Arctic

It's a pathetic wedding. Prudence offered to help out, and Foeslayer was too proud to accept her gift, as though not letting her throw us our wedding would make her strings any less visible.

If she wanted, she could throw us both out of this kingdom any time she likes.

I'm not much of a wedding planner, evidently. Somehow, one of Foeslayer's connections at court let us use the palace gardens. He irks me, but I tolerate it, and give Foeslayer a list of decorations. We set up a few tents to hide from the miserable, dripping rain. As the months drag on, I keep hoping it'll snow–or at least, that the rain will cease. It's almost spring, and the rain has only gotten colder, like half-melted ice dripping down my back.

In the Ice Kingdom, my wedding to Snowflake would have been a tribe-wide holiday.

Not that I want to marry Snowflake. But at least it would have had some dignity to it. The whole court would have come to the celebration. We'd have made our vows–not these flowery, dramatic things Foeslayer wants us to write for each other, but ones we intended to keep. We'd work out the practicalities in private, with each of our parents present to negotiate. Things like: I vow to serve our kingdom together through our union, and raise the next generation of IceWing royalty talon in talon. That was what Mother had planned for us to say.

I turn over the scrap of paper on which my vows are written, and glance at the sad archway, beneath which we'll say our vows by one of the stained-glass windows. Then glance at Mother's latest letter. The words have etched themselves into the back of my brain, and I can't stop hearing what she'd say right now.

I love you, Arctic. I just wanted to keep you safe, and this is how you repaid me?

I gave you everything, and you just threw it away.

The wind slams into my back. In the distance, Foeslayer struggles with the paper snowflakes. None of her friends wanted to help us set up, not even Braveheart.

Good. They don't understand our love anyway.

***

Ever since that weird fight about dragonets, Foeslayer has acted strange. Every time we talk, I feel like she's reading from a script, just trying to offend me as little as possible.

Good. If she wants to be like that, then she can go to town with it! Have the time of her life!

I don't care if she's keeping secrets. I don't need to. I'm a strong IceWing, and strong IceWings are fine on their own anyway.

Foeslayer tilts her head, staring at the arrangements of greenery we picked. You can't buy any flowers from the Night Kingdom right now; so we had to make do.

"Here," I say, straightening out the branches of cedar and pine. "You're doing it all wrong." I've never arranged anything like this, but I once took a class on how to arrange your space in such a manner befitting an IceWing aristocrat, or whatever nonsense. I was never very good at it.

"I wish we could have had roses," Foeslayer says with a sigh. She's soaking wet, and she looks tired. She has no right to complain. She's the one who can still sleep at night--day--whatever.

I grit my teeth, trying to stay awake. I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in a few days, and it's starting to get to me. "Well, I'm sorry we're not rich enough to pay for them to be imported from moons know where!" She just wants me to cast another spell, I can feel it. When I said my soul was hers, I didn't expect her to try and ruin it.

Foeslayer blinks. "Arctic, it's fine. I'm just complaining. Look, this isn't a big deal anyway. I mean, the queen is coming, apparently–"

"The queen is coming?!" I shout. "You didn't think to maybe tell me?!"

"I... did." I can tell she wants to scream at me. I don't need to be sheltered. I don't need to be treated gently. "Arctic, I literally told you last night. I got home, and we ate dinner, and I told you that I'd gotten the letter delivered by messenger while I was on border patrol. I read it aloud to you."

It could have happened. I barely remember yesterday at all, except for pacing back and forth and back and forth around the new place, feeling like a bird stuck in a cage, and desperately trying to sleep to no avail. Unable to hear anything else other than the tick tick tick of that infernal clock she bought. I barely refrained from smashing it.

No. She's just toying with me. She's just trying to make me feel like I'm losing my mind, just like Mother did. And I'm not falling for it.

"That never happened."

"Yes, it did," she insists. "Why do you never listen to what I say? I'm trying really hard to make this work, in case you didn't notice, Arctic. I am trying to communicate with you." She waves her talon in front of my face, and I swat it away.

"Fine. Whatever. The queen is coming. This is a stupid argument," I spit. "If she wants it to be nicer, she can pay for it. We've got three hours before the ceremony. I think it's a bit late to make this elegant in any fashion." I gesture out at the aisle sectioned off with ribbon, the arbour entwined with flowerless rose bushes, their thorns starkly visible, the leaves brown and rotten. I wanted a winter theme, but the paper snowflakes aren't holding up well in the rain, and everything I try to freeze keeps melting.

Foeslayer rubs her eyes. Lets out a breath, and shakes out her wings. She grabs my talon and cracks a smile. "You know," she says, "I heard it's good luck to get married in the rain."

I glance up at the dark, thundering clouds and the miserable, dripping rain. That seems pretty hard to believe.

"I'll throw something together," I say, pulling away. "This power has to have its uses, right?"

She hesitates, reaching out to touch me. I push her talon away. "Arctic–you don't have to–"

"I'm giving us a nice wedding," I say sharply. "It's not your decision."

In the back of my mind, I imagine–flying away, off into the clouds, and making a life alone, somewhere away from this place. I would be a fugitive–but I'd probably feel freer than I do in this moonsbegotten place.

***

The arbor is encrusted in ice, and magical ice-roses bloom where the real ones would be. The plant will probably die off after this, I think, and want to laugh for some reason I can't explain.

I feel sick. Must just be the fatigue. It's been a while since I've last eaten anything, which probably isn't helping. I devour some of the appetizers Foeslayer's mother arranged for without consulting either of us–too hungry and exhausted to care about how strange it all is, how much I miss the food back home. Prudence blew in like a hurricane an hour before the ceremony, started reorganizing everything. Foeslayer eventually managed to subdue her into making small-talk with the few of her relatives who weren't affronted enough by our marriage to ignore the invitation.

Prudence kept trying to wrestle her daughter into some kind of elaborate necklace. Foeslayer didn't want any of it; she's wearing some kind of shiny silver ceremonial armour from her job. But you're the bride! Prudence kept shouting. You're supposed to wear jewels!

But she does look beautiful, even in the rain. I smile halfheartedly, unfolding my vows written on a crumpled scrap of parchment. The rain makes the ink bleed.

We couldn't find anyone to officiate. As long as the queen is present, I assume the legalities will be taken care of. Not that it really matters. Nothing is actually going to change. This whole wedding was a waste of time.

"Foeslayer," I say, meeting her eyes. Hold it together, Arctic. Mother made me practise delivering my vows to Snowflake–curt and businesslike–in the mirror. "As your husband, I vow to stay by your side through thick and thin. I vow to–" I squint at the writing. "I vow to be faithful to you, until the end of my days. All of my soul is yours now, to do as you see fit." I hesitate. "Do you take me as your husband?"

I don't like saying it out loud, in front of all these watching strangers, all probably hoping one of us will leave the other at the last second.

I'm not sure if I'm just imagining the tears in her eyes.

"I do," she says, her voice thick. She's not even trying to hold back tears. In front of all these dragons. I have to be the one on my best behaviour, sure, but she gets to sob like a one-year-old at our wedding.

"And—I vow that... I will stick with you, whatever happens. We—we take it together." She's struggling to get the words out through tears, her shoulders shaking. I can't tell if she's angry or happy or sad.

"Foeslayer," I hiss, shaking her. "Pull it together."

She glares at me, shoving my talons away.

"Because I'm not going to leave you here. I'm not, I'm not—I'm not going to lose faith—I swear on all the stars." She looks at me, like she regrets the day we met. I want to wring her neck out. I love her more than ever.

A long, painful silence stretches out, neither one of us relenting.

"Just say I do," she mutters. "Don't make me ask you."

***

As soon as the vows have been said, dragons start to scatter. Foeslayer's aunt gets in a fight with her mother, and some dragon named Allknowing won't stop trying to talk with me until I shout at her to leave me alone!

I play nice, still—for Foeslayer. I keep my distance, and I let out a weary sigh as the guests finally start to dwindle.

What a horrible day.

"It would be nice if you'd help me dismantle this," Foeslayer mutters, gesturing at one of the tents. "Rather than standing there. Staring at me."

"I was not staring at you." I'm too tired to get in this argument; I really just retaliate out of habit.

"Well, I need you to help with this anyway." She shows me how to take down the tent poles and fold up the fabric.

When we're done, it's like we were never there at all. I look up, and I could swear I can see the sky through the clouds.

Foeslayer smiles faintly. "Look. The rain stopped."

***

Our tiny home seems too big for both of us. We sort through the few gifts we got—wine, more wine, a set of glasses, a blanket. A framed dagger encrusted with blood, supposedly belonging to some-long-dead queen.

"Is your whole family just like this?"

Foeslayer laughs. "Yes. That's what I've been trying to tell you. They're bananas! The lot of them! Absolutely bonkers! This is from Great-Aunt Certainty; she has this thing for collecting all the weapons queens used to kill their mothers. Just be glad you don't have to see her house. If you think my mother is bad..."

"In my family, when someone dies, we freeze their head on a wall and float their body out to sea."

Foeslayer blinks, then bursts into laughter. "No. No, no way, you're kidding me."

I shake my head.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since Queen Khione took the throne."

"Which is....?"

"About two thousand years."

"And they're all... in some hall... intact... just sitting there."

I nod.

"Okay, my great-aunt and whoever's job it is to freeze the heads need to meet," Foeslayer giggles.

If I leave her, no one is ever going to understand those things. No one else is going to share my brokenness. It's her or nothing.

She lights a fire, and I stand back a few feet. I clear my throat, the rosy haze of one good moment seeming to fade as the room grows brighter.

"I guess now the wedding's over, you'll be away fighting," I say bitterly. You'll leave me here to fend for myself in a tribe where everyone hates me.

Foeslayer hesitates. "I had to turn down the promotion. Or–put it on ice. So, no–not until the summer."

"What? Why?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "You haven't shut up about that promotion for months."

She buries her face in her talons, as though bracing for impact.

"Arctic," she says. "There's something I need to tell you."