Frostfire Page 6

  Hanging down over the weight-lifting bench, Tilda’s long hair shimmered a luscious dark chestnut. But the only thing about her I’d ever been jealous of was her skin. As she lifted the barbell, straining against the weight, the tanned color of her skin shifted, turning dark blue to match the color of the mats propped against the wall behind her.

  Unlike Ember and me, Tilda was full-blooded Kanin. Not everyone could do what she did either, the chameleonlike ability to blend into her surroundings. As time went on, it was becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence, and if the bloodlines were diluted by anyone other than a pure Kanin, the offspring would be unable to do it at all.

  And that’s why my skin had the same pallor no matter how angry or frightened I might get. I was only half Kanin, so I had none of their traits or abilities.

  “Hey, Bryn,” Ember said brightly, and I wrapped my hands with boxing tape as I approached them. “How’d your meeting go?”

  As Tilda rested the barbell back in its holder and sat up, her skin slowly shifted back to its normal color, and she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. By the grave look in her eyes, I knew that Ember had filled her in about everything that had happened with Konstantin.

  She didn’t ask about it, though. We’d been friends so long that she didn’t really need to say anything. She just gave me a look—her charcoal-gray eyes warm and concerned as they rested heavily on me—and I returned her gaze evenly, trying to assure her with a pained smile that I was handling everything with Konstantin better than I actually was.

  Of course, Tilda probably knew I was holding back, but she accepted what I was willing to give and offered me a supportive smile. She would never press or pry, trusting me to come to her if I needed to.

  I shrugged. “I’m here to blow off steam, if that answers your question.”

  Ember asked with a smirk, “That bad, huh?”

  “The King hates me.” I sighed and adjusted the tape on my hands as I walked over to the punching bag.

  “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” Ember said.

  Tilda took a long drink from her water bottle, accidentally spilling a few droplets on her baggy tank top, and Ember walked over to help me. She stood on the other side of the punching bag, holding it in place, so that when I hit it, it wouldn’t sway away. I started punching, throwing all my frustration into the bag.

  “I have to learn to keep my mouth shut if I’ll ever stand a chance of being on the Högdragen,” I said, and my words came out in short bursts between punches. “It’s already gonna be hard enough without me pissing off the King.”

  “How did you piss him off?” Tilda asked as she came over to us. She put one hand on her hip as she watched me, letting her other fall to the side.

  “I was just arguing with him. I was right, but it doesn’t matter,” I said, punching the bag harder. “If the King says the sky is purple and it rains diamonds, then it does. The King’s word is law.”

  I don’t know what made me angrier. The fact the King was wrong and refused to see it, or that I’d once again botched my own attempts at being one of the Högdragen. That was all I’d ever wanted for as long as I could remember, and if I wanted to be in the guard, I’d have to learn to follow orders without talking back.

  But I didn’t know how I was supposed to keep my mouth shut if I thought the King was doing things that might endanger the kingdom.

  I started alternating between punching and kicking the bag, taking out all my anger at the King and at myself. I finally hit it hard enough that the bag swung back, knocking Ember to the floor.

  “Sorry,” I said, and held my hand out to her.

  “No harm, no foul.” Ember grinned as I helped her to her feet.

  “You make it sound like we live in an Orwellian dystopia, and I know you don’t think that,” Tilda said, but there was an arch to her eyebrows, like maybe she didn’t completely disagree with the idea.

  She’d never openly speak ill of the kingdom—or of anything, really—but that didn’t mean she approved of everything that happened here. Neither did I, but Tilda always managed to handle things with more grace and tact than I could muster.

  “No, I don’t.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “But I won’t ever get ahead if I keep arguing with everyone.”

  “Maybe you will,” Tilda said. “You’ve argued and fought your way to where you are now. Nobody wanted you to be a tracker, but you insisted that you could do it, and now you’re one of the best.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at her. “Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be shadowing Linus, so I need to fly through today’s workout. You wanna spar?”

  “I think I’ll sit this one out, since the last time you gave me a fat lip,” Tilda reminded me, pointing to her full lips.

  They had been briefly swollen and purplish last month when I accidentally punched her right in the mouth, temporarily marring her otherwise beautiful face. She’d never been vain or complained of the bumps and bruises we’d both get during our practicing fights before, but if she didn’t want to fight today, I wasn’t going to push her.

  “Ember, you wanna go?” I asked.

  “Sure. But you have to promise not to hit me in the face.” She motioned a circle around her face. “I don’t want any visible marks for my birthday party.”

  I nodded. “Deal. Let’s go.”

  SEVEN

  estate

  I’d moved out when I turned sixteen three years ago, and it still felt kinda strange going back to the house I’d grown up in. It always looked the same and smelled the same, but there were subtle differences that reminded me it wasn’t my home anymore.

  My mom and dad lived in a cottage near the town square, and as far as cottages in Doldastam went, theirs was fairly spacious. It wasn’t as nice as the house my dad had grown up in, but that had been passed to the Eckwells after my grandparents had died, since Dad had given up his Markis title.

  Mom had probably grown up in a nicer house too, though she didn’t talk about it that much. In fact, she rarely ever mentioned Storvatten except to talk about the lake.

  As soon as I opened the door, the scent of seawater hit me. We lived over a half hour away from Hudson Bay, so I have no idea how Mom did it, but the house always smelled like the ocean. Now it was mixed with salmon and citrus, the supper she was cooking in the oven.

  “Hello?” I called, since no one was there to greet me at the door, and I began unwinding my scarf.

  “Bryn?” Dad came out from the study at the back of the house, with his reading glasses pushed up on his head. “You’re here early.”

  “Only fifteen minutes,” I said, glancing over at the grandfather clock in the living room to be sure I was right. “Linus was sitting down for supper with his parents, so I thought it would be a good time to duck out. If I’m interrupting something, I can entertain myself while you finish up.”

  “No, I was just doing some paperwork, but it can wait.” He waved in the direction of his study. “Take off your coat. Stay awhile.”

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked as I took off my jacket and hung it on the coatrack by the door.

  “She’s in the bath,” Dad said.

  I should’ve known. Mom was always in the bath. It was because she was Skojare. She needed the water.

  Some of my fondest memories from being a small child were sitting in the bathroom with her. She’d be soaking in the claw-footed tub, and I’d sit on the floor. Sometimes she’d sing to me, other times I’d read her stories, or just play with my toys. A lot of time was spent in there.

  Fortunately, Mom didn’t have gills, the way some of the Skojare did. If she had, then I don’t know how she would’ve survived here, with the rivers and bay frozen over so often. The Skojare didn’t actually live in the water, but they needed to spend a lot of time in it, or they’d get sick.

  When Mom stayed away from water too long, she’d get headaches. Her skin would become ashen, and her golden hair would lose its usual luster. She’d say, “I’m dry
ing out,” and then she’d go take a long soak in the tub.

  I don’t think that was the ideal course of action for her symptoms, but Mom made do.

  “Supper smells good,” I said as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Your mom put it in before she got in the tub,” Dad said. “It should be ready soon, I think.”

  Upstairs, I heard the bathroom door open, followed by my mom shouting, “Bryn? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I got here a little early,” I called up to her.

  “Oh, gosh. I’ll be right down.”

  “You don’t need to rush on my account,” I said, but I knew she would anyway.

  A few seconds later, Mom came running down the stairs wearing a white robe. A clip held up her long wet hair.

  “Bryn!” Mom beamed at me, and she ran over and embraced me tightly. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  “Glad to see you too, Mom.”

  “How are you?” She let go of me and brushed my hair back from my face, so she could look at me fully. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, right?”

  “Nope. I’m totally fine.”

  “Good.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her aqua eyes were pained. “I worry so much when you’re away.”

  “I know, but I’m okay. Honest.”

  “I love you.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Now I’ll go get dressed. I just wanted to see you first.”

  Mom dashed back upstairs to her bedroom, and I sat down at the kitchen table. Even without makeup, and rapidly approaching forty, my mom still had to be the most stunning woman in Doldastam. She had the kind of beauty that launched a thousand wars.

  Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. Although there had definitely been repercussions from her union with my dad, and they’d both sacrificed their titles and riches to be together.

  Their relationship had been quite the scandal. My mom had been born in Storvatten—the Skojare capital—and she was a high-ranking Marksinna. My dad had been Markis from a prominent family in Doldastam. When Mom was only sixteen, she’d been invited to a ball here in Doldastam, and though my dad was a few years older than her, they’d instantly fallen in love.

  Dad had become involved in politics, and he didn’t want to leave Doldastam because he had a career. So Mom defected from Storvatten, since they both agreed that they had a better chance to make a life here.

  The fact that Dad was Chancellor, and had been for the past ten years, was a very big deal. Especially since his family had basically disowned him. But I’d always thought that the fact that my mom was so beautiful helped his case. Everyone understood why he’d give up his title and his riches to be with her.

  I’d like to say that life had been easy for my mom and me, that the Kanin people had been as forgiving of us as they had been for Dad. But they hadn’t.

  Other tribes like the Trylle were more understanding about intertribal marriages, especially if the marriage wasn’t among high-ranking royals. They thought it helped unite the tribes. But the Kanin definitely did not feel that way. Any romance outside your own tribe could dilute the precious bloodlines, and that was an act against the kingdom itself and nearly on par with treason.

  Perhaps that’s why they were slightly easier on my mom than they were on me. Her bloodline was still pure. It may have been Skojare, but it was untainted. Mine was a mixture, a travesty against both the Kanin and the Skojare.

  “So how are things going with Linus?” Dad walked over to the counter and poured himself a glass of red wine, then held out an empty glass toward me. “You want something to drink?”

  “Sure.” I sat down at the kitchen table, and Dad poured me a glass of wine before joining me. “Linus is adjusting well, and he’s curious and easygoing, which makes the transition easier. He’s trying really hard to learn all of our words and phrases. He’s even tried mimicking our dialect.”

  When trackers went out into the world, we were taught to use whatever dialect was common in that area, which was actually incredibly difficult to master. But in Doldastam, we returned to the usual Kanin accent—slightly Canadian but with a bit of a Swedish flare to it, especially on Kanin words. Linus’s Chicago accent wasn’t too far off, but he still tried to imitate ours perfectly.

  Dad took a drink, then looked toward the stairs, as if searching for my mother, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t tell her about Konstantin. She knows you were attacked, but not by whom.”

  Dad swirled the wine in his glass, staring down at it so he wouldn’t have to look at me, then he took another drink. This time I joined him, taking a long drink myself.

  “Thank you,” I said finally, and he shook his head.

  My parents had a very open relationship, and I’d rarely known them to keep secrets from each other. So my dad not telling my mom about Konstantin was actually a very big deal, but I understood exactly why he withheld that information, and I appreciated it.

  Mom would lose her mind if she found out. After Konstantin had stabbed Dad, she’d begged and pleaded for us all to leave, to go live among the humans, but both Dad and I had wanted to stay, so finally she had relented. It was my dad’s argument that we were safer here, with other guards and trackers to protect us from one crazed vigilante.

  But if Mom knew that Konstantin was involved again, that he’d attacked another member of her family, that would be the final straw for her.

  After changing into an oversized sweater and yoga pants, Mom came down the stairs, tousling her damp hair with her hand.

  “What are we talking about?” Mom touched my shoulder as she walked by on her way to the oven.

  “Just that Linus Berling is getting along well with his parents,” I told her.

  She opened the oven and peeked in at whatever was simmering in a casserole dish, then she glanced back at me. “They don’t always?”

  “Changelings and their parents?” I laughed darkly. “No, no, they usually don’t.”

  At times they even seemed to hate each other, not that that was totally outlandish. These were wealthy people, living in a childless home, when suddenly an eighteen- to twenty-year-old stranger going through a major bout of culture shock was thrust into their lives.

  Maternal and paternal instincts did kick in more often than not, and an unseen bond would pull them together. Eventually, most changelings and their parents came to love and understand each other.

  But that was over time. Initially, there was often friction, and lots of it. Changelings were hurt and confused, and wanted to rebel against a society they didn’t understand. The parents, meanwhile, struggled to raise someone who was more adult than child and mold them into an acceptable member of the Kanin hierarchy.

  “The whole practice has always seemed barbaric to me.” Mom closed the oven, apparently deciding supper wasn’t quite done yet, and sat down at the table next to my dad. “Taking a child and leaving it with total strangers. I don’t know how anyone can part with their child like that. There’s no way I would’ve allowed that to happen to you.”

  The Skojare didn’t have changelings—not any of them. They earned their money through more honest means. The general population worked as fishermen, and they had for centuries, originally trading their fish for jewels and gold. Now it was mostly a cash business, and the royalty maintained their wealth through exorbitant taxes on the people.

  That’s part of the reason why the Skojare population had dwindled down so low compared to the other troll tribes. The lifestyle wasn’t as lavish or as kind to those who weren’t direct royalty.

  “The Changeling practice isn’t as bad as it sounds,” Dad said.

  Mom shook her head, dismissing him. “You were never a changeling. You don’t know.”

  “No, but my brother was,” he said, and as soon as Mom shot him a look, I knew he regretted it.

  My uncle Edmund was five years older than my dad. I’d only met him a handful of times when I was very young, because Edmund was kind of insan
e. Nobody was exactly sure what happened to him, but by the time I was in school, Edmund had left Doldastam and now traveled the subarctic like a nomad.

  “Exactly, Iver,” Mom said. “And where is he now?”

  Dad cleared his throat, then took a sip of his wine. “That was a bad example.”

  Mom turned back to me. “So with the Berling boy back, are you here for a while?”

  I nodded. “It looks that way.”

  “Well, good.” She smiled warmly at me. “With all this nonsense going on, you don’t need to be out there.”

  “That is exactly why I do need to be out there,” I said, even though I knew I should just keep my mouth shut. This was supposed to be a nice visit, and we didn’t need to get into this again. It was an old argument we’d repeated too many times, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “I should be out there protecting the changelings.”

  “We shouldn’t even have changelings. You shouldn’t be out there risking your life for some archaic practice!” Mom insisted.

  “Would you like a glass of wine, Runa?” Dad asked in a futile attempt to keep the conversation civil, but both my mom and I ignored him.

  “But we do have changelings.” I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table. “And as long as we do, someone needs to bring them home and keep them safe.”

  Mom shook her head. “By being a tracker, you’re buying right into this awful system. You’re enabling it.”

  “I’m not…” I trailed off and changed the direction of my argument. “I’m not saying it’s perfect or it’s right—”

  “Good.” She cut me off and leaned back in her seat. “Because it isn’t.”

  “Mom, what else do you want our people to do? This is the way things have been done for thousands of years.”

  She laughed, like she couldn’t believe I was saying it. “That doesn’t make it okay, Bryn! Just because something has been done for a long time doesn’t make it right. Every time a changeling is left with a human family, they are risking their children’s lives to steal from strangers. It’s sick.”