Shatter Like Glass-Cinderella Retold

Part Forty-One

It was a relief when they finally reached the eighth level. Ashen's muscles ached. Most palaces she had visited had been wide rather than tall, with four floors at most. Instead, the Frost Weavers had opted for more levels with fewer rooms on each. What they did with so many rooms was beyond her? It wasn't as though they had many royal emissaries vying to visit the kingdom.

To Ashen's frustration, Yinala did not seem worn out at all. Expressionless, the Weaver walked to a set of oak doors. The wood had been dyed a light blue color to match the bluish tinge of the ice around it. Someone on the other side of the doorway pulled them open, revealing the large chamber within.

The throne room was quite large, bigger than Ashen's entire ship, in fact. Chandeliers hung from the glass ceiling. The sunset painted the icy walls in shades of purple and orange. The colors contrasted heavily with the Frost Weavers glaring down at Ashen and the others from atop their thrones.

A woman and two men sat at the far end of the room. Their thrones rested on a raised platform, elevating them and ensuring any visitors would have to look up to meet their eyes. It was a tactic many royals used, though others were usually a little subtler in their attempts.

"Yinala," one of the Frost Weavers said. He had a gruff voice, light brown skin, and . His short hair was a grayish white. He wore a robe of silver and light blue. His appearance reminded Ashen of the Frost Father. The tale had been a favorite of hers since childhood. Her mother had recited it to her every Yuletide.

It occurred to her that she hadn't heard it since her mother's death. She had never considered asking George to tell her the legend instead. She had been too busy plotting revenge to think about fairytales.

"I see you brought the pirate," the Frost Weaver continued, unaware that he had inadvertently reminded Ashen of something very painful.

"I have, Master Bhavya," she replied.

"Are these her only companions?" the other man asked.

Yinala shook her head. "The others are on their way. They should be here quite soon. Deva and I iced the runners so we could bring the pirate to you faster."

The woman kept her face towards Yinala, but her eyes kept darting to Jag.

She recognizes him, Ashen realized. The woman looked perhaps thirty, not much older, maybe a tad younger. Very near Jag's age. Had they known each other? How had he come to know so many Frost Weavers, and to be known by so many of them?

Rather than voice her recognition, the woman said, "Our soldiers tell us a ship used by the Flying Saints docked in Vasant two days ago. As you well know, the village is only day's ride from here."

The Flying Saints . . . Markael. It had to be. Her brother was there, which meant Smiegal must be, too. She hadn't been tricked!

"The pirates have allied themselves with the Kingslayers," Yinala explained.

"Then we shall kill them as well," replied the woman. "They stand no chance against us."

Jag snorted. "Yeah right. Good luck with that. The Kingslayers' leader has fire powers. Last I checked, fire melts ice. You're the ones who don't stand a chance."

The woman narrowed her eyes, then flicked her hand in Jag's direction. A blast of ice hit him in the chest. He stumbled back a step. Ashen gripped the hilts of her swords. Glancing at Peder, she saw that he, too, was prepared for a fight.

"Did you come all this way to patronize us?" one of the men demanded.

"We came for my father," said Ashen, "and to stop the Kingslayers. That's why you kidnapped him, isn't it? To force me to come after him?"