An Inferno of Ice

An Inferno of Ice - Part 10

The same guard that had escorted me to the throne room now ushers me back upstairs to the suite of guest rooms in which he had discovered me. I give him a smile and a polite nod of thanks before closing the door, surprised when I find that the sheets on the bed had been turned down and Several sweetly-scented candles had been lit in my absence. Someone must have prepared the rooms for me. Still in shock over what I had agreed to do, I open my satchel and rifle through it as fast as I can, searching for my map and instructions list. It's the quickest method of communication with the Infernal Court that I have. I can feel myself shaking ever so slightly with nerves that only calm when the small, neatly folded piece of paper is in my hand. Upon giving it my skin signature, writing once again begins to form itself on the surface.
Suitable garments and accessories in the Icelandia fashion will be delivered to you shortly.
I breathe out a sigh of relief upon reading the brief message. With that, I proceed immediately into the washroom to prepare myself for dinner with the Frost family. The internal bathing room is a wondrous experience all by itself. The walls and floor are constructed of thick plastic, and the distinct sucking sound as I close the door behind me lets me know it has an airtight seal. There's also a vent in the ceiling that filters the heated air up and out of the room so as not to melt the ice walls outside, so I am free to get as warm as I wish. By the time I reluctantly leave the room, I'm warmer than I've ever been since arriving here. Running a brush through my long dark brown hair, I inspect myself in the mirror that's completely free of condensation. My skin is flushed and my amber eyes are alert. I step out into the bed chamber and freeze when I see the clothing laid out neatly on the duvet. They're still undoubtedly lined with the special material designed to contain my power, but I have to take a moment to marvel at them because I've never worn such fine garments before. Back home on Incendiar, my family isn't exactly the most well-off, but not the worst either. With that being said, I'm used to wearing practical clothing to be ready for any occasion. But it's abundantly clear just by looking at these that their main purpose is to be fancy. The top is a deep midnight purple, silky to the touch and appearing to flow like water over me. The skirt falls to my ankles and is made up of white, silver, and blue panels of fabric that shift with my every move so that it gives the impression of ice glimmering under bright light. Beside the outfit is a delicate silver bracelet with a small snowflake outlined with purple stones. To complete the look, a hairpin with the same design glitters with blue stones this time. Not long after I am finished dressing, there's a polite knock on the door. I move at once to open it, taking a deep breath to prepare myself for who I might encounter on the other side. A politely smiling attendant weights there, a piece of paper in her hand. Upon looking it over, I don't recognize the handwriting that composes the note, but it's clear to whom it belongs once I read it.
"Alyssa will show you to the dining hall. I could not reveal everything earlier because the throne room is closely monitored. I have no doubt you will find what you are looking for very, very soon.
Regards,
Damon R. Frost"
Walking through the palace for the second time today, I find myself just as awestruck as I had been previously. There's no anger to distract me this time, so I freely take in the intricate wall carvings of people, forests, strange animals, and other magnificent scenes as we pass. We descend the grand staircase in the entrance hall to the second floor, where Alyssa leads me into the opposite wing of the palace from where my rooms are located. Life-size sculptures so realistic they resemble actual people line these corridors, sometimes smiling and sometimes not. I shudder uneasily, feeling as though I'm being watched by many sets of cold eyes. When we finally reach the end of one such hallway, Alyssa opens the door into a spacious but somehow cozy room lit by candles in crystal holders. There's a massive wooden table placed in the very center of the floor, surrounded by high-backed, elegant chairs. Seated at the end closest to the door is a woman with long, flowing silvery white hair. She's resplendent in a gown of palest gold, and her face matches that of the painted Queen Ileana downstairs when she turns to give me an inviting smile. To her right sits a younger carbon copy of her, eyeing me warily But still inclining her head in a polite nod. Princess Rosalie, I deduce as my eyes lock with the intense dark ones of her brother sitting at her right hand. Prince Damon flashes me a wide smile and starts to rise from his chair. Seated at the head of the table, King Rudolph himself hardly looks up as I enter. he resembles his son in almost every way, except for his hair, which is black as pitch with no distinguishing white streaks. The energy in the room changes the instant my eyes fall upon the crown perched on his head. I have a split second to be confused. He even wears it during mealtimes? But then the truth hits me with all the force of an avalanche. I can't stop my mouth from falling open in horror as I watch dark, wispy strands of power arc between the spikes of the crown. Damon was correct in his note. I think I've just found the source of corruption.