Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [78]
Together they explored the prince’s chambers. They were in a large sitting room, richly furnished. Beyond, they found a bedchamber and a washroom. It was much like her apartments at the palace of ice, though here everything was made of gold and inlaid with jewels. There were books on a footstool near the fireplace, in Norsk and Tysk, and a game of chess was under way on a small table by the windows. In the bedchamber, the lass found a single dark hair on one of the pillows. She wound the hair around the top button of her vest, thinking of how she had saved Tova’s hair the same way.
This sobered her even more than the situation already had. She settled in an armchair in the sitting room with Rollo at her feet. She tried to read one of the books from the footstool, and he dozed lightly. She could tell it was only lightly, because his ears moved to follow the sound of any footsteps in the corridor, no matter how faint.
The gold clock on the mantel was chiming two o’clock when the silver door opened. The lass had been nodding over her book despite her nerves, and now the sound startled her awake. She and Rollo were on their feet in an instant, the book slithering down her skirts to the floor.
A centaur entered the room. Thrown across the horse part of his body was the prince. He was facedown, his arms hanging down one side and his legs on the other.
“Is he dead?” The lass clutched at the front of her vest. Her knees were shaking and she felt her lower lip tremble.
The centaur gave her a strange look, equal parts pity and worry. “No, he’s just . . . asleep.” He paced through the sitting room and into the bedchamber. The lass and Rollo followed. With a small buck and a roll, the centaur flipped the prince off his back and onto the bed. “My lady,” he murmured, bowing. He left.
The lass approached the bed on quiet feet. Rollo stayed by the door to give her privacy. With a shaking hand, she reached out and took hold of the prince’s shoulder.
“Wake up . . . Your Highness,” she said softly.
He didn’t stir.
She shook his shoulder, and said, louder this time, “Wake up, my isbjørn!”
No reaction.
For the next few hours until dawn, the lass and Rollo tried everything to wake the prince. The lass shouted and shook him, Rollo licked his face and even bit his shoulder gently. She pounded on the outer door, begging for help, but no one came. She poured the ewer of water from the washstand over his head, but the prince did not stir. When Princess Indæll came to collect them, the lass was huddled on the bed by his side, clutching his hand and weeping. The princess smiled smugly as the lass gathered up her parka and boots and pack.
“I have something else,” the lass said in a small voice as they crossed the entrance hall. She dropped her pack and fished out the golden carding combs. Taking up the ball of uncarded wool the moster had given her, she demonstrated the technique with shaking hands.
The troll princess was fascinated. Other members of the court gathered around to watch as well, their rancid breath and glowing eyes making her feel faint.
“Come back at sunset,” Princess Indæll ordered after a few minutes. “You shall card the wool fine for me, and then I shall keep the combs. In return you may spend another night in the prince’s chambers.”
Numb, the lass nodded and put away the combs and wool. The cold outside the palace was like a slap in the face. She felt her eyebrows and lashes freeze instantly, the skin on her forehead tightening. Shrugging into her parka, the lass tramped back around the palace to her little cave. She crawled in and fell asleep with her head on Rollo’s flank.
Chapter 30
The next night was much the same. After Princess Indæll and several dozen of her court had watched the lass card the wool into a neat twist, the princess left her in the prince’s chambers. The lass was still reeling from seeing the queen peering at her from the doorway to the ballroom: she was more frightening than her daughter.