The Crystal Heart Read online

  Once I dressed his scratch with a salve made from moss, Kasper emptied his bag and showed me what he’d bought. ‘I sold all the toys,’ he said. ‘They were a big success. I could have easily sold three times as many.’ He smiled at me. ‘You and I, we could go into business as toymakers!’

  He had spent every last coin he’d made. Out tumbled small paper bags of dry goods – salt, flour and buckwheat. There was a small box of four fertile eggs, so we could hatch chickens; seeds for the garden; string and nails and other sundry items; and treats – smoked fish, cured bacon, gherkins, a bag of boiled sweets. And, finally, a knobbly parcel wrapped in brown paper and string.

  ‘For you,’ Kasper said softly, handing it to me.

  Unwrapping the parcel, I gazed at what was inside: three pencils, a box of watercolour paints, a drawing pad and a lovely little book called Tales from the Forest, which was beautifully illustrated with woodcuts. My throat tightened and my eyes pricked with tears.

  ‘I don’t know much about artists’ needs – are they the wrong kind?’ Kasper said anxiously, watching my face. ‘I thought that –’

  ‘Oh, Kasper,’ I choked out. ‘All of it – it is all so beautiful. It’s so perfect I’m almost afraid … I just can’t …’ The tears that had been stinging my eyes burst out and I began to sob.

  ‘Don’t cry, Izolda,’ he said tenderly, taking me in his arms and holding me tight. ‘And never be afraid. Never again. For whatever strange magic it was that brought us together, I vow that no power on earth will part me from you.’

  I gave a little gasp.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Kasper.

  ‘You shouldn’t say those kinds of things,’ I whispered, unease rippling over my skin. The crystal heart had grown cold as ice. ‘Someone might be listening.’

  His face darkened. ‘Who, Izolda? Did someone come while I was …’

  I shook my head, unease still thickening in my chest. ‘Nobody at all, except the domevoy.’

  ‘You saw the domevoy?’ he exclaimed, momentarily diverted.

  ‘Yes, he showed himself twice.’

  ‘Aren’t you the lucky one,’ Kasper said, his face lighting up with laughter. So beautiful he was – so bold and carefree – that I felt the unease fading away. ‘You must not worry, Izolda, my sweet. Nobody has the slightest idea we are here, for like I thought, they’ve been looking for us in quite the wrong places.’

  Kasper

  ‘What do you mean?’ Izolda asked.

  ‘I had a very interesting conversation with the crew of a visiting barge, which convinced me we were safe from discovery.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Wait a moment and I’ll tell you,’ I said, smiling at her impatience. ‘They had come from Ruvenya by way of the White City, where they’d heard all kinds of things. Funnily enough, the captain was human, and his wife was a werewolf, and –’

  ‘You trust the word of one of those?’ Izolda said, with wide eyes.

  ‘One of those?’ I echoed. Within moments everything had changed between us today, and truth to tell, I found it hard to concentrate on conversation when all I wanted was to take her in my arms, to smell the scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips.

  ‘You said the woman was a werewolf. All the stories I’ve ever read say that werewolves are dangerous and unpredictable.’

  ‘That’s because they’ve pretty much died out here,’ I replied. ‘People always fear what they do not know.’ I tapped Tales from the Forest. ‘When you read this book, you’ll see not everyone feels the same way. The Ruvenyans, for example, respect and admire the breed. Centuries past, a werewolf saved a prince of their royal blood. And even here, long ago, humans and werewolves lived alongside one another as peacefully as with feyin. More so, in fact,’ I added wryly, but instantly regretted it as a shadow crossed her face. What was I doing, reminding her of what separated us? ‘I’m sorry, Izolda,’ I hastened on. ‘I did not mean to lecture you. What I mean is that, yes, I think the barge captain and his wife can be trusted. They had no reason to lie.’

  She nodded. ‘Tell me what they said.’

  ‘They told me that our foreign minister has very recently visited Ruvenya. He had gone for the Ruvenyans’ help in tracking down a foreign agitator who had supposedly been trying to destabilise the Krainos government, and who, it was thought, had escaped to Ruvenya.’

  ‘So they think that’s where we’ve gone?’

  ‘I am sure of it. They said, too, that there was talk in the White City of some foreign plot that had been stopped in its tracks by the vigilance of the government.’

  ‘And you’re quite sure there was no mention of my escape or of the island?’

  ‘None. Not a word. Nobody, whether local or foreign, suggested there’d been a prison-break. No one mentioned it in any way, in fact, except for Olga Ironheart, the barge captain’s wife. And that was only in connection with the toy.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘That was how we got into conversation in the first place. Taking a fancy to the figure of the old witch-woman we had made, Olga stopped by my stand. She asked me if it was meant to be the witch imprisoned on Tower Island.’

  ‘What? She actually said that?’ Izolda exclaimed.

  ‘Yes. It startled me, all right,’ I went on. ‘For a moment I thought she was a spy seeking to trap me. But then I realised she was making small talk. I shrugged and told her it was just a common forest witch and that no one has laid eyes on the witch in the Tower.’

  ‘What did she say?’ breathed Izolda.

  ‘All she said was, “Well, I’m a foreigner, so I don’t know these things.” I asked her then where she was from. She told me that, though she was Ruvenyan and her barge captain husband was Faustinian, they sailed up and down the inland waterways of the world, from Krainos to Almain and beyond, buying and selling second-hand goods. She told me they’d started in the White City three days ago, and it was then I found the right moment to ask if there was any interesting news from the city. That was when she’d told me about the minister’s visit to Ruvenya. I didn’t press her any further for I didn’t want to arouse suspicions.

  ‘I traded the doll of the witch-woman for the book and art materials. We shook hands, well pleased with our trade, and I left the barge. Though it stayed moored at the quay the rest of my stay, I did not see Olga or her husband again.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Well, I managed to sell all the dolls at prices well above what I’d initially imagined. I then bought the rest of the goods, asking a careful question here and a wary one there in each store I visited. But I heard nothing of alarm. No one seemed particularly interested in the supposed foreign plot. Life was chugging along as normal in the little river port where the only excitement that month had been the arrival of the barge from the White City. I would learn nothing more, I knew that. And I wanted to get back as soon as possible to tell you the good news, so I left, going as fast as I could, following the forest trails home.’

  I hadn’t even noticed I’d said ‘home’ until I saw the look in Izolda’s eyes. ‘I was afraid you might get caught in the storm,’ she murmured.

  ‘It must have been only local,’ I said lightly. ‘And even if it hadn’t been, no storm would have kept me from you.’ I took her in my arms and held her tight, breathing in her beauty and her warmth, knowing that this was home indeed.

  We had a festive dinner that night, with smoked fish to start, bacon pancakes as a main course, and sweets to finish, and we toasted each other with water fresh from the spring. Then we sat by the fire, talking, and for the first time, Izolda began to tell me about her family. She told me a story that her father had told her so many times as a young child and which she’d thought about so many times in her long imprisonment that it had become brightly polished as a jewel in her mind.

  ‘My father was on a state visit to the White City, in the days when our countries were at peace,’ she began. ‘One day,
needing a break from official functions, he went on an impromptu visit to the markets. On the way there he passed a house and saw, sitting at her balcony, a lovely young auburn-haired woman reading. That was my mother, Irina Leonska.’

  ‘With a name like that, she must have been descended from the Lion Knights!’ I exclaimed. The Lion Knights were the greatest order of chivalry in old Krainos, but they had ceased to exist a century ago, along with the parliament they served. But even in our time, their legend remained intact, and families claiming Lion Knight descent were high in the ranks of our society.

  ‘Yes, she was,’ said Izolda. ‘And very proud of it, too. She was the only child of my widowed grandfather, who absolutely doted on her. Anyway, my father saw my mother, and one glimpse was enough. There could be no other woman for him. And she felt exactly the same about him, for he was very handsome, tall with black eyes under white-blond hair.’

  ‘Love at first sight,’ I murmured.

  ‘Yes. A powerful magic strong enough to overcome my father’s duty to the Erlking’s sister.’

  ‘The Erlking?’

  ‘He is a feyin lord in Almain. My father’s parents had arranged the betrothal as a way of uniting our people. My father had gone along with it for the most part, but when he set eyes on my mother, nothing else mattered to him. And it was the same for her. They met that same day, then the next, and on the third day my father went to his parents and told them the engagement with the Erlking’s sister was off.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They were angry, but he was determined. He found a way to break it off which did not cause any enmity. You see, he knew the Erlking’s sister did not love him and that her heart leaned to another man but that she had not dared to speak out before. She was so relieved of being freed of the engagement that she helped my father smooth it over both with my father’s parents and with her own brother. But then, of course, there was my human grandfather’s opposition to deal with.’

  ‘What? He wasn’t happy, either?’

  ‘No, he was not. He distrusted feyin and was afraid for my mother, afraid she’d hate living underground in the alien realm of Night. But my mother assured him that my father made her happier than she’d ever been in her life, and that her father must rejoice for her instead.’

  ‘She sounds like a decided sort of lady, your mother,’ I said, smiling. ‘And you a chip off the old block, too, I’d wager.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Izolda said softly. ‘And I wish I did.’

  Her expression grew sad, and I cursed myself for a clumsy fool as she told me what had happened, based on what she’d been able to piece together from half-memories and books she’d read. What she said revealed a startling new picture to me, one that might explain in some measure why the Prince of Night had declared war on Krainos.

  ‘My mother was happy in Night,’ Izolda said, ‘but she also liked to come above ground at times to visit her father and her old city. At first, all went well and my grandfather lost his dislike of my father; even warmed to him a little. Then, five years into the marriage, when I was just on two, she left me with my father at home while she went on a special visit to the City. It was the thousandth anniversary of its founding, and my mother and grandfather were to be guests of honour at a special ball at the City Governor’s house. My father had been invited, but he had urgent business of State to attend to and could not go – quite apart from the fact he did not much like the City Governor, who was a man both toadying and arrogant. So my mother journeyed to Krainos with her ladies, and I stayed behind at home with my father.’

  Izolda took a deep breath. ‘They went to the ball, and my mother charmed everyone as usual. The next day, she felt slightly unwell. By that night, she had developed a high fever and fallen into a coma. It was soon established that she had somehow contracted a virulent strain of a disease much like measles, which was raging in the poorer parts of the City. Though frantic efforts were made to cure her both by human and feyin doctors, she died two days later.

  ‘My father was inconsolable. He had lost the love of his life, and for a while his courtiers thought he would go mad, so great was his grief.’ Izolda paused. ‘My mother’s father died only a few months later. Of a broken heart, they said. It was then that my father began to conceive a violent hatred of Krainos. His grief made him blame your country for the destruction of his happiness. And what’s more, it wasn’t the first time that a similar tragedy had struck his family.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, puzzled. Then a vague recollection came into my head. Something that I’d once heard mentioned – the Prince of Night had not been the original heir to his father’s throne. ‘There was a brother who died very young – is that it?’

  Izolda nodded. ‘Yes. Back then, my grandfather had sent his firstborn to Krainos, reviving the tradition for a child of the royal blood of Night to be sent to a human foster family to learn the ways of the human world. But the little boy was delicate, and he took ill with scarlet fever and died. My father never knew him, because he himself was only a baby when it happened, and it was overshadowed by the fact his mother, my grandmother, had died not long after his own birth. But I think now that the remembrance of old tragedy added to the pain of the new one to further darken his view of Krainos. He even forgot, I think, that my mother had come from there. As the years passed, his hatred grew and grew until one day it could no longer be contained. And then he launched the black ships …’

  She fell silent, staring into the flames, and I felt a shiver crawl over me as the echo of her words died away. By the Angels, was it really possible that her father had killed all those people – our people and his own – caused so much havoc, struck so much fear into so many souls, because his heart was broken? Had he really thought that hatred could heal the pain of love? If so, he had been grievously, terribly wrong. Not only had he been defeated, not only had his kingdom been forced into a humiliating treaty, but he had lost his only daughter, the fruit of his and his wife’s love.

  Never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined I might feel even a shred of pity for the Prince of Night. Always, we’d been told he was a monster, a power-hungry aggressor who had made a grab for our country and failed. But now I could not help a tiny flicker of sympathy as I thought of the very special hell he must have been living in all these years.

  Kasper

  I slept dreamlessly that night, awakening to a bright day and Izolda singing as she brewed tea. I walked over and put my arms around her, kissing her on the warm back of her beautiful neck. She twisted in my arms and smiled up at me. ‘Did you sleep well, Kasper?’

  ‘Perfectly. And you?’

  ‘Hardly at all,’ she said, and laughed. ‘But I feel perfectly rested. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘It’s the magic of love,’ I said cheerfully, and she laughed again and kissed me while our tea grew cold and unregarded.

  Everything had changed between us, and I was wildly happy. All that day passed like a flash, and the next day, and the next. Between our chores, we would spend a lot of time talking. I grew to know a good deal about Izolda’s family and the underground kingdom, and not just through words. For the pad I’d given her was filling with underground scenes, delicately coloured. She had even drawn a beautiful map of the crystal city, complete with little figures hurrying along the streets.

  How I loved hearing her speak about it, knowing that she had opened to me completely, that her trust in me was absolute! Yet, when one evening Izolda said that she was sure that in time we’d stand together in those same streets and be married with her father’s blessing, I could not bring myself to tell her what was in my heart: that you might as well believe the moon could really be caught in a net. Rescuer of his daughter or not, I was not only from the people her father loathed, I was also a commoner without money or land. His pride would never stand it.

  And what of my own people? How would my parents accept my marriage to the daughter of Krainos’s most deadly enemy? They might a
ccept it for my sake, because they loved me. But it wouldn’t make them happy. And as to the neighbours – the wider world, the authorities, the Commander – what would they think? How would they react? I did not want to dwell too much on the answer, for I thought I should not find it much to my liking.

  At night, we sometimes read to each other from Tales from the Forest. Other times we sang together or talked, or just sat quietly by the fire, holding each other. One evening, as we sat by the fire, wrapped in each other’s arms, Izolda told me about the dreams she’d had those last weeks in the Tower.

  ‘I was flying, and it felt so free and wonderful. But I wasn’t alone. Someone was with me – someone with coal-black hair, lips red as blood, skin white as snow.’ Izolda twisted in my arms to look up at me, smiling. ‘That someone had your face, Kasper, my love. I was dreaming about you even before I met you.’

  Thrilled beyond words, I held her tight, kissing her, awed by the strange and wonderful magic that had brought us together …

  Another evening, when Izolda was reading aloud, the domevoy crept out from its hiding place and squatted on its haunches on the floor. It listened to her, not paying any attention to me at all, while Fela ruffled her feathers indignantly on Izolda’s shoulder. It was a moment straight out of an old story, I thought. The world we had left behind might as well never have existed, and I was almost perfectly content.

  Almost. For each night, every difficulty seemed magnified. In those sleepless hours when I tossed and turned, I kept turning over in my mind not only all that had happened to us and what might happen, but also what had happened before. Questions about the past crowded in on me, questions that had been pushed to the back of my mind. They burst forth with greater urgency. Why had our government lied for so many years? Why had they said Izolda was a witch? Why hadn’t her father divulged the truth? How had she been kidnapped in the first place? Surely the daughter of the Prince of Night would have been well-protected. Was betrayal involved? If so, by whom? There were so many questions, and the more I thought about it, the more I felt some dark mystery lay behind it all.