East

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 pla

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.

Screams echoed all around. Balconies teeming with trolls fell through the air. Death was everywhere.

A strong arm grabbed my waist and dragged me out from under the ice. I was pulled along until I found myself in a tiny cavelike space. And the man who had been a white bear held me tightly. He was looking into my eyes. "Rose," he said urgently.

"Yes," I said groggily. Relief showed in his face.

We were lodged under a great slab of ice, part of the ceiling that had fallen at an angle, knifing sideways into the floor like an immense white sword. It was so thick and strong that it protected us as the ice palace crashed down around us.

I knew as I huddled there, the arms of the man who had been a white bear tight around me, that I would never forget the sound. It went on a long, long time—the cracking, grinding, slamming of fallen ice, and the screams of the dying.

I must have lost consciousness, for I suddenly became aware of his voice again saying, "Rose," in that same urgent tone, as if he was afraid I would not answer.

"Yes?" I said weakly.

"It's over, I think," he said.

We were crammed into a tiny space, only slightly bigger than our two bodies. And everything was silent except for an occasional cracking sound. The entire wreckage of the ice palace lay on top of us. I clutched at his purple waistcoat.

Then I remembered my mother's words as she'd told me the prophecy of the skjebne-soke. "Any north child I had would die—crushed by an avalanche of snow and ice."

Neddy

THE SHIP CALLED Rose was a fine one, the crew excellent. Father and I were kept busy learning all aspects of navigating the high seas. And Soren bustled about, consulting sea charts, an astrolabe, and cross-staff, and other familiar instruments of navigation. But he was most excited about a brand-new compass he'd gotten for the journey. It was a splendid instrument using an iron needle suspended in a small box, with a wind rose beneath the needle to indicate direction. He was as happy as I'd ever seen him, and I hoped Sara was prepared for a husband with an advanced case of wanderlust. (Surely Mother would have found out if he were a north-born!)