Astrid

Nobody has seen Bayorn for two days. Imogen tells me that he has stationed himself outside Kieran’s chambers, should the Prince be in need of him. During the transformations at night, Bayorn had chosen to remain outside the dungeons.

“The Master’s situation may be delicate,” Imogen reasons over breakfast three days later. That is the way, it seems, with these people: though they have lived under this enchantment for over a century, they are never truly sure of its effects.

Bayorn’s absence has dulled the lighting in our days. Eli, especially, suffers from the effects of the temporary loss of his friend.

So when I ask, “Shall we go riding on the grounds today?”, the boy’s expression instantly perks.

Though sometimes an invisible stable boy grooms the horses, Bayorn and Imogen usually visit the stables to make sure they are comfortable. There are only three horses in the stables: Bayorn’s, mine and the temperamental one that stands in the stall at the far end.

When we arrive at the stables, Eli immediately runs towards the last horse.

“Look at her, Mama,” he gazes up at it in awe. We join the boy and look up at the creature, her coat and mane black as night itself.

She is, in truth, majestic. There is something about the way she breathes, the way she supports herself with the strength of her defined muscles. When she carries her head high and acknowledges us, I catch the wild gleam in her eyes.

She knows she belongs to royalty.

“The Master’s horse does not like being surrounded like this,” Imogen tells us, coaxing us to step back.

“Does she have a name?” I ask.

“She does,” she says, reaching up in an unrushed movement. The creature snorts and kicks its front hooves against the ground, but she silences her with a gentle word: “Valkyrie.”

Valkyrie’s focus latches onto my face. For a split second I am drawn to her, drawn to the strength and confidence she exudes. Drawn to her beauty.

I step forward and raise my hand.

She watches me in silence. Imogen removes her hands and retreats very slightly, watching for a slight shift in the horse’s temperament. I do, too. I look at the creature but not into her eyes.

Slowly, my fingers brush against the bridge of her nose. Her nose flicks but she remains perfectly still. I hum a string of assurances like a lullaby, the same way I usually do with Alfeir.

“She likes you,” Imogen remarks in amazement.

Something warm stirs in my chest and spreads to my collarbones. For the first time in days, the grin that springs to my face is genuine.

Imogen suddenly clears her throat. I remember myself and relinquish my touch, stepping away again.

She shoots me an apologetic glance and says, “The Master does not like it when others meddle with his creature.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Someday, I want to be able to ride a horse of her caliber, Mama,” Eli interrupts, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly.

“And someday you might. But first, you must learn the basics with a creature of more discipline.”

We all turn at the sound of Bayorn’s voice. He stands leaning against a wooden beam, arms folded and smiling faintly. Eli exclaims in delight and runs towards him to be picked up and spun in the air.

Beside me, Imogen chuckles fondly.

“Will you teach me to ride?” Eli requests.

“Oh, no. Let him rest,” Imogen says. “You and I can take a spin on Lumiere, can we not?”

She looks to Bayorn, who nods in assent. I watch in silence as he fixes a saddle over his own horse and helps Imogen and Eli onto the creature. Unlike Valkyrie, Lumiere is placid in the presence of other people and trots out of the stables at a tame speed.

I take this opportunity to brush Alfeir down. He whinnies in delight at the sight of me, and I allow him to press his muzzle into the side of my neck. For a split second I breathe in and remember the scent of home.

Before the lump fully forms in my throat, I swallow it down. I turn my attention to Bayorn instead.

“You look exhausted, sir. Are you feeling well?”

“Well enough, my lady. May I assist you?”

I nod. He picks up another brush and moves to brush Alfeir on the other side. When he pauses to feed my friend an apple, my approval of him grows immeasurably. I watch the ghosts of smile lines fade into the skin around his eyes and mouth – the only tells of time on his otherwise unaged features.

“You saved thousands of lives in over a hundred years and have never once gotten any thanks,” I say.

He does not look at me when he strokes Alfeir’s nozzle. “Preserving the lives of others is less a charity than it is a duty to humanity. I do not see why I should get any thanks for that.”

“True. But the effort still warrants gratitude.”

Bayorn pauses. He casts his gaze to the ground.

“Perhaps the lack of acknowledgement will someday atone for all the lives I’ve failed.”

My hand halts. I cannot see his eyes, but the gravity in his tone is unmistakable. The guilt. The burden of a thousand losses, stretched over an eternity’s worth of reflection.

Finally I see who stands before me: the immovable soldier, the only guard standing between the wrath of Lady Selaena and the rest of the world.

I step away from Alfeir and approach him. He finally brings his eyes up to meet mine.

“One of the greatest weaknesses of the human being is that we lack jurisdiction over the things we wish most to control,” I say gently, recalling the times I used to sing my mother’s lullaby to her as she drifted in and out of disturbed sleep. “But you cannot live your life regretting this. You may not have saved them all, but you have saved some, have you not?”

His returned half-smile lacks humor, but his eyes have softened. Reaching up with his free hand, he deliberates before settling it upon my arm.

“In one year, Lady Astrid, I pray our efforts will finally cease.”

There is a rap against the door while I read under the light of a lamp that hovers mid-air above my head. As usual, I’m perched comfortably by the alcove in my bedroom. I glance up at the hands on the ticking clock.

Four hours before midnight.

“Come in,” I say.

The door opens and shuts. I pretend to be unaffected by his repeated presence. When he sits across from me and leans against the window frame, I keep my eyes trailed on the words in my book.

“Read to me?” It is not an order.

I do. I read a whole page about a boy’s little toys’ adventures in a very big forest before he chuckles softly.

“What?” I demand, looking up from the page.

“Nothing,” Kieran says, still smiling. “It’s just...strange that you’re reading from a children’s storybook.”

“I have never seen this title anywhere before. Where did you obtain it?”

There is a cryptic shift in his expression. He glances out the window and shrugs. “Another world.”

“Your attempts at humor just get weaker and weaker by the moment,” I narrow my eyes at him. “May I be of service to you?”

He is dressed in the same strange robe. It barely escapes my notice that there are dark stains on the collars and sleeves: dried blood. I am too afraid to make any inquiries.

“I’m going to try again,” is all he says.

It is all I need to hear.

I sit up and set the book down in my silk-covered lap. “You will? What will you do?”

He looks reluctant to tell me, but he does anyway: “Lady Selaena gave me a...an enchanted mirror many years ago. To help me, apparently. I used the mirror in the earlier years to… er, make attempts at breaking the curse.”

Enchanted mirror. I know exactly which mirror he speaks of.

“So you use the mirror to talk to women?”

“Er, not quite. It takes me places. So for an hour I am able to go wherever I please, to meet whomever I want to meet – and sometimes, if all went well, some of them agreed to stay in the castle for a few days.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Hugging my knees to my chest, I ask, “What happened then?”

“It never really worked out with those who never stayed in the castle. Two women stayed with us. It…” he averts his eyes to the floor on my right. “It didn’t end well.”

“Were they harmed?”

He nods mutely. “One survived and begged to return home, so I let her. The other...she didn’t heed my warnings and found the dungeons one night. She was too curious for her own good.”

“I’m assuming they were never briefed about your delicate condition.”

“Nope.”

I try to ignore the grim undertone to this conversational discussion in order to remain focused on the main objective. Still, one disturbing thought persists like an itch to be scratched.

My voice comes out small: “And still you kept me in the castle?”

His eyes dart up to meet mine. His lips part slightly, almost as if he takes offence in my allegation.

“Astrid, I can assure you that every second of the day, every possible measure is taken to ensure your safety. As far as I was conscious of my decisions, I never would have allowed you – or your father – to remain in this castle for more than a second if it were not certain that you would be unharmed.”

The passion in his eyes prove the genuine truth behind his words. Almost instantly, the queasy feeling in my stomach dissolves.

I tear my gaze away from his to glance at my lap.

“Did you ever come close to breaking the curse?”

He looks out the window and inhales deeply. An unspoken sadness is reflected in the moonlight upon his pale irises. Just as I’d seen it in Bayorn, I see it now in Kieran: the burden of time.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says.

The sound of the crackling fire fills the silence that ensues between us. Kieran clenches his jaws and winces at an internal pain. But before I can inquire about his physical state, he turns his attention to me again.

The sadness is gone. Masked again.

“Please know that I never intended for you to stay away from your home for any longer than a month, Astrid. I just…” he frowns, trying to find the words. “I just thought…”

“I know.”

Barely conscious of my movement, my hand extends and rests upon his knee. He flinches in surprise, so I only let my touch linger for a second before retracting my hand.

Kieran clears his throat. Rising to his feet, he tells me, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” I repeat.

“And, Astrid?”

I wait.

“You may use my horse if you find that yours needs his rest. It’s not like you’ve ever asked for my permission for anything, anyway.”

Despite the gloom that clings to the air and settles upon the furniture like unseen dust, we both crack faint smiles at each other.