Mirrors of Ice: The Invitation

So I often like to write scenes or snippets of what happens before the start of the novel as part of my process. It helps me develop character and work out some of the backstory! Today I have the scene where Eirwen starts to realize Isolde is up to something, and the receive the wedding invitation. We also get to see Eirwen’s handmaids that I wanted to put in the book but couldn’t justify having to introduce at the end of the novel.

All I ask is that you’ll keep in mind this is just a bonus scene that has not gone through my rigorous self-editing process or a professional edit like my books have. It should still be lots of fun, and I hope you enjoy it!

(Spoilers ahead for the ending of Stalks of Gold! This takes place around that time!)

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Eirwen pulled the blanket over her head and buried herself in the warmth. In the distance, she heard the door open, but her limbs were so heavy and her bed too warm to bother seeing who came in. She didn’t care either. It wasn’t anyone she wanted to see.

“Your Highness, are you awake?”

It was one of her handmaids, Lyra. Eirwen could hear her and someone else moving about the room. Eirwen assumed it was her other handmaid and Lyra’s sister, Riona.

Eirwen ignored them, keeping her head buried under her furs to keep the light out.

“Your Highness, you have to get up now.” It was Riona.

One of them shook her shoulder, but Eirwen stayed still. How long would it take for them to give up?

The blankets were jerked away, and harsh white light assaulted her. Eirwen twisted her head, burying her face down. She wasn’t opening her eyes, and she wasn’t getting up. There was no force strong enough to move her.

“Your Highness, please, if you don’t get up and start getting ready now you’ll be late,” Lyra said.

“Late for what?” Eirwen’s voice was muffled by her pillows.

“The queen regent’s public address. It’s almost noon. We have about an hour to get you ready,” Riona said.

Eirwen lifted her head and peered through her tangled black curls. “That’s today?”

“Yes!” Lyra pulled her upright by her shoulder. “We have to get you ready, Your Highness!”

Eirwen rolled her eyes as Lyra pulled her to her feet. The two girls set to work, getting her into a quick bath. Eirwen barely paid them any attention, but she didn’t fight them. They were just trying to do their jobs, and Eirwen didn’t have the energy to argue.

Her legs were lead, and she struggled to lift her arms over her head when Lyra and Riona were struggling to get her into her layers. Her damp hair clung to her neck as they pulled her underclothes over her head, tying them off at her waist. Once her under layers were on and secured, they moved onto the next phase. Lyra and Riona worked as a team getting her into the formal mourning attire. The large, full skirt made of a heavy black fabric weighed her down further. The bodice fastened in the back, and the sleeves tightened at her shoulders before falling wider and looser at her wrists, hiding her hands among the fabric. She managed enough energy to pull on a pair of black gloves.

Lyra and Riona sat her down in front of her vanity. They set to work combing through her curls and wrestling her hair into a presentable style.

“It’ll just be for a half hour, Your Highness. As soon as it’s over, we’ll come right back here,” Lyra said.

Normally Eirwen would have winced at when Lyra’s hand slipped and a pin dug into her scalp, but she only vaguely registered the sensation.

“You know, I could go the kitchens, get them to whip up something for you as soon as we’re done. Something nice and warm?” Riona asked.

Eirwen shrugged.

“That’s a great idea. You need something in your stomach, Your Highness. It’ll get some color back in your cheeks,” Lyra said.

Eirwen wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t been hungry in days, and she was always pale. It was probably for the best mourning customs dictated no skin was shown as the black only made her paler and look sick by contrast.

“See, Your Highness? Something to look forward to while you have to listen to the queen regent,” Riona said. Her eyes sparked playfully, but her teasing fell flat.

Eirwen stared blankly into the mirror.

Lyra shot Riona a look as she set Eirwen’s circlet into her hair. “Be respectful, Riona.”

“You have my deepest apologies, Your Highness. I… I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I meant no disrespect,” Riona said, stepping back and bowing her head.

Eirwen tried to lift her hand to wave Riona’s concern away, but her arms were just too heavy. “I’m not offended.”

“There, all done, Your Highness,” Lyra said, moving around her and picking up the black veil sitting on top of the dresser. “Would you like to, or shall I?”

“Go ahead,” Eirwen sighed. Her hands sunk further into her skirts.

Lyra stepped behind her again and pinned the veil into her hair, draping the thin black fabric down and across her face. Her vision was obscured instantly, but not completely gone. She could see well enough to get around. She had to. It would be six months until she could be seen by anyone other than her handmaids without it.

“Thank you,” Eirwen said. Her voice scratched her throat, and she mustered up enough energy to catch Lyra’s wrist as she moved away. “I mean it. I… It’s… Both of you, I’m grateful you’re here.”

“We are happy and proud to be of service, Your Highness,” Lyra said. She touched Eirwen’s shoulder, keeping her hand light. “Riona and I will faithfully serve you as long as you wish it. We will do whatever it takes to make this time a little bit easier for you.”

Her eyes watered, and her heart ached. She nodded before she remembered they couldn’t see her expression beneath the veil. She opened her mouth, but her throat closed, and she couldn’t get any words out.

“Your Highness, it’s time to go,” Riona said.

Her aunt waited for no one.

With a tremendous amount of effort, Eirwen pushed herself to her feet and moved towards the door. Lyra beat her to it and opened the door for her before falling behind her and in step with Riona. Eirwen felt a little stronger with them behind her. At least they would keep her from tripping or running into anyone, but while the veil hid her face from view, she was able to see relatively well through it.

It wasn’t long until she reached the entry way where Isolde and a whole entourage of people gathered. Eirwen spotted the councilmen and women, a large showing of guards, the Scholar, and of course, the queen regent herself. They were all dressed in heavy black mourning attire, except for the guards. They were certainly a somber looking crowd.

“Princess Eirwen, there you are! The crowd gathered outside is huge, really, it’s been years since we’ve seen anything like it,” Councilman Taris said, hurrying up to her. “Are you ready, Your Highness?”

“As ready as one can be, councilman,” Eirwen mustered up the voice to speak.

Eirwen made her way to her aunt’s side, and it was then she realized Isolde wasn’t wearing her veil. A rush of heat swept past her sluggish, apathetic demeanor as she grabbed Isolde’s arm, asking, “Where is your veil?”

Isolde tore her arm out of Eirwen’s grip. “I can hardly wear it while addressing a large crowd. They need to see it’s me to be reassured I’m well and more than capable of taking the reins during this tragedy. I’m not going to stand for any rumors to spread that I am in any way unwell.”

“My father, your husband is dead!” Eirwen’s voice rose, scraping against her throat. “The least you could do is respect his memory by wearing the veil. Our people will respect you all the more for it.”

“Any vultures spying on us for the other kingdoms will see me hiding my face as a sign of weakness. I suggest you stop with the hysterics before I have the guards carry you back to your room, am I clear?” Isolde’s cold blue eyes and impassively icy words sucked all the heat out of her.

Eirwen’s hands fell to her side. She glanced around the room; everyone was staring at her. She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I let my feelings get the best of me. It will not happen again.”

Isolde sniffed and turned towards the doors. Eirwen fell into step behind her, fisting her hands in her skirt. Fortunately, her sleeves hid the action from view. Isolde raised her hand and the doors were opened. The guards went first, moving down the stairs to reinforce the guards already blocking the crowd. Then Isolde stepped out to the very edge; Eirwen stood behind her and at her right while the Scholar mirrored her position on Isolde’s left. The councilmen and women fanned out behind them with the last of the guards exiting, spreading to the edges almost unseen. Eirwen was certain they made a striking image all covered in black with the contrast of the marble white palace behind them.

Councilman Taris was right. The crowd that had gathered was massive. The vast majority of them were in black as well, whatever mourning clothes they had on hand, that they could afford.

It was a cold comfort to see so many people take on the tradition that was normally reserved for the family and friends of the deceased. Her father had been a well-liked monarch.

“You’ve all heard the news by now, I’m certain,” Isolde said, cutting off the murmur of the crowd. “My husband, our esteemed King Mathias, died three days ago. He was entombed yesterday, joining a long line of Glacian royalty in the royal tombs below.”

The crowd erupted into whispers, and Eirwen was hardly surprised. Isolde rushed the funeral keeping it quiet and private especially in comparison to the large public funeral and memorial that her father held when her mother died.

Isolde cleared her throat. “It is my solemn duty as queen to inform you that his death was no accident. He was deliberately poisoned, and I assure the moment I knew he was poisoned. I vowed I would not rest until I caught the heinous villain responsible. As of this morning, I can officially tell you the assassin has been caught.”

The crowd continued to whisper to each other; the level of noise rising. Eirwen blinked, forcing herself to stay still despite the confusion washing over her. Isolde caught her father’s killer and didn’t bother to inform her privately?

“It was an Esmean man.” Shock rippled through the crowd at her words, but Isolde’s tone held order. “A lone agent. He has been questioned extensively, and we know beyond any shadow of a doubt he is not affiliated the Esmean emperor or any facet of their government.”

Why would an unidentified Esmean man want to kill her father?

Well. The first thing Eirwen was going to do was speak this man. She wanted to look at her father’s killer in the eyes. She had to know why he did it.

“Do not fear, Glaciar. For I did not stop at just catching the awful villain who took our king from us, justice has been swiftly delivered. He can do our country harm no longer,” Isolde said.

Isolde not only caught the killer, but she also had him executed before telling her any of it?

Eirwen fought the urge to scratch at her wrist. Why would she do that? Why was Isolde making these decisions without her?

“What happened was an immeasurable tragedy, and my heart aches for more than just my loss. I lost my husband, but my stepdaughter lost her father, and all of Glaciar has lost a good and noble king. Justice has been served, and now it’s time we start the process of healing and recovering. I am humbled and honored to serve Glaciar in this time of crisis, and I assure you I will not let my husband’s memory be in vain. I will ensure our country is comes out of this stronger than we’ve ever been.”

Something wasn’t quite right, but before she could think about it further, Isolde turned on her heel and walked back inside the castle. Eirwen hurried after her, highly aware of the Scholar’s presence behind her despite his silence.

As soon as they were back inside, Eirwen tried to move around the council men and women to reach Isolde, but Isolde and the Scholar were gone before she could get a hold of them. Her steps slowed, and her limbs grew heavy.

What was the point?

It wasn’t going to change the fact her father was dead. What did she care anymore?

A hand at her elbow drew her attention again, Lyra and Riona. Without a word, they ushered her back to her room, sitting her back down at her vanity and removing the veil and pins holding her hair back. Then they helped her out of the countless layers and into something not quite as bulky, which suited her just fine. She had no intention of leaving her room for the rest of the day.

She started to shuffle towards her bed, but Lyra grabbed her by the shoulders, saying, “Not so fast, Your Highness!”

Lyra turned her around and lead her to her desk. Eirwen sunk into the chair while Riona picked up the ever-growing stack of papers. Her stomach churned at the sight of the stack even after it was out of her sight.

A covered plate appeared in front of her, and Lyra pulled the top off. Steam wafted from the bowl, and there was a savory smell coming from it.

“I’m not hungry, Lyra,” Eirwen said, staring at the stew.

“I know you’re not, Your Highness, but I need you to try to eat something. It might help you feel better,” Lyra said.

Eirwen grabbed the spoon, but it was like lead in her hand. She took a bite, but any taste was distant and flat in her mouth. She swallowed, but her throat was tight. Her hand shook, but she took bite after bite. Each spoonful sucked energy out of her until her hand shook so much the spoon slipped from her hand, clanging against the bowl.

She dropped her hand to the desk and stared at the bowl. Lyra hovered over her shoulder. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

“I’m done,” Eirwen said, pulling her hand back to her lap.

The tension and weight in the air told Eirwen Lyra wanted to insist she keep eating, but Lyra gave up as she removed the dish from her desk. Eirwen’s stomach churned. She glanced at the papers Riona had moved to the dresser. It had only been days, but the stack was quickly getting out of hand.

Her appetite was gone, but maybe she should start catching up there. She pushed herself out of her seat and gathered the stack in her arms.

“Your Highness… are you sure you’re up for that? I’m sure those papers can wait,” Riona said, pausing in her cleaning.

Eirwen nodded as she shuffled over to her bed, sitting down and placing the stack next to her. She pulled her legs up, tucking her feet under her and picking up the first thing, which was fortunately a small envelope. It had to be recent, probably came in sometime that morning.

She glanced at the seal. Huh, the Astrian seal. She opened it and started reading,

Oh. It was an invitation… to a royal wedding between Queen Loraine of Astren and Prince Harlin of Idres.

Eirwen set it aside and flipped through the reports, skipping past any that weren’t related to Astren. She found a couple marked urgent. Nothing seemed urgent over the last few days, but Eirwen read through them.

Apparently, the unrest in Astren had settled. The official statement was some sort of imposter pretended to be the illegitimate heir and took the throne, some sort of magic masking his appearance so he looked like Sandor. Princess Loraine was able to retake the throne, and everything was right in Astren again. Well, the fate of the imposter wasn’t mentioned, but the newly crowned Queen Loraine and her half-brother were on good terms. There would be no further conflict between siblings over the throne.

Isolde was right. First thing Queen Loraine did was set up the marriage alliance if the invitation sitting beside her was any indication.

Eirwen dumped the papers aside and sunk into her bed, letting her hair spill over the sheets. Riona was right. Even though they were marked urgent, Eirwen didn’t see much urgent about them. What did they care what Astren did? Isolde’s dreams of taking advantage of the situation were long since gone.

Well, Eirwen would have to pen a rejection and get it sent out soon. The date set was right at the end of the mourning period.

A knock sounded on the door. She cracked an eye open to see Lyra and Riona snap to attention. Eirwen said, “Send whoever it is away. I can’t receive anyone right now, and I don’t want to.”

The door creaked open, and Lyra said, “I’m sorry, but Her Highness isn’t—”

“Step aside before I move you myself.” Only one woman had that much ice in her bones.

“I—I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!”

Eirwen dragged herself up as Isolde blew past her handmaids. Lyra and Riona scrambled to shut the door and get out of the way. Isolde sniffed at them. “Your handmaids should be more respectful, speaking out of turn isn’t a habit you should encourage.”

“My handmaids have served me loyally for years. They don’t have an ounce of disrespect in them,” Eirwen said. “They certainly wouldn’t barge into someone else’s room uninvited especially during their mourning period.”

Isolde crossed her arms. “You’re my stepdaughter, Eirwen, I’m allowed to see you privately. You needn’t worry about anyone thinking poorly of you.”

Eirwen sunk her hands into the sheets. “As lovely as this visit is, Aunt Isolde, you don’t go anywhere without a purpose, so what can I do for you?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t think so poorly of me. I’m just here to check on you. I’m an ice sorceress, not heartless,” Isolde said. “We’re family, and in these trying times it’s crucial we come together and support each other.”

“Why did you kill him?” Eirwen asked.

Isolde’s eyes narrowed; her grip on her arms tightened. Frigid air descended on the room. “What are you talking about?”

Eirwen rose from the bed. “The Esmean man, the assassin you caught. Not only did you not even tell me you caught my father’s killer, but you had him executed without consulting me as well. Why’d you do it?”

The frigid air dissipated. Isolde’s grip relaxed. “Every decision I’ve made has been in Glaciar’s best interests and ours. You were in absolutely no state to deal with the situation, so I did. You wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing him.”

Heat surged under Eirwen’s skin. “That wasn’t your decision to make! I deserve the right to decide what I can and can’t handle!”

“And this is just proving I made the right choice. You would have given into hysterics instantly.” Isolde brushed past Eirwen and braced her hands on the desk. She tilted her head. “You’ll understand one day when you have children of your own.”

Eirwen’s nails dug into her palms. Lyra and Riona certainly wouldn’t stop her if she knocked the smug tone right out of Isolde’s mouth. Unfortunately, her mother and father raised her right. She was a princess, and better than Isolde at that. She had to be better than her. “Fine, what’s done is done. As long as my father’s killer can’t harm anyone else, I’ll let it go.”

“See? I always knew you were capable of being reasonable.” Isolde’s gaze landed on the papers scattered across her bed. “I take it you’ve received the invitation from Queen Loraine?”

Eirwen picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “Yes, it’s amazing how much can happen in such a short amount of time. It’s a shame we can’t attend.”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We must attend this wedding,” Isolde said.

“We can’t. The date is right at the end of the mourning period, exactly on the last day,” Eirwen said.

“Unfortunately, we cannot let our mourning interfere with this. This is the perfect opportunity to provide a strong, united front directly to the other nations. This is not something we can afford to waste,” Isolde said, pushing off the desk and rising to her full height. “A few days doesn’t matter.”

“It’s bad enough we’re only a few days into the mourning period and you’ve already discarded the veil, but now you want us to flagrantly disrespect our customs in front of multiple nations?” Eirwen crushed the invitation in her hand.

“Please, do you really think Astren cares about our mourning period? Do you think Esmea does? No, it will do Glaciar far more damage if we don’t use this opportunity to establish ourselves as equals. If we don’t attend, they will think we are weak and the vultures will start to circle,” Isolde said.

“It’s a wedding not a war summit!” Eirwen said. “The other nations will understand we must respect our traditions especially so soon after we lost a beloved king!”

“The only thing people understand is strength. A single crack, or even just the appearance of one, could spell disaster.” Isolde narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if you like it, Eirwen. We are attending this wedding.”

“I don’t care if you like it, Aunt Isolde. We are not attending this wedding.” Eirwen ripped the invitation up, letting the pieces hit the ground. “You’re not taking this decision away from me.”

“Watch me.” Isolde put her hands on her hips. “You seem to have forgotten one important fact, stepdaughter. I’m the queen. I make the decisions; whatever I say goes.”

“You’re regent only until my eighteenth birthday,” Eirwen said.

“Which falls after this wedding, so if I say you’re going, you’re going.” Isolde moved towards the door, glancing over her shoulder. “My decision is final.”

Eirwen stayed still, fuming until the door shut and her handmaids shakily moved away from where they’d pressed into the wall.

“Your Highness?” Lyra’s asked. “Are you… Are you alright?”

“Ask me in six months,” Eirwen said, dropping back onto her bed. The papers shifted and a few fluttered to the ground, knocking into the shredded scraps.

How could Isolde do this? Didn’t she care at least a little about her father? Why was she so blatantly violating their customs? It was unthinkable.

The speech from earlier echoed in her mind. She saw Isolde and the Scholar always whispering together, slinking away. The fact Isolde hadn’t bothered to consult her. The way the room had sunk into frozen temperatures when Eirwen pressed her about it.

Something was wrong.

Her father told her she needed to trust Isolde and the Scholar. That wasn’t happening, not anytime soon.

Isolde was up to something, and Eirwen was going to figure it out.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed seeing Eirwen and Isolde’s struggle pre-Mirrors of Ice! If you haven’t gotten Mirrors of Ice yet, so you can do so here!

We’ll be back to more behind the scenes posts next week! I’ll see you all then!