Blinding Beauty (31 page)

As soon as she was through, Isa
came to another flight of stairs. These stairs led up to a tower
that was much like the that of the Annals at home. This staircase,
however, was much, much steeper, and the glass walls were no longer
opaque, but perfectly clear. So clear, in fact, that Isa nearly
screamed.

For the first time, she could see
the castle in its entirety. The whole structure was indeed made of
glass, and it was balanced atop a single island in the center of a
mountain range that encircled them entirely. Between the castle and
each monstrous mountain was a gorge so deep that the bottom was
completely hidden from sight. The only way to reach the mountains
on the other side of the gorge was to cross a thin glass bridge
that spanned the chasm. It must have been nearly as long as the
castle was wide. The bridge might have been quite sturdy itself,
but over the deep, black chasm, it looked brittle, as though the
wind might smash it to pieces at any moment.

When Isa looked up instead of
down, she found herself staring at the jagged, snowcapped peaks.
Their height made her dizzy, and the brightness of the snow in the
sun made her nearly blind. It all made Isa want to suddenly lie on
the floor, clinging to it with all her might, never to move again.
Only the incessant sting of the glass gave her the ability to begin
slowly climbing the steps that were as transparent as air
itself.

Finally, after what seemed like an
eternal death march, Isa came to a door in the sky. One more room
sat upon the tallest tower. Like her own room, this one had frosted
walls, but they were a rich blue. Cautiously, Isa gently pushed the
door. This one, to her relief, opened immediately.

Suddenly feeling exposed as she
stood between the nearly invisible stairs and the room’s dark,
tapestried walls, Isa practically dove into the room, thankful for
the privacy of its walls. Only when the door was shut and locked
behind her did Isa turn around and truly look at what lay before
her.

A beautiful woman was stretched
out upon the widest bed Isa had ever seen. Her hands were folded
upon her chest, as though she might be taking an afternoon nap.
Hair so yellow it was nearly white lay strewn out around her head,
glorious in its brilliance. Bone-pale skin covered a thin face with
high cheekbones and bloodless lips. Her exotic gown, lined with fur
the way Isa’s borrowed gown was, shimmered sky blue with purple
jewels scattered about it.

She was the most beautiful woman
Isa had ever seen. As Isa began to look around to study the rest of
the room, however, a movement caught her eye. When Isa looked at
the woman once more, her heart nearly stopped.

Isa was not the only one in the
room who was breathing.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

Gift of the
Heart

Isa tried
to imagine who the woman might be, but the urgent sensation that
had brought her here prickled her skin, even though she was no
longer touching any glass with her hands. Instead, the air was
thick with it, archaic power, heavy and hard to breathe.

And Isa suddenly had the
overwhelming urge to touch her.

With a will that wasn’t her own,
Isa stretched out her hand and rested it lightly upon the woman’s
ashen cheek. When she did, the tapestried walls around her began to
fade into oblivion, and instead, she was standing upon the dais of
the throne room below. Courtiers dressed in an exotic fashion
similar to that which hung in Isa’s new wardrobe stood loosely
clustered about the throne. Her gaze rested on the scant assembly
of what looked to be wealthy nobles and several dozen commoners.
Brokk, though much younger, knelt before her.

“
Come, Son,” Isa said, realizing
immediately that though she said it, the voice wasn’t her own. “We
will not speak of this here.” She glanced up at the people milling
about her. There was a sadness in the air, an urgency that Isa
couldn’t understand.

The two of them left the throne
room and walked at a quick pace to a smaller room down a side hall
behind the throne. Isa nearly screamed when six giants encircled
her, two in front, one on each side, and two more behind her, until
she realized they must be her guards. She tried to study them
without looking too obvious.

They almost resembled the ice
sculptures some of the artisans in Destin would create in the town
square every winter. Their movements were surprisingly fluid, and
their steps as light as one of Ever’s personally trained foot
soldiers. Each one stood a full head taller than Launce, though,
and they wore no human clothes, but garments that seemed carved
into their glass bodies. Their opaque, pupil-less eyes seemed to
see everything and nothing at the same time, and each carried a
long, sharp glass scythe, as though it were merely an extension of
its hands. The gleam of the weapons made Isa shudder, and suddenly
wonder if they had disappeared with the spell as well, or if they
still lurked in the shadows unseen.

After walking in silence for a few
minutes, Brokk at her side, chewing his lip and looking very much
as though he might burst, they turned and entered a sunny room made
only of glass windows. Though it shared the southern wall with the
rest of the building, the other three walls and its ceiling were
unfrosted and clear. The walls weren’t smooth either, but made of
many six-sided small panes. Together, they played with the room’s
reflections, some parts of the wall concave while others were
convex. The non-uniformity was strange and beautiful.

The room itself was nearly the
size of Isa and Ever’s sleeping chamber at home, but it was stuffed
so full of plants and tables and growing tools that one could
scarcely move without knocking something over. And it smelled of
soil. Isa immediately felt at home in that room of green paned
glass. In the great citadel of glass perfection, this room felt
homey and lived in.

Isa’s host body knelt near a
little lemon tree, which stood in a pot wider than Isa’s shoulders,
and lifted one of the tools. She began to prune it methodically.
“You know why I called you,” Isa heard herself say in that low,
melodic voice. Brokk paused in his pacing briefly, the long, deep
purple cloak swishing around his feet, gathering dirt as it scraped
the floor. His eyes were wild, and deep bags hung below them. He
glanced at her, but remained silent, so she spoke again. “This is
not the way the Maker intended us to use our gift.” Her voice was
kind, but authoritative.

“
Then He meant for us to rest
while we watched thousands die before us, simply to placate the
vain concerns of mere men?”

“
We are not gods, Bronkendol. You
are a man, and I am just a woman, the same as them. Possessing the
ability to help does not mean we are to possess dominion over all
other peoples.”

“
You have not seen what I have!”
Young Brokk exploded, suddenly so close that Isa could feel his
breath. “You sit in this sparkling citadel and see them one at a
time, withdrawing for the day when you tire. But I have walked
among them. This sickness is only the beginning of their struggles!
They fight amongst themselves constantly, killing one other for
gain! The poor eat scraps, while the rich flaunt their
overabundance. Mothers cannot feed their children, because fathers
abandon them...” His voice trailed off as he held his head in his
hands. The body Isa occupied rose gracefully to wrap her arms
around him, but he shook her off.

“
It wasn’t your fault,” she said
softly, putting down the tool and standing.

“
No, it was yours.”

Isa’s borrowed body drew back as
though he’d slapped her, and a sharp pang filled her heart. “You
don’t think I mourn the loss of a daughter I never met, and even
more, my grandchild?” She shook her head. “Had there been time, I
would have brought her here myself. But sometimes the Maker brings
them home to Him for reasons we cannot explain, the way He took
your father. We are strong, but we cannot prevent
death.”

“
Because you never tried!” He
backed away, glaring at her, his eyes too bright in the reflection
of the dancing firelight.

“
Bronkendol,” she warned, “You
think I saw nothing in the thousand years before you were born? You
think I know not suffering? I have seen more anguish than you can
ever conceive of! This gift of strength and long life has its
blessings, but it also brings trials. Witnessing the hardships of
man is part of our lot in life. They suffer, and thus, so do we.”
Isa felt the woman tremble. “I told you, the Maker never gave me
dominion over the people. He simply told me to help
them.”

Young Brokk began to walk away,
but stopped when she spoke again.

“
I know what you have been doing.”
As she said the words, memories that were not her own crowded Isa’s
mind. Unfamiliar faces began to appear, begging her to remove
something so small Isa had to squint to make them out. Tiny shards
of glass, grains the size of sand rested in the corners of their
eyes, nearly too small to see. Embedded in the skin, they looked
like tiny crystals waiting to catch the light.

Isa gasped, and though she
couldn’t see her own body, her hands flew to her eyes. To her
horror, she could feel them there in her face as well. Before she
could dwell on the horrible discovery, her host spoke
again.

“
These people are not your
puppets! I have seen the glass you have begun to inflict upon the
servants. They came to me, begging me to remove them while you were
gone! I love you more than anything in the world, my son, but I
cannot allow you to finish this.”

“
I have inflicted nothing! By
doing this, I will save them from themselves!”

“
By controlling them, you will
take away what makes them most human!” Isa heard herself shout
back. They stood there for an immeasurable time, and as they stood,
mother and son, Isa felt an unnamable pain fill her body, so
intense it was nearly crippling, as though lightning had streaked
across her muscles and lit everything on fire. It was a moment
before she realized that sorrow was what plagued her, a sadness
unfamiliar because it was one she hadn’t yet experienced. Isa
suddenly understood that the woman whose eyes through which she now
looked was feeling the pain of losing her son. Though he stood
before her, they both knew what he was about to do, and that she
would be forced and stop him.

“
Brokk,” she pleaded, caressing
his face with her hand the way she had every day when he was a
babe. “I beg you, give yourself time to heal.” As she held his
cheek, a raw, vulnerable expression crossed his face, making him
look very much like the little boy she loved so much. “Promise me
you won’t do this.”

“
Father always said that I should
be a man of my word,” he finally said.

“
Yes,” she whispered. “He
did.”

And without a word, he leaned
forward to kiss her on the cheek before walking out the door. Tears
rushed down her face as she watched him go, and the crippling pain
that had begun in her heart moved outward until she was forced to
kneel on the dirty ground. She stayed that way for a long time,
unable to move.

“
Vidar,” she finally called out,
her voice so raspy it was nearly inaudible.

An older manservant appeared.
“Yes, my lady?”

“
Tell the servants to leave. They
shall not pack their belongings, nor shall they prepare for a
journey. There isn’t time.”

“
But my lady.” The man’s
cornflower blue eyes were wide with fear. “What about
you?”

“
I cannot leave my son. But I can
stop him.”

As soon as her servant had
hastened to obey, the Glass Queen had closed her eyes and raised
her hands before her. The power the Maker had given her so long ago
still rushed strong through her blood, and though Bronkendol’s
power had never equaled hers, he was strong enough that her last
spell would require all that she had. Not that it mattered. She
would never be able to live in a world without him
anyway.

The Glass Queen pulled in a deep,
even breath before she began her work. Her hands moved in slow,
steady circles. The light they created was nearly invisible at
first, but began to glow more and more brightly as she continued.
Streaks of violet, like webs, began to fill the air, hanging
brilliantly as she wove them together. As she worked, she hummed a
haunting melody. It sounded to Isa like a dangerous
lullaby.

“
Sleep well, my son,” she
murmured, as though telling a child goodnight. Then she paused for
only a moment before clapping her hands together so hard that it
hurt. The web-like streaks collapsed, and when she opened her hands
again, a glowing, purple orb rose and floated towards the door. The
woman stood and followed it, pausing once before leaving the room
to stroke her favorite cherry tree fondly. She would miss this
place of sun and life.

As she re-entered the castle and
began walking towards her destination, fewer and fewer servants
filled the grand halls, and by the time she neared her son’s room,
she could feel in her heart that the magnificent glass palace was
finally empty. But the only person that mattered, she tried to
reassure herself, was still there.

She finally came to a door that
was partly ajar. How many happy hours had she spent rocking and
singing to him here? After his father had died, how many times had
they wept together upon the hearth? She paused at the entrance,
running her fingers over the glass carvings of elk and does, the
first carvings he had ever attempted, and she smiled as she
remembered how proud he was of the does with their stick legs and
the elk with their disproportionate antlers.