The frost and the flame, p.1
The Frost and the Flame, page 1
THE FROST AND THE FLAME
C. J. BRIGHTLEY
CONTENTS
Also by C. J. Brightley
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
An Unwelcome Assignment
Chapter 2
An Unexpected Invitation
Chapter 3
A Long, Dark Walk
Chapter 4
An Audience
Chapter 5
The Security Specialist
Chapter 6
The Fair Ambassador
Chapter 7
Counsel to a King
Chapter 8
A Series of Frustrating Conversations
Chapter 9
A Gift of Moss
Chapter 10
The Inconvenience of Drowning
Chapter 11
A Pleasant Hope
Chapter 12
An Onerous Demand
Chapter 13
Returning Home
Chapter 14
A Promise Fulfilled
Chapter 15
The Fury of a King
Chapter 16
A Horrifying Revelation
Chapter 17
Guilt and Shame
Chapter 18
Collateral Damage
Chapter 19
A Desperate Flight
Chapter 20
Much-Needed Help
Chapter 21
Courage and Compassion
Chapter 22
A Fair Lord Undone
Chapter 23
A House of Respite
Chapter 24
The Beginning of a Plan
Chapter 25
An Early Departure
Chapter 26
Making an Entrance
Chapter 27
More Uncomfortable Conversations
Chapter 28
Advice and Encouragement
Chapter 29
Overton Hospitality and Lord Willowvale’s Letter
Chapter 30
Reassurance
Chapter 31
Meadowhawk’s Encouragement
Chapter 32
Lord Willowvale’s Strategy
Chapter 33
Charity
Chapter 34
The Fair Delegation Departs
Chapter 35
An Unexpected Apology
Chapter 36
Lord Willowvale’s Generosity
Chapter 37
Home
Chapter 38
The Sword Maker’s Shop
Chapter 39
Miss Berrydell At Home
Chapter 40
A Wedding Gift
Chapter 41
Beauty and Honor
Chapter 42
The Grace of A Child
Chapter 43
Perseverance in Generosity
Chapter 44
The Selby Wedding
Chapter 45
The Wraith’s Magic
Chapter 46
A Surprising Encounter
Chapter 47
A Reflection
Chapter 48
Too Kind
Chapter 49
To Influence a King
Chapter 50
Heartache
Chapter 51
A New Friend
Chapter 52
The Mosswing Wedding
Chapter 53
Continued Success
Chapter 54
Spring Blooms
Chapter 55
A Humble Question
Chapter 56
Absolute Joy
Afterword
About the Author
Sneak Peek
ALSO BY C. J. BRIGHTLEY
Erdemen Honor:
The King’s Sword
A Cold Wind
Honor’s Heir
A Long-Forgotten Song:
Things Unseen
The Dragon’s Tongue
The Beginning of Wisdom
Fairy King:
A Fairy King
A Fairy Promise
The Wraith:
The Wraith and the Rose
The Shield and the Thorn
Other Works:
The Lord of Dreams
Twelve Days of (Faerie) Christmas
Heroes and Other Stories
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE FROST AND THE FLAME. Copyright 2022 by C. J. Brightley. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information contact info@cjbrightley.com.
Paperback ISBN 9781954768055
Hardback ISBN 9781954768086
Ebook ISBN 9781005427788
Ebook ASIN B0B1QXCNCZ
Published in the United States of America by Spring Song Press, LLC.
www.cjbrightley.com
Cover design by Kerry Jesberger of Aero Gallerie.
For my delightfully wonderful children,
Natalie and Timothy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, thank you, thank you! Sarah, Constance, Janice, and Suebee, thank you for all your helpful comments and encouragement. I am so thankful to be surrounded by such kind, generous, wonderful friends.
The Frost and the Flame, in addition to being an homage to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, also includes an homage to several sections of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables in the last chapter. These are some of my favorite works of literature, and I am delighted to have been able to incorporate elements of these great authors’ words into my own book.
CHAPTER 1
AN UNWELCOME ASSIGNMENT
One of the servants knocked on the doorframe and said, “A note from His Majesty, my lord.”
At Lord Ash Willowvale’s curt nod, the servant bowed and stepped quietly into the study to proffer the paper, then retreated to the hallway.
The letter bore the seal of His Majesty Silverthorn, and the crown of silver thorns impressed into the wax glittered with magic.
Lord Willowvale snapped the seal open and read:
There has been no word from Brookbower’s delegation in nearly three months. Extract them safely if you can. Leave immediately.
HM Silverthorn
The Fair lord sighed and tapped the edge of the letter against his leg as he thought. Finally he took up the quill and wrote his reply.
Your Majesty,
My Arichtan is lamentably out of practice. Also, I promised Overton I would have tea with him tomorrow. Is there no one better suited to the task?
Willowvale
He sealed it and flicked his fingers just so, signaling the magic of the house that he wished a servant to attend him immediately.
“Yes, my lord?” The same servant, Alyssum, stood in the doorway.
“Deliver this to His Majesty.”
Alyssum bowed and hurried off.
Willowvale sighed and crossed his arms. He slouched far down in his chair and leaned his head back with his eyes closed in an uncharacteristically vulnerable display of weariness. He did not want to go to Aricht. He did not, in fact, want to interact with anyone at the moment, especially not the snide Lord Brookbower, Marquess of Stormfield Heights. Certainly not the Arichtan court, which had every reason to be furious with the Fair Court, and, whether they knew it or not, with Willowvale himself.
He wanted nothing more than to stare at the glowing embers in the fireplace and eat dinner in silence and solitude.
Alyssum’s knock on the doorframe came only five minutes later, when Willowvale had almost, but not quite, admitted to himself that he was looking forward to tea tomorrow with Theo Overton. The thought of a friend was not merely strange, but nearly unbelievable, and among both Fair Folk and humans, few people had more reason to dislike him than Overton did.
Nevertheless, tomorrow would be his fourth tea at the Overton manor in as many weeks, and Overton’s invitation had been as sparklingly kind and inexplicably warm as ever.
At Willowvale’s steady, pale gaze, Alyssum bowed and said, “He requires your presence at once, my lord.”
The Fair lord hissed under his breath and stood. Two minutes later, he had buttoned a gorgeous silvery blue coat that set off his pale blue eyes and silver hair and began the short walk to the palace.
The servant who opened the door to him bowed and escorted him directly to the king’s study, for Willowvale was a frequent visitor to the palace. His position at court required him to meet often with the king, and their long acquaintance, if not friendship, was the closest of which Willowvale had ever been able to boast. If they were not friends, they were at least colleagues, of a sort. Willowvale had never desired the throne itself, and his loyalty to the Fair Lands was unassailable; both these qualities had made him one of the few Fair lords the king had trusted throughout the crisis so recently brought to a close. Of course the king’s word was law, and Willowvale was hardly equal to that, but he had influenced the king’s decisions more than once with a quiet word or a thoughtful analysis.
With only a cursory bow, Willowvale faced his king. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
His Majesty Silverthorn gestured at the seat opposite him. “Sit.” The king raised a glass of golden Fair wine, full of rich bubbling magic like the memory of sunlight. One of the servants poured Willowvale a similar glass.
The king stared at the Fair lord with narrowed eyes. “If Aricht thinks to punish Brookbower for the children, we will be forced to war again,” he said at last.
Willowvale stared resentfully at the golden wine in his cup.
Silverthorn sighed and leaned forward. “There is no one else, Willowvale. I cannot trust Camphor or Aspen not to start a war while they’re there, and Larch was the only other lord skilled enough with the veil to get there and back. If Brookbower is yet alive, he ought to be debriefed. It is long past time to recall him.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Willowvale muttered.
The king’s violet eyes rested on Willowvale’s face with an odd intensity. “You were looking forward to tea with Overton.”
Willowvale jerked one shoulder in a shrug. “He is amusing.”
Silverthorn tilted his head. “Far be it from me to insist that you break a promise,” he said mildly. “If you have promised him you will take tea with him, you ought to keep your word. Depart for Aricht after tea. Is it more efficient to travel to Aricht in the human world or through the veil?”
A strange sort of tension began to relax in Willowvale’s shoulders. He swallowed. “The veil ought to be faster, but I doubt I have the skill to use it so. I will decide after tea. Perhaps it will be easier to tell from Overton’s estate.”
Silverthorn’s eyes glinted with cool amusement. “He has not come to speak with me yet. Remind him of his position here, and my desire to converse with him.”
Willowvale took a sip of his wine, finding it sweet and fresh, lighter than any human wine, and much preferable even to the very best he had tasted in Valestria. “I will.”
Silverthorn sat back and sighed in satisfaction. “Even if there were another, I would still send you.” At Willowvale’s cold, steady look, the king said, “You are skilled at dealing with humans.”
The Fair lord choked on his wine. He set down the cup, spilling a little, and doubled over as he coughed. Finally, flushed and breathless, he straightened to stare at the king.
Silverthorn blinked once and said, “Do you not agree?”
“I think you overestimate my competence in this matter, Your Majesty.”
The king smiled slowly, sharp white teeth glinting, and said, “I hope not, Willowvale.”
Snow drifted lazily down from the iron gray sky as Willowvale stalked back to his manor. It crunched beneath his boots and glinted upon his white curls. When he stepped inside, he let Alyssum take his coat and brushed the snow irritably from his hair.
“Pack me a bag for tomorrow. I’ll be in the human world for a week or more.”
“Yes, my lord. Who will attend you?”
“I’ll go alone.” It would be irritating to procure his own meals and lodging in Aricht, but the solitude would make the trouble worthwhile. Besides, it would be easier to extract Brookbower and the rest of his delegation by force, if necessary, without the additional logistical concerns of servants.
In the kitchen, Alyssum and Hemlock prepared a week’s worth of food and drink, enchanting each meal so that it would be hot and fresh when Willowvale activated the magic. Tansy packed a week of clothes, which would be easily extended to last months, given the Fair lord’s facility with both glamour, to change the appearance of the clothes, and the minor magic of freshening cloth without need of washing.
Willowvale sat before the fire with a cup of steaming butterscotch and vanilla tea, a gift from Theo Overton, and examined the record of Lord Linden Brookbower’s diplomatic dispatches to the Fair throne. The last note had come by way of the Marquess Camphor, who had personally obtained the last two children from Aricht before… well, before that effort had been brought to a dramatic close by Theo Overton’s confrontation with His Majesty Oak Silverthorn.
Anti-Fair sentiment grows by the day, and I fear we will be forced to war again, if some solution other than that currently being pursued cannot be devised. If the children’s dancing is not effective, shall I pursue another option here? I await your direction.
With all due respect,
Linden Brookbower, Marquess in the Fair Lands
The delegation consisted of Brookbower himself, one personal servant named Cyprus Hawksbane, two administrative assistants named Cricket Fallingwater and Bramble Tarragon, and the security and intelligence specialist, Astrantia Berrydell.
Willowvale wrinkled his nose in disgust. Berrydell must be related to his aunt, Lady Orchid Berrydell, a most detestable Fair lady. She was even richer than Willowvale himself, though her connection to the king was only distant, and she would not dare approach the king to give her opinion as Willowvale did. Lady Orchid had assumed some five years before that, since Willowvale was yet unmarried, he must by all logic be waiting for her daughter Miss Dewdrop Berrydell to come of age.
If Willowvale had intended to marry, he could certainly have done worse than Miss Berrydell, for the young lady was beautiful and accomplished, as young Fair maidens of her status were expected to be. However, she had long since learned the subtle art of making snide insults with a straight face and wide, innocent eyes. How could she not learn this, after spending time with Lady Orchid?
Anyway, Willowvale had never intended to marry Miss Berrydell or anyone else. He was by nature solitary, and though he would not have admitted it, he had long known himself to be bitter and cold. Yet he was not so entirely remorseless that he wished to inflict his bitterness upon some otherwise happy maiden, to thereby ruin her life as well.
Miss Berrydell’s assumption of her right to his name and money, bolstered by her mother’s assumption of the same, had soured him not only on the idea of marriage to her, but any remaining hopes of marriage at all.
Still, this Miss Berrydell was not that Miss Berrydell. He felt a faint twinge of interest in Miss Astrantia Berrydell, for what sort of Berrydell would lower herself to work in the diplomatic delegation staff? Only the Ambassador himself held a position of respect within the Fair Court; the staff was only one step above the servants. Still, she must be competent, for Brookbower’s security detail was an assignment of some responsibility. It was not so long since Aricht and the Fair Court had been at war.
Willowvale spread the map of the human world across the table and frowned. Ardmond, the Valestrian capital, was just over two hundred fifty miles from the Arichtan capital, Idosa. It would take well over a week to get there by land. Overton’s manor was several miles outside of Ardmond in the opposite direction. Perhaps it would be easier to find the way through the veil after all.
He hated the veil. In recent weeks, when he had traveled to and from the Overton manor for tea, it had not made any serious attempts to kill him, and that was both reassuring and slightly terrifying, because the veil seemed to particularly enjoy catching him by surprise. This relatively peaceful interlude seemed likely to merely presage a more frightening, more painful, and possibly successful attempt when he had been lulled into complacency.
He flicked his fingers to call Alyssum, and when the servant appeared in the doorway a moment later, he said, “Make it two weeks of food.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon and evening reading the accumulated dispatches from Brookbower describing the politics of the Arichtan court and the profiles of the Arichtan royalty and courtiers. Over dinner, which he took in the Iris Room, resplendent with irises of all shades and boasting a little pond with brilliant gold and indigo fish, he formulated his plan for his discussion with the Arichtan throne.
