slid open, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward. He glanced back at Delea with a look of smug, feline pride before starting down. Delea followed with me right behind her. The cramped, curling passage was a tricky fit for the lion, and he grunted and growled softly to himself as he padded down the tightly turning stairs. Lady Delea didn’t laugh out loud, but I could see her serene mirth with every curve of the staircase that brought her face into sight.

  We ended up in the kitchen wing, no longer used by any, but fondly remembered by several of the great cats from a former life. With a bound the white lion hurtled from the tower and vanished into the green and lacy tangle of the feral garden.

  Bean vines and vegetable stalks and fruit trees grew haphazardly in the ghosts and remnants of orderly rows and shook and shuddered violently from time to time as the white lion passed by on his unseen tour.

  Lady Delea went to the waterfall and, using her delicate hands to cup the plunging rush, drank deeply. I watched in surprise. The water was so fast, so powerful. An ordinary lady would not have been able to do such a thing with her bare hands. She must be stronger than she looked, and I felt my respect for her rise another notch. She was clearly not the kind of lady who insisted she be waited upon hand and foot, and I liked that.

  The miniature wilderness suddenly exploded as the white lion erupted from the labyrinth of green with an undignified yowl of surprise, pursued by two streaks of black and gold. The leopards caught the lion and took him down in a playful heap, and I found myself shaking with my tragic, silent laughter. Delea laughed delightedly at their ferocious play, as if she did not find lethal great cats tackling each other right in front of her out of the ordinary at all. It made me curious about her, but my gaze was riveted to the panthers before me, romping and tussling with fangs bared but claws sheathed with the vigor and violence of brothers wrestling. I could have watched them for hours, but even as I laughed my silent laugh, the vagueness threatened me once again, and my vision began to blacken. No. Not now.

  “Wake up, my love.”

  The voice was so quiet I could barely hear it. I struggled against the blackness. Felt it pulling at me. Dragging me down like a swift and treacherous sea current. I was tired, so very tired.

  “Wake up. The children need you.”

  I hugged the voice to myself like a pillow, clutched it like a lifeline.

  It was the voice that pulled me out of the blackness.

  Not just this time. Every time. I only knew it when it was happening, and my deepest and darkest fear was that one day the voice would speak and I wouldn’t hear it, wouldn’t be able to follow it back home. I had only a moment, a second, to wonder about who the children were before the voice and everything about it drifted beyond my reach once more, and my mind eased back into its familiar, empty solitude.

  Delea absorbed every sight, every sound, every scent.

  There was a magical glimmer about the place, coating every surface, and it dazzled her. Roses the color of snowfall perfumed the air, and the castle thrummed with a soft, faint rhythm almost like a heartbeat. Winter and the leopards romped beside her with the boisterous, destructive strength of boys of all species, smashing into walls and flattening plants and weeds without discrimination. She wandered past the kitchen tower toward the dark passageway beyond with pale light flickering at its end. A corridor of crystal led her back to the crowned tower where she had first entered the castle. She gazed upward at the crystal dome, marveling at its size and the cut of each prismatic facet. It was extraordinary. There was nothing like it at home—only the glitter of ice and the white of snow and the wonder of wind. She loved her home with an infinite joy, but this kingdom was a spectacle of beauty unlike anything she’d ever seen. A pair of starlings flitted through a window in a cackle o
f ill temper as they fluffed and fluttered snow from their wings and then vanished into a nest high up in the arch of a jeweled, ebony pillar. She laughed. They would never survive in her home.

  She felt his gaze before she saw him and turned to see that she was not alone.

  An imposing form stood in the alcove beneath the sweep of the stairs, watching her, wrapped in the darkness. This was no mere lion. Not even a Fae lion. He had the general shape of a man, though it was difficult to tell in the gloom even with her keen eyes.

  She remained carefully composed. She had assumed the black Fae lion she had met outside was the lord of the castle, but clearly she had been mistaken. She dipped into a curtsey and then stood quietly, waiting, letting him bide his time. She could be endlessly patient when the occasion called for it.

  At last he stepped from the shadows, tall and broad with leonine features and lethal hands somewhere between man and beast, his face and forearms covered in sable fur and his heavy mane raven black. Eyes as green as summer forests stared back at her. Winking emeralds trimmed his black suit and onyx-feathered cape, which billowed ever so slightly, caught in a breeze she couldn’t feel.

  A beast in form but form alone, she thought, as he bowed graciously. When he spoke, she thrilled at the richness of his graveled voice. “My lady.”

  “Good evening, lord,” she returned, pleased that her voice remained smooth and serene. “I hope you will forgive the liberties I’ve taken in wandering your home. Your lions were most gracious when I arrived.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. You are welcome here, Lady Delea.”

  He knew her name then. He did not offer his, she noticed.

  “I have heard of this kingdom,” she said, her gaze roving over the tower. “Cursed and abandoned by the Fae.” She looked at him boldly. “I have heard of you.”

  One lion brow arched. “And what did you hear?”

  “That a ferocious lion ruled a kingdom of beasts. That he dined only on the sighs of beautiful maidens.”

  His forest green eyes glinted. “You don’t seem the sighing type, so I suppose I’ll be going hungry tonight.”