CHAPTER FOUR

THE GIFT

Ivy stepped outside the hall and saw that it was snowing. She smiled, pulling up the hood of her cloak, and began walking toward the beach. Men ignored her as she passed, many already too drunk to stand. The outskirts of the small kingdom were empty as everyone migrated to the center to celebrate and feast with their king. The stone walls of Godstone ended where the black cliffs rose at the start of the beach. A small, wooden wall had been built some years before; it ran from one cliff to the other, closing off the back of Godstone. Her father said it gave comfort to those who lived closest to the beach. However, the gates were almost always open as fishermen came and went all day to bring seafood to the castle and sell their day’s catch in the central market.

Ivy found them open and passed under the archway. Some of Earl Rorik’s men had set up tents on the beach, but they stood empty as Ivy walked through the campsite. The sand and surrounding cliffs were black as pitch. The sea was just as dark— even during the day, the water seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it, living up to its name, the Shadow Sea. Black boulders sat under the cliffs, sunken into the sand, and Ivy took a seat upon the tallest rock, listening to the crashing waves. There were no stars in the sky tonight, and no moon. No light lay beyond the kingdom’s wooden gates. Only blackness and the sound of water pounding against the cliffs. Ivy loved it here, but she also longed to travel. Her mother used to tell stories of her travels around the South when she was a young girl.

One night many years ago, Ivy fell ill during the height of a winter storm. The whole kingdom lay buried in mounds of snow and ice; even part of the sea froze over. Her father ordered everyone to stay inside and wait it out. The markets, bars, and inns lay dormant until the storm passed. Queen Elana stayed with Ivy in her bedchamber the entire time, feeding her broth and keeping the fire going. Ivy listened to her mother tell stories for days during that storm and loved every moment of it.

“When I was just a girl,” Elana had started, “my father brought me to visit the city of Rahama. It lays on a beach south of my childhood home: Harper Hall. Their beaches are white, and the ocean is the lightest shade of blue you ever saw.” Her mother painted a beautiful picture of the city with its dream-like beaches and its trees that grew strange fruit that the North didn’t have. Monkeys wandered the streets and beaches, stealing from the fishmongers every day. People dressed in silk there rather than wool and fur. Their skin was darker, their hair lighter. Mother said the city was governed by a highborn man named Lord Cylas, who employed the help of a council to run the city.

“There are only two true kings in the South, just as there are two kings in the North,” her mother said.

Ivy didn’t know much about the war or why it went on as long as it had. She did know that it was preventing her from traveling to all the places she wished to visit. If any child of a northern king were to be captured in the South, they would surely be held for ransom or killed. Of course, not all southern cities were dangerous because not all of them took part in the war. King Mashu of Kame Island had managed to keep peace on his land by separating himself from the quarrels of the North and South. Ivy dreamed of visiting the island--an area with no war, battles, or bloodshed. But going South was just a dream for now.

Ivy pushed those thoughts from her mind and stood up to stretch. She noticed a light moving around the beach, swerving between the tents.

“Ivy?” a voice called out. She called back, recognizing her father’s voice immediately, and watched the lantern move toward her.

When her father drew near, Ivy’s eyes went to the clasp that held on his cloak. It was an ugly thing, bent and distorted—not the shape it was meant to be. It was supposed to be his bird, Luna. However, it more resembled a bird that had been sat on by an ox. Her father loved it all the same because Ivy had made it for him last year as a gift for the Feast of Winter, though she never tried to forge anything again.

Her father stood below the boulder where Ivy was perched, his auburn hair lit up by the tiny flame of the lantern. Magnus was tall and muscular, his broad shoulders covered with a black fur cloak. His matching auburn beard twinkled with melting snow. He kept it well-trimmed to his face, but it still scratched at Ivy every time her father kissed her forehead.

He smiled up at Ivy. “Why aren’t you celebrating with everyone?” he asked as he climbed to take a seat next to her.

“I was, but it’s too loud in there, so I decided to go for a walk,” she responded.

“Ah yes, it grew quite loud at my table as well. I listened to Piotr talking of you to his father. Apparently, you threatened him?” Magnus raised his brow and smirked.

Ivy shrugged. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He chuckled and wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. “You know you missed the first fight of the night?”

“Who was it this year?” she asked.

“Well, Ser Ambrin from the Twisted Tower got drunk and decided to challenge one of the earl’s men to an arm wrestle. A mountain of a man named Thorne, arms as big as tree branches and taller than any man I ever saw. Ser Ambrin lost the arm wrestle, of course, and sore loser that he is, he went up to Thorne and punched him in the face. The man didn’t even move. He picked up Ser Ambrin like a sack of potatoes and threw him through the doors of the hall.”

Ivy laughed at the image, wondering if Ser Ambrin would remember what he did when morning came.

“The hall has settled down now,” Magnus went on. “How about we go back, and you can open your gift?”

Ivy agreed. Her father helped her down off the boulder, and they began the walk back to the hall. The snow was still coming down, filling in the prints they left behind.

The big tent outside the hall was quiet now. Men slumped over tables, drinking horns still in hand, while the ones still conscious lifted their horns to the king as he passed. The braziers surrounding the tent had died down to smoldering embers, and Ivy spotted Ser Ambrin propped up against the wall snoring loudly, a black circle forming around his right eye. As they entered, Ivy saw the only people left inside were passed out from too much ale and wine.

“Where is everyone?” Ivy asked, now realizing how long she’d been gone.

“Your mother went off to bed, and Rayner had too much ale, so I asked Ser Osmund to lend a hand.” Ivy suddenly remembered what Ser Osmund told her before the feast. “Some things are better left in the past.”

Magnus walked up to his throne and took a seat; Luna sat perched in her new nest above. Her father asked her to sit on the queen’s throne next to him, where a wooden box sat upon the dais.

“Before you open it,” her father said, “I want to tell you how proud I am of the woman you’re becoming. Your mother and I know that you aren’t a little girl anymore, and it’s time we stop treating you like one. I know from your rooftop excursions that you’re curious about the war and what goes on in my council. From now on, if you have questions, all you need to do is ask. I don’t want to scare you, but I won’t leave you in the dark anymore. I’ll never lie to you. Do you understand?” Ivy nodded her head and smiled at her father. “Good, now you may open your gift.”

Ivy took the top off the box to reveal something shiny. She lifted it from the crate and held it out in front of her. It was a silk cloak, black as night. Embroidered on the back was the maple tree that sat right outside Ivy’s bedchamber window. Red and orange jewels made up the leaves, expertly stitched into the branches. Among the jewels, a small white bird was stitched on one of the branches.

“Is that Luna?” Ivy asked, excitement in her voice.

“It is,” her father answered, “Luna is always with me, and so long as you wear this cloak, I’ll always be with you.”

Ivy jumped up to hug her father, “I love it, thank you!”

Her father chuckled and patted her back. “You’re welcome, my darling, but that’s not all. Look at the bottom of the box.”

She drew away from him, confused. Ivy set the cloak on the queen’s chair and went back to the box. The cloak had covered up the straw at the bottom of the box, and Ivy could see something underneath it. She carefully dug her way to the bottom, her heart pounding with excitement as she lifted handfuls of straw. Ivy touched something cold and wrapped her fingers around the smooth object and lifted, the straw falling away as she raised it to eye level. Her eyes began to sting with tears as she gazed at what she held.

The sword was a masterful piece of art. The blade shone like nothing Ivy had ever seen. It seemed to catch every candle in the room and harness the light. The steel created a pattern that had the look of flowing water down the length of the blade. The handle was wrapped in black leather, and the pommel of the sword was adorned with an amethyst stone the size of her thumb.

Ivy couldn’t believe what she was holding—she turned to her father with tears in her eyes, but no words would come to her.

“Do you like it?” he asked curiously.

“Is this really mine?”

“It is. I thought it was time you had a real blade. I’ve seen you disarm Ser Osmund with a practice sword plenty of times. You’re very skilled, Ivy. But this is no dull blade. If Ser Osmund wishes to continue the scarf game you two have going, it must be with dull blades. You’re not to use it unless you feel that you’re in danger. Do you understand, Ivy?”

“I understand.”

“There’s a scabbard in there as well, so you may keep the sword on a belt.”

Ivy reached back into the box and found the scabbard. The wooden sleeve was wound tight with leather and adorned with metalwork at the brim and bottom.

“How does it feel?” her father asked. “Is it too heavy?” Ivy weighed the sword in both hands and gave it a swing.

“It’s perfect,” she exclaimed.

Magnus smiled and watched his daughter practice swinging her sword around. Ivy put the sword away and went to hug her father, beaming with happiness. “This is the greatest gift, thank you.”

Magnus kissed the top of her head, “You’re welcome, my sweetling.”

The lanterns were dying down, and it was getting late. Ivy buckled her sword to her belt while her father grabbed her cloak, draping it over his arm.

“All you need to do is ask.”

She stood beside her father’s throne, a lump forming in her throat. Ser Osmund had warned her not to mention it, but she couldn’t ignore the strange feeling she had. Ivy looked at her boots, wringing her hands.

A curious look formed on Magnus’s face, “What is it?”

Ivy took a breath and looked at her father. “Can I show you something?” He nodded his head, and Ivy took a step back around the throne. Her father followed, looking more curious than angry. She pointed down at the base of the throne and said, “I found this earlier today.”

Magnus set down her cloak and fetched a candle off a table. Going to one knee, he searched in the direction Ivy was pointing. The light from the flame illuminated the carved names, and Ivy got down on her knees beside her father. His face had morphed into something she’d never seen. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he sank to the floor, slumped over on his knees.

“Father?” Ivy began. “Are you alright?” He nodded his head, bringing a hand up to stroke his beard. “Who’s Helvarr?” Ivy asked.

Magnus ran his fingers over the carved names, as if they were transporting him back in time.

“I remember the day Helvarr and I felled this tree,” he said, his voice drifting away to the memory. “It was after my father passed, and I took his place as king. I didn’t want to sit on the same throne as my father. Somehow it felt wrong. He ruled this kingdom from that throne for over thirty years. My reign was only beginning, and I thought I needed a throne of my own, so we decided to make one.

“The day was surprisingly warm. Autumn was just beginning, and the leaves were only starting to change color. Helvarr and I saddled up and rode out to the Blackwood Forest in search of the perfect tree. It took most of the day, but we finally came upon the right one. The tree had already started to die as no leaves clung to its branches.

“We took turns with the ax, chopping away at the trunk. The tree finally came loose, and we spent the rest of the afternoon trimming off the top branches. It was his idea to keep the lowest branches attached. ‘You’ll look mighty sitting under its twisted arms,’ he’d said. He suggested I take the rest of the wood and have a throne made for your mother as my wedding gift. She and I were betrothed at the time and were set to marry the following summer. Helvarr and I spent weeks making the perfect throne for my future queen before even starting on mine. He was my oldest friend.”

Ivy dared not speak. Her father seemed far away, sucked back into the memory. Magnus suddenly stood, his legs shaking, and looked at his daughter on the floor. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before this would come to light. I told you I wouldn’t lie to you, and I meant it. So, I’ll tell you about Helvarr.”

They retreated to Ivy’s bedchamber, got a fire going in the hearth, and settled down on her bed. The rest of the night went by in a fog of stories. Magnus told Ivy everything about Helvarr, from them growing up together inside these walls, training to become knights, and fighting alongside one another against the raiders of the South. He told Ivy of the day Helvarr was banished and about the young knight named Roe--what Helvarr had done to her. All she could do was listen and take it in. She felt sorry for her father and what he had to do for the good of his kingdom. A king must make hard sacrifices if they are to rule.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time Magnus was done, turning the world gray outside of Ivy’s window. “You haven’t seen him since that day?”

“Not since that day,” her father repeated. Ivy was silent for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was cold. “This is his fault,” she said.

Magnus looked at her with a furrowed brow and said, “What do you mean?”

She looked up, tears and anger welling in her eyes. “Helvarr,” she snarled. “This is his fault. I’ll never become a knight because of what he did. You made those rules because of him-- because he killed that young girl. He forced your hand and kept a sword from mine. You should’ve killed him.”

Magnus was shocked by her words; he knew in his heart that he could never kill his old friend. He’d known this day would come, and though she may not admit it, Magnus knew Ivy blamed him. It was his decision and his rules that were keeping Ivy from knighthood. They sat for a while, neither one speaking until the fire died away, and the sun greeted them.

Ivy had finally fallen asleep, propped up on her pillows. Magnus slowly got up and drew her curtains closed, then covered his daughter with a fur blanket. He kissed the top of her head and pushed her hair back, looking at her young beauty, a smile forming on his lips. As Magnus opened the door, Ivy called to him.

“Yes?” he said, turning back. Ivy sat propped on one elbow, her face blank. “If I ever meet him... I will kill him.”

Magnus sighed and forced a smile. “I don’t doubt that.” He glanced over to where her sword sat propped against the wall. “What will you name it?” he asked.

Ivy curled her lips into a smile. “Promise,” she said. “My sword’s name is Promise.”