The prince’s eyebrows shot up. “How?”
“Tova altered the embroidery on his parka. I’ll show you.” She hopped off his lap and hurried into the other room, grabbing her parka off the chair where she had left it. The prince lit more candles in the bedchamber, and studied the embroidered bands closely.
“Ah, very clever. As an isbjørn I couldn’t see details like this very clearly.”
“Why didn’t you look at it in the night?”
“The enchantment. There was very little that I could do as a man, at night. Sleep would come over me quickly. It was all I could do to hide the candles before I slept.” He smiled at her, and her stomach flipped.
“I wish I was strong enough to defeat the trolls and see you safely away.” She remembered and snapped her fingers. “Do you have your parka? Tova can alter it.”
But he was already shaking his head. “It was taken from me as soon as I arrived.”
“There has to be a way,” she insisted. “The winds that brought me here, the old mosters who gave me gifts so that I could get inside, they all hope that I can defeat her. And my brother and Tova. They deserve to be happy.”
“And what of yourself? Don’t you deserve to be happy? Maybe it would be better for you to leave while you still can, so that you, at least, will be free.”
“I couldn’t live with myself, knowing that I had given up,” she said.
He nodded. “And that’s why I love you.”
Her breath caught. “You do?”
“After all those days talking to you about your family, and all those nights lying beside you, listening to you breathe . . . how could I not?”
They kissed again.
A knock and a cough from the open door to the sitting room separated them. Tova stood there, smiling with a wistful light in her blue eyes. “Hello?”
“Hello!” Embarrassed, the lass jumped to her feet.
“Tova?” The prince got to his feet with much more grace, but the lass was glad to see that he was blushing. “As you can see, I took your advice about the wine.”
“Excellent, Your Highness. I just hope that Indæll didn’t notice that you didn’t drink.”
“She didn’t.” He shook his head. “I kept emptying my goblet into a large vase at the back of the dais. Or I spilled it, pretending that it was already taking effect.”
“Bravo!” Tova clapped. She took a needle and thread out of the pocket of her apron and held them high. “I’ll see what I can do to help.”
But the lass and the prince shook their heads in unison. “The only thing I have from my time as an isbjørn is this,” he said. He went to a chest and opened it. With a flourish, he drew out the soft linen nightshirt. On one shoulder was a yellow tallow stain. “Is there anything we can do with this?”
Tova’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know how to cast an enchantment, only alter one that already works.”
The lass couldn’t take her eyes off that stain. It loomed in her gaze, reminding her of that night: the smell of the herbs in the candle, the warmth of the bedchamber, the golden glow falling over the prince’s face. She thought of the palace of ice and the carvings there that she had pored over, looking for an answer.
“Oh. Oh, oh, oh!” She snapped her fingers to interrupt the prince and Tova, who were talking now about the possibility of the lass escaping alone.
“What is it?” The prince turned. “What’s wrong?”
“Troll weddings!” That was all the lass could think to say for a moment. In her mind she ran over everything she remembered from a certain pillar in the great hall of the ice palace. “Trolls can’t create with their hands!”
“That’s right,” the prince said, puzzled.
“Can they make things clean?” The lass looked to Tova for the answer. “There were washboards in the ice palace. And I thought I saw a copper washtub here.”
“You’re right,” Tova agreed. “But I don’t understand what this has to do with weddings. . . .”
“I deciphered a description of a wedding on a pillar at the ice palace,” the lass explained. “As part of the ceremony, the bride and groom ask each other to prove their suitability. The bride asked the groom to “provide for her,” so he slaughtered a bull. And he asked her to always be beautiful, or something like that, and she did a spell that made her beautiful, or more beautiful. I think it was the troll queen, and her consort.”
The prince had caught her line of thought. “What should I ask her for? Should I ask her to release me?”
“She won’t do that,” Tova interjected. “I’m sure every one of her husbands has asked for that.”
“Ask her to do something that she can’t do,” the lass said. “If she can’t do what you ask, the marriage is invalid.” She pointed at the nightshirt, still gripped in the prince’s hands. “Ask her to wash this clean.”
“The princess does not like to lose,” Tova warned. “Neither does the queen.”
“But trolls are bound when they make a bargain,” the lass countered. She turned to the prince. “You have to make her promise that she will do what you ask, or let you go. Then ask her to wash it.”
Slowly the prince nodded. “It just might work.”
Tova gave the lass an appreciative look. “It’s a better plan than I can think of. But you had better be ready to run. There’s no guarantee Her Highness won’t take out her anger on you.”
“That’s true.” The lass sighed. “I’d like to be there to watch, but I should probably be waiting outside instead.” She clenched her fists. “And we’ll have to find a way to free you, too.”
Tova just shook her head and gave the lass a sad smile. “It will be worth it, just to see her lose another one.”
“Yes, lass, you must wait on the shore,” the prince said. He cast the nightshirt aside and came over to take her hands. “Stand on the shore and look to the south. If you feel the faintest breeze, call out to it.”
Tova caught sight of the clock on the mantel and made a face. “I’d best get back. The princess might send for me.”
She hugged them both and Rollo. Then Rollo, too, excused himself to go and lie by the fire in the sitting room. With one hind leg, he kicked the bedchamber door closed behind him.
“He always did enjoy the sitting room fire,” the prince said.
“Yes, he’s very lazy,” the lass agreed, looking down at her hands awkwardly. They were alone together, in a bedchamber, and there was no enchanted sleep to overcome them now.
“You’re very—”
“I just realized—”
They both laughed. “You go first,” the prince said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and scuffed his feet on the rug nervously.
“I just realized,” the lass repeated, “that I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh.” He screwed up his face and laughed. “Sorry. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually. My mother, rather like yours, was fond of old stories. I’m a prince, but I’m not the first son. I’m the third.”
The lass groaned. “Don’t say your name is Askeladden, please!”
“Close enough: it’s Asher. My father thought Askeladden too foolish and romantic. And there was always the chance that something might happen to my brothers and I would be king. King Askeladden was just too much for him. Even for my mother, really.
“Of course, we should both be grateful for her silly stories, or we never would have met.”
“What?” Feeling more comfortable, the lass sat beside him on the bed. “Why?”
“We heard tales, even in Christiania, of a girl in the forests who could speak to animals. Mother was all agog over them. That’s why I sought you out. I thought that if I could talk to you as a bear, I would be able to tell you what was happening. I couldn’t, but all the same I’m glad it was you I found.”
“Me too.” The lass put one hand over his. “Maybe now that my brother and mother live in Christiania, we’ll be able to see each other again, once we get you home.”
??
?What do you mean?” He drew back, frowning. “Of course we’ll see each other, we’ll—”
She shook her head, guessing what he was about to say. “You’re a prince. A prince of my own country! I know what that means. You will marry a fine lady. And if I am lucky, I will marry a farmer or a woodcutter like my father. Askel has designs on marrying me to one of his wealthy city friends, but I’m not sure that I would care for that.”
Now it was the prince’s turn to shake his head. “No, no! I could never just let you go, after you’d saved me! And besides . . . I do love you.” He put his arms around her and kissed her tenderly.
Tears leaked from the corners of the lass’s eyes. This was beyond her imagining. Not the trolls, not the isbjørner, for all that it was the stuff of fairy tales come true. But that someone—a prince!—could love a woodcutter’s daughter whose mother hadn’t even loved her enough to give her a name.
“Would you—would you like to know my name?”
He pulled back and gazed at her in astonishment. “I thought that you didn’t have one.” Then he blushed. “Of course, you should have one.”
“I can speak with animals because I caught the white reindeer. It gave me a name, but I have never told anyone what it is.”
Asher raised both her hands and kissed them. “I would be honored,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
Leaning in close, she breathed her name in his ear.
“That’s the most beautiful name I have ever heard,” he told her, holding her tight to his chest. “Thank you, Bellalyse.”
Chapter 32
Of course, the lass thought the next morning, since trolls can only destroy, they should have known that the princess would ruin their plans. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, and she wanted to spit. It wouldn’t be fair to make the poor, captive servants clean up after her, so she just grimaced instead.
“Now, now,” Princess Indæll clucked at her, waving a beringed hand, “no need to look so sour. You’ll spoil the effect!” She stepped back to survey her handiwork.
The lass and Tova stood side by side in the princess’s dressing room. When she had arrived at Asher’s rooms that morning, the troll princess had not allowed the lass to leave. Instead Indæll had insisted, with an icy smile, that the lass attend her at the wedding. Now the lass was clad in a gown of green satin, and Tova in a gown of blue. Rollo had even been forced, protesting, into a tub. His gray fur had been brushed out and there was a green ribbon around his neck, tied in a huge bow behind his head.
“I have never had human bridesmaids before,” the troll princess said. “I shall be the envy of every lady of the court!”
“I’m sure that your highness is already the envy of all who see her,” Tova said, bobbing a curtsy.
The lass gave her a look.
“Habit,” Tova whispered out of the side of her mouth.
Now the princess looked at the lass, who gritted her teeth, curtsied, and murmured something she hoped sounded like a compliment. It seemed to satisfy Indæll, and she went back to admiring herself in the huge mirror that covered the far wall.
For her wedding, the troll princess was attired in a gown of white satin. The shift underneath it was cloth of gold, and the bodice of the gown was thick with rubies and pearls. Her red hair was pomaded and curled and arranged to show off the heavy ruby-encrusted crown she wore. There was rouge on her cheeks, clashing oddly with her greenish gray skin, and her purple tongue kept peeping out to lick at the pink color slathered on her lips.
“I think I might be sick,” the lass whispered to Tova.
“I heard that,” the princess snapped, whirling. “If either of you do anything to ruin my wedding, I will hang you both by your thumbs from the highest tower!”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Tova curtsied.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The lass followed suit.
“Good.”
There was a soft tap on the door. “If Your Highness is ready, the court is waiting below,” a faun footman said.
“Is my prince ready?”
“He is, my princess.”
Indæll smirked at the lass. “Oh, good.”
Tova sidled closer to the lass. Using their full skirts as concealment, she took the younger woman’s hand in her own. The lass squeezed Tova’s hand. It was all she could do to keep herself from lunging at the troll princess and strangling her with one of the ropes of pearls the vain creature wore.
Princess Indæll’s smile widened, as though she guessed the lass’s thoughts. She stood and snapped her fingers. The pixies who had dressed her flew forward, bearing a heavy cloak. It was scarlet satin, lined with isbjørn fur. The lass clenched her jaw at the sight, wondering if the cloak was made from one of the princess’s former husbands. Seeing her look, the princess stroked the fur before gesturing for the pixies to drape it across her broad shoulders.
Indæll swept out of her dressing room with the pixies trailing her to hold up the edges of the cloak. The lass and Tova followed, and after them came various female creatures in livery. In the corridor they were joined by a dozen hideous troll maidens dressed in extravagant silks and velvets, draped with jewels and all atwitter over the wedding. They paraded through the palace to the grand ballroom for the marriage of the troll princess to her human prince.
The ballroom was hung with long banners bearing the isbjørn and jagged sword symbol of the trolls. Musicians played their strange music in a high gallery opposite the dais. On the dais stood the troll queen, her yellow curls shining, dressed in a blue gown trimmed with isbjørn fur and embellished with diamonds and silver embroidery. She held out her arms to her daughter, who strode through the crowd and embraced her mother. The lass and Tova took up positions on one side of the dais, and all turned to wait for the prince.
He marched in with a dozen young male trolls. It wasn’t clear whether they were his attendants or his guards; probably both. He wore a white tunic and scarlet cloak, and on his head was a circlet of gold.
Prince Asher took his place beside the troll princess on the dais, not looking at the lass or Tova. The lass’s heart squeezed at the nearness of him, and his apparent indifference, but she told herself that it was only an act. The bridal pair clasped hands and turned to face the queen. They made a ridiculous couple: the troll with her long nose and bulging eyes, standing head and shoulders above her young, handsome bridegroom.
The troll queen raised her arms. “Our people, rejoice! After languishing alone for a dozen years, our beloved princess, the beauteous Indæll, has at last found a prince worthy of her!”
Monstrous howls rose from the troll court. They stamped and slapped their huge hands together in awful cacophony. Or at least, most of them did. The lass noticed that those trolls who were clad in skins and moss only scowled.
“And now, in the sight of those assembled, the most magnificent of our magnificent race, I shall join these two together.” The troll queen placed her hands atop the clasped hands of the prince and princess. “In the manner of our people you shall be joined together until one of you shall pass into the darkness below,” she intoned. “Until that dark day, Prince Asher of the humans, what do you offer Princess Indæll?”
“I offer all that I can offer: myself, until the day I pass into the darkness below,” the prince said in a monotone. “I shall protect her honor where it is challenged. I shall love her, and worship her, and submit to her until the end of my days.” It was plain that he was reciting a memorized speech.
There were more howls from the trolls, though the lass noticed that these were not as hearty. A few appeared bored, and the grim, old-fashioned trolls scowled even worse. Perhaps this was the speech required of all the princess’s husbands over the years.
“And now, Princess Indæll of the lands of ice and snow, what do you offer to Prince Asher?”
“I shall be a good wife, and shall love and cherish him all his days,” she simpered.
The lass shuddered, hearing the emphasis on “his days.”
The princess, and everyone here, knew that she would long outlive Asher, but it bothered none of them. Well, none of the trolls, at least. The prince’s jaw tightened, and Tova clasped the lass’s hand again.
“But as an assurance of her wifely skills,” Asher said, “I wish for my bride to perform a task for me.”
The whole room froze. The lass felt cold sweat trickling down her spine beneath her satin gown. Then the trolls began to babble in low voices. It seemed that this had never happened before.
The prince lifted his hand and a centaur pushed through the crowd of watching trolls. It was the same centaur who had carried Asher to bed. He held a copper washtub full of water, and there was a small basket hanging from one elbow. With a flourish and a bow, he set his burdens down on the dais.
“Even when there are servants to do such work, a good wife should be able to wash her husband’s shirts as a gesture of fidelity,” the prince announced. “Or so it is said among my people.”
Tova snorted softly, and the lass gave her hand a little squeeze in reply. If this “saying” had been true, there were many wives who would have been judged poorly by their neighbors.
“He’s ruining the ceremony,” a large troll in a pink satin waistcoat shouted. There were murmurs of agreement.
“It is tradition, or have you forgotten that too?” one of the fur-bedecked trolls shouted back. “Go on, human!”
Asher continued: “I have here a fine nightshirt of which I am quite fond. Tallow has been spilled on the shoulder. If Her Highness would be so kind as to scrub it clean for me, without magic, it will prove to me that she is a good wife.”
“But I have never done such a common task,” Princess Indæll protested. “Surely there is some other boon you will ask? I would be pleased to perform magic for you.” She gestured, and a diamond ring appeared in her hands. She proudly held it out to the prince.
He took it and slipped it on one finger as if it was of no great consequence. Turning to the old-fashioned troll who had shouted for him to “go on,” Asher said, “Is it not your custom to grant the first request made?”