The Cold King Read online

  Weak sunlight woke her later. After one blissful moment of not knowing what was going on, her memories flooded back in and she struggled to her feet. Pain lit up her fingers and hands when she tried to shove off the floor and she fell back down with a sharp cry.

  Her nails were torn and ragged and caked in blood and she slowly remembered tearing at the door in a frenzied panic. Careful not to use her hands, Calia got up and made her way to the bucket of water. Raw pain rocked her as she submerged her wounds. She left her fingers in the water as long as she could tolerate before fisting them in the blanket. Though she felt destroyed on the outside, inside her mind was calm and logical. She would wait until the king brought her a meal again and then she would shove her hands through the slot to show him she needed to be let out. He had to believe her, he had to help her.

  But her breakfast did not come the next morning and the dinner tray did not come in the evening. She sat in a chair at the door for hours, waiting for him to come.

  When the sun set and she was left in perfect darkness she began to wonder if he had forgotten her. Or maybe he just did not want her for his servant and was going to leave her until she died.

  Panic welled again and she forced it back. Her hands were already swollen and throbbing with pain, she did not need to injure them further. Eventually she drifted off, her chin slowly dropping to her chin.

  She stayed that way, in the dark, for a long time.

  Chapter Three

  The slamming of the bar startled Calia from sleep as well as from her chair and she crashed to the floor as the door was flung open. She was blinded by the glaring light but could make out a silhouette that could only belong to him.

  A tiny sigh of relief escaped her. “You came back.”

  The king reached a hand out to help her from the floor and Calia gratefully accepted it. She hissed as his hand tightened over her sore, throbbing fingers but didn’t let go.

  Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to let her see his face, or as much of it as the mask would allow, but she heard his low growl when as he looked over her raw wounds.

  With his help, she lurched to her feet and the king steadied her when she swayed. Pain, heartache and a lack of food compounded the confusion she felt in her heart and mind. He was the enemy. This was his fault. But without him, she had no hope of ever leaving the dungeon.

  Tears slid down her cheeks as he led her out the door and up the stairs. He still held her one hand gently and patted it. “I fear I may have pushed you too hard, or too fast.”

  She did not know what to say, wasn’t even sure her voice would obey her after so many hours and days spent silent. So she walked lamely next to him, praying he wasn’t leading her to some new horror.

  At the top of the steps an older woman dressed in stark black met them. She was almost as severe as the Cold King and her shockingly light hair was swept up perfectly. Calia tensed, not knowing the woman or how she would be treated by her. But then she saw the look of pity and compassion on her handsome face.

  “Abelina, please see to the girls care. And when you are finished, have Iago come up to tend to her hands.” The Cold King released Calia and she stumbled against the woman.

  “Your Majesty,” the woman grated and Calia shrank away in fear. But Abelina threw an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Look at the state of her! You should not—”

  “Abelina,” he cut in sharply.

  She huffed and glared up at his glinting mask but said, “Of course, Your Majesty, right away.”

  Calia let herself be pulled away with the woman, grateful for her kind and strong presence.

  “Now my dear,” Abelina was saying. “Tell me your name.”

  “Calia.” Her voice creaked but worked.

  “I am Abelina, my dear, the housekeeper. But of course I take care of many things.” She squeezed her arm around Calia’s shoulders again and led her up a grand stair case.

  Calia stared around her as she walked, dazed by the opulence and sharp contrast to the surroundings of her last several days.

  “We’ll get you fixed up,” Abelina soothed as she pushed a door open. The room was wide and bright. Rich curtains hung over the windows and framed a giant bed heaped with pillows and luxurious blankets. Paintings graced the walls and there were several small cases filled with books. The cold floor was covered almost wall to wall by a thick, mossy carpet.

  “What is this place?” Calia whispered, afraid to step in.

  “Why, your room, of course,” Abelina said in surprise. “You did not think you were going to stay down in the dungeon forever?”

  Tears made Calia’s eye swim and her throat thicken.

  “Oh my dear,” Abelina whispered before throwing her arms around Calia. “You did think that.”

  Calia could only nod and try to keep worst of her crying at bay. She was beginning to feel she had never cried so much in her whole life.

  Abelina pulled back and patted her cheek. “I remember how terrifying my first days here were. I promise you, it will get better. The king is a good man.”

  Calia shuddered. “No he’s not, he’s a monster… a beast!”

  Abelina started and slammed the door shut. “None of that talk, dear. He’s tolerant but he is the master. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Calia looked around the room for a pitcher and wash stand but found none. Abelina left her side to open another, smaller door on the other side of the room. Scared but always curious, Calia inched forward to see what it held.

  Her breath escaped her in one long, awed breath. “What is this place?”

  Abelina chuckled and went over to a large tub against the wall. “This is where you wash up.” She fiddled with golden handles on the wall and a steaming stream of water poured out, quickly filling the tub.

  “Is that hot water?” Calia asked, her mind trying to take it all in.

  “It is. Surely you noticed the advanced plumbing in your cell.” She turned to gather large fluffy towels and cakes of lavender soap from an ornate shelf.

  “I did. But I thought it was so no one would have to dispose of my waste.”

  Abelina chuckled again. “Well, that is part of it. The king brings his new servants everything they need while they are down there but I cannot imagine him bringing anything like that back out. Now, take off your dress.”

  Calia flushed but the woman clucked and rushed her. Her sore fingers wouldn’t let her untie her cloak or unbutton her dress so Abelina took over, much to Calia’s embarrassment. And the embarrassment wasn’t so much over her bare form but her dirty, ratty clothes, her sun darkened skin and scrawny frame.

  “Did not you eat while you were down there?” Abelina asked kindly as she helped Calia into the steaming tub.

  Calia could not answer as she immersed herself in the warm water. She had never felt anything like it. The pain and tension in her limbs and back melted away as she reclined in the soothing water. Hay floated to the surface and dirt dropped to the bottom, Calia noted with burning cheeks.

  Abelina patted her shoulder. “Just relax. We’ll get you clean in due time.”

  Calia did relax—almost to the point of sleep. But when her hands slipped into the water she jerked up in pain. Abelina frowned.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up so Iago can take a look at your poor fingers.”

  Calia was subjected to a scrubbing and rinsing she had never known the likes of. Abelina firmly massaged soap into her hair and scalp before pouring buckets of warm, fresh water over her head. Her skin received the same embarrassing attention but Abelina hummed and smiled through the whole process like scrubbing filthy urchins was something she did every day.

  Fresh from the bath, Abelina slathered her with thick cream that smelled heavenly. Then she attacked her hair, first working in a light oil and
then combing through it. Calia tried not to wince and Abelina muttered apologies as she fought with the tangles. “There,” she finally said and twisted the damp hair into a loose roll.

  Calia had never been so pampered and if felt wonderful. But the uncertainty of the whole situation still left her skittish and afraid.

  Finally clean and dry, Calia wrapped herself in the warm dressing gown.

  “You’ll want to put your robe on as well. I’ll fetch Iago and send some tea up with him.”

  Calia stiffened. “Who is Iago?”

  Abelina patted her hand. “You have so much fear in you, child. He’s just the gardener.”

  “Why does the gardener have to see to my hands?” They throbbed bitterly and as apprehensive as she was, she was eager to have some relief.

  “He’s a seventh son.”

  Calia frowned. “I thought that was a myth.”

  Abelina stood at the door with the used towels. “Perhaps, but he is a skilled healer.” She gave a little smile before ducking out the door.

  Then Calia was left alone to wait. She paced the opulent room, taking in the rich fabrics, the detailed fire place. The rug beneath her feet surely cost more than the house she had grown up in. And although it wasn’t the dungeon and she wasn’t locked in she did not like being left alone.

  The knock on the door startled her and she pulled her wrap tighter around her middle as the door opened.

  Calia did not realize she had expected a man named Iago to be large until the slight man entered. His clothes waved around him as did his dark hair. That effect paired with his large eyes made him appear almost waifish.

  He gave a large grin when he finally spotted her against the wall. “Ahhhh, the new girl, finally. Although I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

  His friendliness and unthreatening form weren’t enough to win her over and he seemed to sense it. He set his tray and bag on a large table and took his time arranging out the tea and cookies. Calia inched over, tempted by the sweet treats.

  “You sit,” Iago said gently. He pulled a shallow bowl from his bag and began crumbling fragrant herbs into it. Calia cautiously took the seat furthest from him and watched as he splashed a tonic onto the mix.

  He disappeared into the little bathing room with the bowl and returned with it filled almost to the top with steaming water.

  When he set it in front of her she shrunk back. “Soak your hands in this,” he said before taking the chair opposite.

  The warm steam coming off the water was fragrant and relaxing and Calia gently eased her raw fingertips into it. The relief was almost immediate. Although the water was warm the burning in her fingers cooled and her exposed nerves stopped screaming. A little sigh of relief escaped her and Iago grinned.

  “Sore?” he asked before lifting his tea cup.

  Calia nodded, suddenly curious about this gentle man. While he was slight and had a childish grin, he also had deep crinkles around his eyes and there were streaks of silver in the mahogany colored hair that framed his face.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  He nodded and sipped his tea. His mossy eyes twinkled and did not leave her face.

  She squirmed in her chair. “Aren’t you going to ask how it happened?”

  “I can guess.” A second cookie disappeared into his mouth.

  The silence was uncomfortable and she struggled to fill it despite her constant fear. “You are the gardener?”

  “At your service. My name is Iago.” He gave a little flourish and she could not help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “I am Calia.”

  “Lovely to meet you. I’d ask how you are, but again, I can guess. So let me ask, did you choose to come here or were you chosen?”

  Something about the kind man made her want to open up to him. She deliberated for a moment then said, “I was chosen.”

  His eyes tightened with sympathy. “Why was that?”

  Calia dropped her eyes to the bowl and stirred the crumbled herbs with her soothed fingertips. “I suppose they thought I would make a good servant for the king, seeing as I pretty much already was one to my mother.” She fought to keep the rest of it back but it seemed her heart was already willing to trust the gentle gardener. “And because I am ugly. The other girls already had matches made for them.”

  Iago’s eyebrows shot up. “Ugly? Whose opinion is that?”

  “Well, everyone’s, of course.”

  He leaned across the table towards her, taking in her face and hair before settling back on her eyes. “You aren’t ugly, my dear. Do not listen to anyone who would say so, even yourself.”

  While Calia appreciated his kind words she knew they were false. She was the opposite of all the fair skinned, dark hair beauties she had grown up with. And while they were growing into shapely young women, she still had the body of a ten year old boy.

  Iago cleared his throat. “Let’s see those fingers.”

  The ends had lost some their fiery redness and they were much improved with the blood removed from under her ragged nails. The gardener dabbed at them with a small cloth soaked in tonic and rubbed an ointment over the open areas. All the pain was finally gone and Calia smiled with relief.

  Iago packed his bag up and patted Calia’s hand gently. “Come see me in the morning if you need more ointment.”

  She nodded and watched him leave. Loneliness and fear rushed back in his absence, as well as uncertainty. Was she to wait for someone else? Go to sleep? Was she allowed to sleep in the bed?

  Anxious again, she paced the room, looking blankly over the details. It was decorated in the same icy tones as the rest of the castle, something she felt she was soon going to grow tired of.

  Another knock came at the door and Abelina poked her head in. “Still awake?” she asked with surprise.

  “Am I supposed to sleep here?” Calia asked.

  Abelina opened the door the rest of the way and came in. “Of course, dear. I know it must feel confusing but this room and everything in it are yours. It may not seem so right now, but the king really is very kind. He provides well for all of us.” There was unmistakable warmth in her voice and it repulsed Calia. “In the morning, after you’ve made yourself presentable, come down to the kitchen for breakfast. Then the king will see you.”

  Abelina ducked back out the door before Calia could ask where the kitchen was. She could have fretted over that but for the first time in days something overshadowed her anxiety. Fatigue.

  So she pulled back the heavy covers and crawled into the soft bed. Never had she had such soft comforts and it was only a moment after she rested her head on the feather pillow that she fell asleep.

  When the sun woke her in the morning she rolled and stretched in the softness and warmth, letting the light wash over her. It dazzled her eyes when she opened them and for a moment was lost in her surroundings and mind. Then it all came back.

  Calia dove back under the covers, wishing it to be a dream, a nightmare. She did not want to be in this lovely room. She did not want to see the Cold King again. She did not want to wake up each day and greet it with fear.

  But neither did she want him to come in to her room and tear the covers back to demand an explanation of why she was shirking her new duties. So with all her courage tightly gathered, she left her warm haven and ducked into the bathing room to make herself as presentable as possible.

  Calia did the best she could but still found her reflection in the mirror disappointing. Perhaps more disappointing than that was the fact she could not find her clothes anywhere. Not that she truly wanted to put them back on.

  A large dark wardrobe took up a corner of the sleeping chamber and she eyed it curiously. Surely it could not be filled with clothes just for her. Pulling open the heavy door
s revealed several dresses and a few shallow drawers lining the bottom. A charcoal grey dress caught her eye and she pulled it out. It would be loose but everything was always loose on her.

  She did her best to make her dress flattering and to fix her hair in a pleasant way but finally gave up and forced herself into the hall. Across from her room was a giant set of elegantly carved double doors. They were accented with gold and silver and shone in the light that filtered down from a window curiously placed in the ceiling.

  Both ends of the hall were identical but she could very faintly smell bacon cooking and followed her nose. She met no one else in the wide, empty corridors. All the fancy artwork seemed to sneer down at her. The light reflecting off the white marble floors stung her eyes and she began to realize she might hate the castle as much as she hated its king.

  Her footsteps slowed but she continued to follow the delicious smell. As it intensified she began to make out voices.

  “I wish you wouldn’t make it so crispy,” someone whined.

  Calia turned a corner and found herself in a vast kitchen. It was warm and airy and not nearly as blindingly bright as everywhere else she had seen.

  The young man who had brought the table and chairs down to her cell sat at a long table while the dark haired man who had brought the trays down stood opposite of him and chopped vegetables. Calia struggled to remember his name, struggled to find a way she could just walk into the room and introduce herself.

  He looked up as she hesitated at the doorway and he gave a warm smile. “Good morning.”

  The lithe young man turned around and snarkily looked her up and down.

  “Good morning,” she mumbled.

  “Abelina said you would be coming down this morning. Are you hungry?” He waved her over and pointed at a seat next to the other man.