Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [91]
They looked. Even Rollo stopped chasing butterflies to study her. Her cheeks were rosy as ever, albeit a bit chapped from the winds. Her hair was coming loose from its braid, and the blue livery she wore was sadly tattered and stained.
Asher began to laugh. He held out his arms, displaying the rents and stains that marred his white wedding finery. He gestured at the lass, who looked just as bad. Rollo shook himself, and dust and fir needles flew out of his coat.
“We’re all a sorry sight,” Asher said. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”
“That’s not true,” the lass said. She was looking down the side of the mountain, where she could see a large black boulder and a fast-flowing stream.
“What is it?”
“You stay here, and don’t you dare look,” she said to Asher. Then, taking Tova by the hand, the lass led her to the stream. “In my pack I have soap and a comb. And in your pack, there are two beautiful bunader.”
While Asher and Rollo tidied themselves as best they could, the two young women laughed and splashed and washed off the dirt of travel in the cold stream. They combed and braided each other’s hair, and then the lass put on Tova’s old everyday clothes, while Tova dressed herself in the wedding bunad.
“Are you sure?” Tova’s voice was barely a whisper as they made their way back up the path to the prince. “Are you sure?”
The lass hugged her again. “Oh, yes. He’s been waiting for you.”
They rejoined Asher and Rollo. Farther down the path they could see a lazy swirl of smoke that came from Jarl Oskarson’s cottage.
“But I don’t have a dowry,” Tova said. “All those years living in a palace of gold and I don’t have a coin to my name.”
“Do you really think that it will matter to Hans Peter?” The lass clucked her tongue. “But if it will reassure you . . .” From her bodice she pulled the string of puce satin pockets. It was so worn that the belt had frayed beyond repair when she took it off to wash. “Not all of the troll’s jewels were illusion.”
Taking one of Tova’s hands, she poured out a king’s ransom in rubies. “Do you hear that whistling? That’s Hans Peter, up on the roof mending the shingles.” She took Tova’s other hand and filled it with pearls. “Take your dowry, and go.”
Tova paused only a moment. Then she pecked the lass on the cheek and raced down the path. The others watched from the top of a small rise as she ran into the clearing in front of the cottage.
Up on the roof, Hans Peter had stopped to peer down at the woman who had just come barreling into the yard. His white hair gleamed in the sun, and his face was ruddy with work.
“Isbjørn, my isbjørn, is that you?” A trickle of rubies ran from between Tova’s fingers and rained down on the packed dirt beside the well. A patter of pearls joined the rubies as she stretched out her hands to him.
With a loud cry Hans Peter slithered off the roof. He was running as soon as his feet hit the ground, and in seconds he had swept Tova up in his arms.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” the lass said, tears running down her face. “He’s finally going to be happy.”
“And what about you?” Asher took her in his arms. “Are you finally going to be happy?”
“I don’t know.” She looked up at him from under her damp lashes. “Am I?”
“Well, I am the lucky third son. So I thought I would take you home, my Princess Bellalyse who can talk to animals, and care for you in fine style in my family’s palace. It’s not made of gold, but it is made of golden stone, and when the sun shines on it, I think it’s beautiful.”
“Anywhere where I can be with my very own isbjørn is good enough for me,” the lass replied.
And the prince who had once been a bear pulled close the girl who had once had no name, and kissed her. Then, arm in arm, they strolled down the path to celebrate with her brother, who had been enchanted himself, and their friend, who had served for ten years in the royal palace of the trolls.
Leaning on a cane, the woodcutter Jarl Oskarson came out of his cottage to see what all the commotion was about. His face glowed with delight to see his eldest son embracing his lost