Soul of Ice

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Looking for moon orchids?" Astra gave herself another moment before she slowly turned.

The prince of Solasia leaned against the trunk of one of the trees, face amused and mischievous. His bright blue eyes seemed out of place amidst all the reds and oranges of the garden.

The prince of Solasia. Dalen Avrlove. She supposed she should be surprised or terrified, yet she felt none of those things. All she felt was her pounding heart, still racing away after her breakdown just minutes before.

"Perhaps," she said elusively, trying to keep her voice even and calm, then asked, "What are you doing here?"

The prince's eyes looked like they were laughing at her. "The better question is," Dalen replied smoothly, "why are you here?"

"Is it not allowed for me to enjoy the pleasures of the garden?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The prince shrugged. "It is when you're impersonating an ambassador."

Strangely, it was this comment that began soothing over the rapid rhythm of her heart. Astra felt herself smile, even as she realized the danger of exposure. She offered, "Your Highness, would you care for a walk with me in the gardens?"

In answer, he walked ahead, leading the way. As they made their way into a separate section of the garden, he said, "The Pelosians destroyed all the moon orchids they saw in Solasia during the Pelosian-Iveian War. Now, they are more rare than ever; the territories of the ice wraith clans have them, and then, only one or two." This wasn't new information to her—the Pelosians had indeed burned all the moon orchids they came across. She'd done it herself, too, when she'd been a part of their armies.

Moon orchids. So rare, even before they were sought out to be destroyed, and so treasured. Legend said that they began as moon drops—tears of the goddess, Lunis—and because of their immortal origins, the orchids could live for hundreds of years. They were a national symbol of Solasia, and if that hadn't been reason enough for their destruction during the war, rumor was they held magical properties of healing and good luck.

To Astra's surprise, the new section of the garden they entered into was no longer made up of a red and orange-based color scheme. Instead, silver and gold flowers grew in harmony. Astra smiled—if she was being honest, the repeated fiery colors in the other garden sections had become a bit of an eye-sore. Here, with the silver—

She stopped, surprised and gaping as she raised her eyes. Before her stood a statue about ten feet tall, dressed in armor. Long hair flowed down her back, and a crown with sharp, pointed tips adorned her head. A spear—nearly higher than Astra was—rested in her right hand, and a shield rested in her left. Her expression was fierce and serene—if it was possible to have those two expressions on one's face at the same time. Time had worn away all the colors, leaving the statue gray and plain, but it was clear who this was.

Subconsciously, Astra had raised her right hand to her mouth. A tremor shook through her hand, and the visions of the Ice Queen torturing Tybalt flashed through her mind. It was enough to bring back the roiling panic that had been resting within her, but she pressed her lips together. Not now. Not again.

Dalen quickly noticed what she had been gazing at and gave voice to exactly who the statue depicted. "Oh. That's the Protector of the Homeland."

"I know," she said, so quietly that she wasn't sure if the prince heard or not. The Protector of the Homeland. An inaccurate name if she ever did hear one; another title for the legendary, murderous queen turned immortal. What sort of protector tortured others with a smile graced upon her face? Streia of the Ice, the Ice Queen, the Guardian of Ice. The Protector of the Homeland. Allegedly, after having outlived her usefulness, she'd been struck down by the gods five hundred years ago or so, the ashes of her remains scattered over sea cliffs. Good riddance.