Elanerill’s voice is soft, almost like she’s ashamed of what she’s saying.
“The barrier?” I guess.
She nods. “Everything corresponds with the barrier. All the problems began after the war, and they always get worse after the summer solstice celebration when we strengthen the barrier.”
My gut shifts around the stale half biscuit I’d managed to swallow. Of course, it’s not a surprise that the Kingdom of the Summer is still up there, still strengthening the barrier keeping our entire kingdom imprisoned in a land that’s slowly killing us. It fits everything I’ve ever heard about the murderous, cruel Kingdom of the Summer.
Still. It’s unpleasant to actually hear it spoken aloud.
I shift on the snow, stretch my legs, and throw another branch into the fire. Heat washes over my face. I turn to the prisoner, the princess, but she’s not looking at me. She’s staring into the fire with a rather miserable expression etched across her lovely features.
And that’s another inappropriate thought to have about a princess from the Worlds Above.
“I don’t know if it’s the barrier,” I say, partly to fill the cold silence that’s growing between us, and partly to see if I can shift that miserable look on her face. “Like I said, I’m not a magician. But I was raised in the royal court.”
Her expression perks up, and she turns to me with some mild interest.
“My parents both died in the war,” I say. “My father in the final battle, and my mother shortly after we were trapped down here.”
Those words still hurt, although not as much as they once did.
“I’m sorry,” Elanerill replies, in a voice that’s almost a whisper.
I shrug. “Me too. There were a lot of orphans running around in the early days. The king ended up adopting most of them, and we were all raised in the palace in the Crystal City. That’s how I ended up becoming Captain of the Royal Guard.”
Elanerill’s mouth falls open. “The king?” she asks, like she’s not quite sure if I’m pulling her leg or not. “Took in orphans?”
“He’s a good guy,” I say. “And there was nowhere else for us to go. Plus, he eventually realized he needed an heir.”
She’s shaking her head. The motion sends shadows flickering across her dark skin. “But, why would he choose an heir from a bunch of orphans?” she asks, and then her cheeks grow even darker and she gives me an apologetic half-smile. “No offense, I mean.”
I grin. “None taken. And he chose an heir from a bunch of scrappy orphans because he didn't have any other options. We can’t have babies down here.”
“You what?”
Something snaps deep in the fire, sending a glittering stream of sparks into the waiting darkness above us. I watch them rise, then wink out of existence.
“I don’t know why,” I say. “Just, that’s how it works down here. No pregnancies since the barrier went up. And I think the king always wanted a big family.”
Elanerill’s fallen silent again. She pulls her legs up to her chest and watches the fire like she’s trying to read the answer to a riddle in the shifting flames.
“He sounds nothing like our king,” she finally says.
Then she kicks out her legs and rubs her bound hands across her face. There’s a loud sniff, and when she pulls her hands away from her face her expression is almost murderous.
“Oh, I’m so stupid!” she cries.
Voids. Shock travels through me like a flaming arrow; I’ve never been good at handling angry women. I watch as she continues rubbing her eyes with the rope around her wrists like she’s trying to destroy something.
“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” I offer.
Elanerill huffs something that might almost be considered a laugh. “I thought I could do this all on my own,” she says, with an angry sniff. “I wanted to bring the barrier down, you see?”
She drops her bound hands and turns back to the fire. Tears trace a gleaming path down her cheeks, despite all her efforts to obliterate them. My heart feels like it’s beating very slowly, like the very air around us has frozen. Lythienne’s words return like an ill omen. What are we going to do when we can’t grow enough food?
“That— That would save our lives,” I say. “Bringing down the barrier. That would save all of our lives, everyone trapped down here.”
“Yeah.” Elanerill laughs again, harsh and bitter. “I thought it would save us, too. I thought I would be a big hero, bringing down the barrier by myself. Saving my kingdom. But look at what happened.”
She falls silent. Firelight dances across the snow between us and glitters off the tears caught in her eyelashes. Some part of me wonders why it took me so long to realize that Princess Elanerill is beautiful. She’s beautiful, and she’s brave, and she was trying to save our lives, even if she didn’t realize it.
“But you did something,” I say. “Maybe you didn’t bring down the whole barrier, but you came through it. You weakened it. You opened up a hole, right?”
My voice fades when Elanerill turns to me with a scowl.
“I attacked you,” she cries. “I was trying to bring down the barrier, and still, I almost murdered the first person I met from the Kingdom of the Fall.”
Her laugh is so bitter I can almost taste it.
“Out of everyone in the entire Kingdom of the Summer,” she says, “I should have been ready to greet the Kingdom of the Fall in peace. But look what happened.”
She shakes her head, then buries her face in the rope holding her wrists together.
“My kingdom is so afraid,” she says. “We’re raised on these horrible stories of the war, and they’re just repeated over and over again.”
Her voice fades. Her shoulders are trembling and, voids, she looks so cold and scared and alone. I move closer to her, unfurl my cloak, hesitate, and then go ahead and drape my cloak somewhat awkwardly over both of our shoulders. She looks up and wipes her eyes.
“It’s the same down here, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Oh, we love the Kingdom of the Summer down here,” I answer.
Elanerill stares at me. I wince.
“Sorry,” I say. “Bad joke.”
She sighs, then pulls her knees closer to her chest. I’m sitting so close to her now that I can smell her, soft and floral, like the flowers in the king’s inner gardens, and some part of me really wants to wipe the tears from her cheeks. I cross my hands over my chest to rein in that impulse.
“Look, Elanerill,” I begin. “Here’s the important thing. You didn’t kill me.”
She turns to me with her wide, dark eyes, and I feel like a flower stretching toward the light. I turn away and clear my throat before that moment can blossom into something awkward.
“You had the chance,” I say. “When I was healing myself, it would have been easy for you to kill—”
She looks horrified.
“Anyway,” I continue. “You didn’t. You were scared. Voids, I was scared. There was plenty of scared going around. But no one got killed. And surely that means there’s at least a little hope for both our kingdoms, right?”
I raise my hand and pat her knee. Her lips soften into a smile and, for just a heartbeat, I feel like I’m drowning in the golden light of the Worlds Above.
“That’s a nice thought,” she says.
I’m smiling back at her like an idiot, trying to remember the last time the curve of a woman’s lips made me feel this good. Elanerill settles her chin on her knees and stares at the fire.
“Let’s try to get some sleep,” I suggest.
She makes a low purr of agreement. Then her body leans into mine, and suddenly the miserable, frozen Outer Ring is the most perfect place in all the Lands Below.