Rubies and Roses Read online

  Rubies and Roses

  A Blood and Ice Novella

  Violet Froste

  Contents

  Rubies and Roses

  1. Pearl

  2. Rose

  3. Ice

  4. Glow

  5. Skin

  6. Sword

  7. Gown

  8. Kiss

  9. Ruby

  10. Honey

  11. Gift

  12. Heart

  Note from the Author

  1. Pearl

  Adrienna slumped to her knees in the high grass and muddy ground, her entire body sinking beneath the weight of her disappointment. After travelling for days with only hope to keep her going, nothing remained here but the carcass of their campsite, abandoned probably since the night the Arkaviki had come.

  Aster had not returned to her as Adrienna had hoped. That meant only two things: either Aster was still at the hands of her abductors — or she was dead.

  A heavy hand came to rest on Adrienna’s shoulder. She looked up. Althius looked older than ever, aged considerably since the night the Princessguard had been ripped apart.

  A writhing guilt sickened Adrienna. She had known Althius her whole life: he had been her father’s guard for many years before becoming the master of arms of her own guard. He was a mirthful man, always full of stories and jests.

  But since she had been travelling with him, she had found a new respect for the grizzled warrior. He was powerful still for his age and not easily moved by fear. When the two Arkaviki men, Gunnar and Eirik, had taken them prisoner, he had been unafraid and clear-headed, though both were towering vikingr warriors and armed to the teeth. And when Adrienna had wept bitterly, he had comforted her and assured her Aster would be well.

  He had helped her escape the Arkaviki warriors during a patrol attack, risking death. And when they had escaped, he had agreed to take her back to their abandoned camp, despite his desire to return home to Hawksmoor. They had turned their backs on safety and salvation. They had travelled through torrential rains, icy winds and countless dangers with scarcely any rest or food. Not once had he wavered or faltered in his loyalty.

  Now he gazed down at her with weary disappointment, shaking his head.

  “They are gone, princess,” he said. “We can deny the truth no longer. Your Princessguard is gone, and with it, its noble captain.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He was right. The guard was gone, and so was Aster. A lump swelled in her throat that stifled her voice. She inhaled hard, trying to contain her sorrow, staring around her helplessly. The abandoned tents lay listlessly in the mud, mocking her with their emptiness.

  “We can’t give up on Aster, Althius,” she said at last. “I will go after her. If the vikingr find out she lied to save me, they’ll kill her. I can’t have her death on my soul — I could not bear it.”

  Althius sighed and crouched down to face her.

  “Princess, it is only a matter of time before you are found. Someone will recognise you for who you are and rumours will spread. The Arkaviki will know that Aster lied to them.”

  “No… no, we have to buy her time. She would do the same for me, Althius, you know this.”

  He nodded, closing his eyes. He sat back into the mud with a groan of exhaustion and rubbed his face with his dirty hands. They had been travelling through storms for days, and he was as grimy as she undoubtedly was. Mud streaked his skin and clothes, and white stubble grew across his chin and cheeks. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and after a moment of deep thought, he spoke heavily.

  “Very well, princess. But you will be recognised too easily. If you wish to carry on, we must disguise your appearance.”

  “Yes. Anything for Aster.”

  “We need a knife. And any armour we can find.”

  They searched the tents for any equipment left behind. Their footsteps squelched in the sodden grass, and the fabric of the tents was heavy and waterlogged, making their task more arduous. Adrienna was exhausted beyond measure, but they had travelled too long to get here. She refused to give up now.

  When they reconvened a while later, dusk was falling around them. As the sun sank low beyond the cloudy horizon, the grey daylight gave way to dull shadows and tearful gloom. Althius had failed to make a fire, the wood too soggy to catch flame. But Adrienna had retrieved Aster’s leather armour and some guards’ clothes for them to change into, and Althius had found some stale food, a knife and boots.

  Giving Adrienna a grave look, Althius said: “If you do not wish to be recognised, it might be best if you ride as a man for now, princess.”

  She looked at the knife he held. Lifting a hand to her head, she touched the dark hair that fell in tangled tresses around her shoulders. She had not combed her hair since the night the Arkaviki had taken them from their beds. The soft strands were matted with rain, sweat and mud, and yet she could not help the sickening unease she felt at the thought of losing the silken mane.

  Gazing up at Althius, she said: “Aster would do the same for me, would she not?”

  “Aster would wear her hair shorn to the skull if it were not for you,” Althius smiled ruefully.

  Adrienna nodded, feeling her throat tighten at the thought. Aster wore her hair short until Adrienna begged her to let it grow long and free. Since then, Aster never cut her hair again, though she had done her best to keep it bound in a severe braid.

  “I know,” she said, returning his smile painfully. “Yes. Cut it off. When we find her, I will grow it back. But for now, her safety is more important than my pride.”

  She closed her eyes, turning her back to Althius. The old warrior gathered her hair into his fist, surprisingly gentle for such a large man. Then the blade sawed through the strands, slicing into knots. Adrienna winced as Althius pulled on the remaining hair, severing all that was left.

  Once he was done, she lifted a hand to her neck. The cold wind caressed the exposed skin of her nape, and the newly cut strands brushed like wings against her jaw every time she moved. She suddenly felt lighter, as though she had just shed some great weight from her shoulders.

  Althius handed her the fistful of dark hair, raising his eyebrows in a mute question. Pushing his hand away, Adrienna gestured at the underbrush that surrounded the camp.

  “Throw it away, Althius. It’s no longer a part of me.”

  Althius obeyed, tossing the handful of hair into a thornbush. The strands flew across the wind, tangling amongst the brambles and disappearing amongst leaves. Adrienna turned away. It would do no good to think of it. Aster would not have dwelt upon such an insignificance — she would have carried on with staunch determination. So Adrienna must do the same.

  Night was descending fast upon them, and they would be unable to travel through the thick darkness. The tents were too sodden to use, so they gathered the few dry bedrolls they could find, taking shelter beneath some trees.

  “In the morning,” Althius said, “we will leave the camp and try to find some horses and food. We’ll do everything in our power to find the captain, princess.”

  Adrienna nodded, and he disappeared into the half-collapsed remnant of a tent to change into cleaner clothing. She followed suit, dipping beneath the sodden flap of what had been her own tent. Underneath her cloak she still wore the rags of the nightgown she had worn the night of her abduction. It reeked of sweat and dirt, and she gladly removed it to slip into the dark tunic and trousers she had found. They must have belonged to one of the male guards, for they were loose and poorly fitting on her small height and feminine frame, but she was glad for the comfort of their cleanliness.

  As she padded back towards the entrance of the tent, she stepped on something hard. She looked down. The pearl comb she had taken w
ith her on her journey to Karscha lay half hidden beneath the edge of a blanket. Picking it up, she looked at it: the carved spiral of the handle fit smoothly into her palm, and the faint glimmer of the grey-violet pearl shone in the dusky gloom.

  She had last used the comb on Aster’s hair. It was a fine thing, and she had loved it dearly. It would be useless now that she had sacrificed her hair to her mission. In a way, it represented a part of her that was gone. Adrienna stared at the comb. And then she snapped it in half and dropped it back upon the ground. She left the tent without a backwards glance.

  Althius already lay on his side in his bedroll, and she slipped into hers with a profound sigh. Burrowing into the musty fabric, she shut her eyes tight. Her life felt as though it had twisted and gnarled into some black nightmare, an aberrant version of what it used to be.

  When she had set off from Hawksmoor, she had dreaded the dangerous journey to Karscha. She had dreaded marrying its prince, a man she had never met. Now, she almost missed the certainty of her future as Karscha’s queen. There had been a reassurance in knowing her fate even if she had not chosen it for herself.

  Dreading a marriage to a stranger was better at least than falling asleep every night worrying that she might not survive, that the vikingr might return. Her mind was clouded by terror. Was Aster still alive? Had her lie been discovered? Would the vikingr harm her? And what of Althius? He was growing ever more tired and gaunt. Would he ever forgive her for forcing him so far from his home? More than ever now, she felt the responsibility of all those who had sacrificed their lives and happiness for her.

  The weight of this responsibility always crushed her, but now it seemed heavier than ever. How many more needed to lay themselves in the path of danger for her? Was she deserving of these noble warriors her father had surrounded her with? She was only a princess by virtue of her birth. Unlike Althius, or Aster, or Markus, or Lizabeth, or any of the other guards, she had not earned her place in this world through combat or bravery or toil. She had merely fallen into her role.

  Adrienna squeezed her eyes shut against blossoming tears. She could not weep now — Aster would not have wept. Aster would gather herself up proudly and swallow her emotions; Adrienna had seen her do it many times before. She would armour herself with her resolve and her dignity, and she would persevere no matter what. So Adrienna would do too.

  Calmed by thoughts of Aster’s strength, Adrienna finally relaxed. It was not until bright orange lights flared in the night that she emerged from the deep sleep she had fallen into. She had not even noticed she had fallen asleep.

  She bolted upright, blinking in the sudden light.

  Soldiers surrounded her and Althius in a perfect circle. The black metal of their armour covered them from head to foot, the overlapping metal plates like the scales of a dragon. Even their helmets were covered by sharp visors. In the darkness they seemed unearthly and unnerving, like soulless spectres or undead warriors.

  They were not Arkaviki: they were an organised garrison, and bore lances and kite shields. Their horses were magnificent creatures, well-kempt and sporting long, silken manes. And they all carried the same crest on their shields: a white, leaping lynx on a crimson field.

  Adrienna froze. She knew this sigil. All of Westmere knew this sigil, for it was the symbol of military invincibility and ruthless conquest. This was the Karschan sigil, and the intimidating warriors that surrounded her belonged to the army of the prince she had been promised to.

  They were here to find her, and she had come right to them.

  At her side, Althius stood on his feet, sword in hand. Dark shadows gathered underneath his eyes, his face gaunt. He seemed so exhausted that Adrienna’s heart ached to see him blink blearily in the light of the Karschan lanterns. She stumbled to her feet and clutched his arm, glad for his presence.

  “It seems your future husband has sent his army to retrieve you, princess,” he said with a tired smile.

  “I can’t go with them,” she replied, her shoulders drooping. “I can’t — we’ve not… we can’t abandon Aster.”

  Before Althius could reply, a man rode up to them. Adrienna looked up, wide-eyed. He was no mere soldier; she saw it by the magnificence of his dark armour, by the intricacy of the painted lynx upon his shield. A sash of crimson velvet crossed his chest, and a magnificent longsword was strapped to his back. His mount was black as pitch, with an elegant saddle of red leather. This was not an officer or a captain; this must be a commander of some sort.

  Slipping from the saddle, the man dismounted. He lifted his visor to reveal a face that was sharp as a dagger, haughty cheekbones dominating proud features. His hair was fair, falling in curls down his forehead, and his eyes a hazel-brown that was almost gold. He seemed young, not even thirty, and yet there was an air of undeniable authority about him.

  Looking between Adrienna and Althius, he said, “Who are you? This camp does not belong to you.”

  “I assure you it does, sir,” Adrienna snapped.

  She knew they must look like vagabonds: her with her short mop of dirty hair and her ill-fitting clothes, Althius with his mud-streaked skin and stubble. But the Karschan commander had a tone that was blunt and harsh, as though he were a schoolmaster scolding a child.

  “I am Princess Adrienna of Veritier,” she said, gathering herself up to stand as straight and proud as Aster would have done.

  She might be lost and filthy and guardless, but she was still herself. She was still the daughter of a king, and she would one day be this man’s queen. He need not defer to her, but he would show respect.

  “Our camp was attacked by Arkaviki barbarians, my Princessguard disbanded and my captain taken prisoner. My master of arms,” she pointed to Althius, "and I were taken prisoner too, but we escaped. We returned here hoping some of my other guards might have escaped too and returned.”

  The commander looked from her to Althius, frowning slightly. Adrienna observed him closely: he was a handsome man, each feature sharp and defined, though marred by arrogance and disdain. His lips were exquisitely shaped and yet curled into a haughty grimace. He gave every appearance of being a profoundly miserable man.

  “You do not have the appearance of a princess,” he said with devastating frankness.

  His tone was pragmatic and cool — he had not spoken to offend, only to offer his true thoughts. Adrienna’s mouth dropped in shock at his words, and before she could launch into a tirade on respect and courtesy, Althius spoke.

  “It is the truth, my lord. My name is Althius Everard; I once served in the Kingsguard. I was accompanying the princess to Karscha when the Arkaviki surprised us.”

  “What reason would we have to lie?” Adrienna snapped when the commander’s frown remained. “If you do not believe us, then so be it. It matters not — we are not going to Karscha with you.”

  “Princess—” Althius said warningly.

  “No,” Adrienna snarled. “I’m finding Aster. Karscha can have me when I’m done.”

  The commander nodded at his soldiers, and two of them stepped forward.

  “A mount for Althius and for the princess,” he said.

  Two soldiers dismounted without hesitation, walking forward and leading their horses by the reins.

  “Thank you,” Adrienna said reluctantly. “These horses will help us greatly on our jour—”

  “Mount your horses,” the commander said. “Both of you. It is time we return to Sevalensk.”

  The emperor’s palace in Karscha. He wanted to take them to their original destination. Adrienna sighed in exasperation.

  “We’ve something to do first,” she said. “The captain of my guard was abducted, and—”

  “If you wish to help the captain of your guard, I will gladly lend you soldiers. But I have come here to bring you back, and so I will. A future queen has no business chasing after her guards.”

  “And a soldier has no business giving a future queen commands.”

  “No,” he said with a bleak half-
smile. “But a future husband may fetch his promised bride back by force should she be belligerent.”

  Adrienna blinked.

  “Come, Princess Adrienna,” he said. “I’ve not travelled through mountains and swamps to return without my bride. You can tell me about your captain once we return to my camp.”

  Althius helped Adrienna up onto her horse and she climbed on, still staring at the young man in shock. When she had learned of her engagement to Sergevni of Karscha, she had not known what to expect. The son of a powerful emperor, she had hoped he might be educated, handsome, chivalrous, like the knights of Veritier. Instead, her future husband was nothing more than a surly, mannerless soldier.

  2. Rose

  As they rode in a long line away from the Veritian swamps and towards the snowy mountains where his camp was, Sergevni observed his bride.

  He had journeyed long and hard through the mountains, subjected himself and his garrison to the storms and mud of Veritier. Finding the princess’s camp had been a well-earned victory. That sense of victory had vanished upon finding the princess herself.

  A part of Sergevni had hoped he would not find her. It was a cold, dark thought. He did not hate the young woman, though he much resented being made to marry her. If she had been assassinated, or taken by barbarians, he might have found respite for a while. Perhaps his father might even have relented in his plan to marry Sergevni off to a princess and force him to ascend the throne.

  But Sergevni had found his bride and discovered her to be far from the meek noblewoman he had expected. She was nothing like any of the descriptions he had been given of her: his father and the Veritian emissaries had painted an image of a beautiful young woman with blue eyes and long, luscious hair; a courteous, elegant, educated woman, a princess born and bred.

  Instead, he was betrothed to what looked like a street urchin. With her ragged mop of dark hair, cut as though by a butcher, and her filthy skin, she presented a pitiful image. Great misfortunes had befallen the young woman, that much was clear, but her determination to carry on had struck him as odd. If she had escaped the barbarians of Arkavik then why did she seek so desperately to return to them? She spoke of her captain — how true could that be? A captain’s role was to ensure the princess’s safety — not the other way round.