Broken

Everything was white.

Roza rested her forehead against the icy glass, looking out over the perpetual blizzard that swirled outside. Her book lay open, unread, on her lap, and her fingers traced a pattern in the condensation her breath left behind on the cool surface. Usually, every moment she had to herself in her quiet corner of the library was precious, and spent devouring fiction, but today the atmosphere of apprehension that had hovered for weeks was beginning to make her restless, too.

Roza knew that her Uncle George was worried. She also knew that everyone else was talking about it. Here they were, eight weeks and two days from the start of the Trials, and there was no Champion for Rin.

She had overheard her mother gossiping to one of the ladies of the court about it - Leto had three Gifted, although had yet to announce which would be Champion, and Tesni’s young prince had finally stepped up to relieve his great-aunt of the role of Champion for them. Every kingdom of the Union had a Champion ready and trained for the Trials, except for their own.

For some reason that no one in Rin could understand, no one in the royal family had Inherited the Gift since her grandfather, King Edward. On his death, he left no one to stand as Champion for Rin. Ten years passed, and the Trials came round again, and they had no one.

Roza’s Uncle George, also known as King George XI of Rin, the Kingdom of Ice, was worried. She, however, wasn’t - not really. Roza was more worried about the latest plot twist in the novel she was reading, tucked up in the upper level of the palace library, behind the Geography section, where no one else ever went. And the fact that she was feeling a bit peckish, but to return to her rooms for the confectionary that would surely be there would mean her maid-come-governess, Miss Reid, catching her truanting. Again.

Roza decided that it wasn’t worth getting caught - it was only mid afternoon, and Miss Reid could certainly inflict a few more hours of politics, history, or worse, needlepoint on her before she could make a legitimate escape. However she was also feeling restless of her hiding place, picking up on that thrum of worry that pervaded the entire palace. She looked out of the large window out onto the snowy landscape that surrounded the Rinnish Palace, the dark cloud on the horizon threatening to turn the swirling snowfall another icestorm.

She closed her book, leaving it on top of her ever-changing pile of reading material - this one another unoriginal but mildly diverting tale of the love between a Cenrian woman and a Rahmish man, unable to reconcile the differences in their cultures. She slipped down from the excellent hiding place, in the deep windowsill above and behind the last bookcases in the Geography section. She had accumulated not only her stack of books, but a collection of cushions and a large, warm blanket that made her hiding place more comfortable. There were also a few empty bottles of ginger beer littered around her nest, her stash of refreshments now forlornly depleted.

She wove her way through the corridors of bookcases, as she had done a thousand times before. Roza was careful to look down over the larger lower level before descending the stairs, mindful that Miss Reid could be stalking between the tomes on etiquette and lineage. With no sign of her, she flew down the stairs and towards the great door to the library.

There were two guards patrolling past just as she opened the door. Typically bad timing. She hoped Miss Reid hadn’t put a warning out to watch for her. She set her face into a light smile and opened her mouth to greet them, politely.

“Nice try, Roza, but we know she’s after you again,” grinned the bigger, burlier guard. He flicked the tinted visor up off his face, and Roza recognised him immediately. Sam. Now, the question was which way was he betting today.

Roza knew for a fact that there was often bets placed amongst certain factions of the guard when she went missing, regarding where she was found, by whom, and after how long - she actively encouraged this, as it meant a large portion of the guards had no interest in finding her when Miss Reid’s warning went out. The better Roza got at running and hiding, the longer they left her alone - no one placed short odds on her any more.

His companion pulled his visor up, too - John, another of the higher stakes gamblers amongst the guard.

“We have you down for the whole day, Roza - not to be seen til dinner in the Hall. And we have five Union coppers apiece on you. So you really should get back to hiding,” John said with a smile that he shared with Sam. Sam chuckled.

“I will, boys, don’t worry. I’m just a bit… bored. I’ll maybe head out to the stables, and check on that new colt of Caia’s, or head down to the kitchens and relieve Chef of a few cream buns,” she shared, quirking the corners of her mouth.

“Icestorms! I’m wishing we hadn’t given her so long. Rattling Chef’s cage again? Reid will be on the warpath,” John groaned. Sam just laughed.

“Maybe we should get back to the barracks then, place a few more bets based on current information? Seems to me our bet should be priced higher if she doesn’t get caught, and once she’s away she’s provisioned for a whole day…”

Roza smiled, and gave a grateful nod as they began walking down the corridor again in their lightweight grey armour. She considered the memory of once having tried to alternately burn, cut and shoot her way through that grey, supple plastic under supervision from the Captain of the Guard himself after a prank gone wrong, but whatever it was made of was was so tough that the lesson had imprinted well - nothing she could throw at those suits short of murder would affect the men inside.

She made her way carefully through the corridors of the palace. She chose her way specifically - not the shortest route, but through as many of the servant corridors and passages between rooms as possible, avoiding the main thoroughfares. Most of the servants knew Roza, and had a smile or kind word - and not one would ever pass on the fact that she had been there.

————————————————————————————————————————

As she sat in her latest hiding place, on top of a hat box in her mother’s vast wardrobe, half a cream bun in one hand and a tell-tale cream moustache on her face, Roza again briefly considered the Trials. She could remember her grandfather competing in the last one - he didn’t win, but he made it to the final, which brought a lot of honour to Rin and improved their political standing immensely within the Union of Kingdoms. She remembered the journey on the interplanetary shuttle - the only time she had ever left her home world - and she remembered the bright lights and skyscrapers of the central Union world of Fallon, so far from her home kingdom of Rin both in distance and in kind. So far away from her life of lessons, plaguing the kitchen staff, playing pranks on her cousins and holing up in the library with a stack of novels.

A blob of cream escaped her mouth, dropping onto her cord trousers. Miss Reid hated the trouser and shirt ensembles that Roza preferred for day to day (climbing and crawling were much easier in trousers than a dress, and Roza happened to engage in both activities on a regular basis in her attempts to evade her education), but on occasions like this she was especially pleased with them - the mark left from the cream would have ruined a beautiful silk or satin dress, whilst her untucked, over-large shirt would give an admirable attempt at hiding the stain.

The wardrobe door opened. A tall, beautiful young woman, with hair like fine gold embroidery thread and skin like caramel, stepped into the wardrobe, her expression one of distaste. In Rin, everyone had the same dark hair and eyes, and near-translucent skin, she was most obviously a foreigner. Even Roza with her slight touch of chestnut to her dark curls when the sun hit them, her dark gray eyes and skin that turned golden when the sun touched it was very unusual. And in one of the furthest Kingdoms from the central world of Fallon, with its cold and unwelcoming habitat and very conservative culture, foreigners were uncommon at best.

“Lady Rozamund,” she said, her tone weary, “Do we need to have the same conversation again?”

Roza sighed and rolled her eyes. Aryanna was a Chronicler, originally from Tesni, trained at the Academy in Fallon to record the events of history as they unfold. Chroniclers were assigned to important figures in all of the Union worlds, whether politicians, scientists, academics, or masters of the arts, and they recorded everything their Subject did and said for understanding in the future under a vow of silence - nothing they recorded was shared whilst their Subject was still alive. They also acted as advisors, with the entire wealth of knowledge of the Great Fallon Library at their disposal - but very strictly could only offer facts, and not opinions.

Roza’s Uncle George had a less polite name for the Chroniclers: Shadows. He detested his Chronicler, and invariably failed to inform him of meetings or councils, and tried very hard to leave him behind when he travelled. Uncle George’s Chronicler, Atiki, a Letchman with the characteristic dark skin and ghostly pale eyes of the Hidden Kingdom, insisted on sleeping outside His Majesty’s chamber, and followed him with the silent tenacity of a mute terrier. George never asked for Atiki’s input on any of his political decisions, and the vast knowledge the old Letchman had was never shared.

Aryanna, however, was not a typical Chronicler. Roza had tired of hearing how Aryanna had been the youngest graduate of the Academy ever to make her vow of silence, and be offered a Subject to study. Roza rolled her eyes whenever Aryanna offered yet more knowledge pertinent to a discussion Roza did not want to have, and sighed whenever Aryanna’s disappointment in her uninfluential, uninterested and antisocial Subject was strongly hinted at. Roza had tried all of her usual tactics to repel her, from pranks and mischief to simply disappearing, but Aryanna had persevered.

Aryanna swept into the wardrobe, and sat herself gently down on yet another hatbox.

“You can’t keep breaking your end of the bargain and expect me to keep mine, you know. I leave you to your own time in your library, and in return you actually listen to me when I try to help you with your schoolwork, as well as allowing me to follow you without resistance outwith the library. And yet here you are, the evidence of another adventure on your face, and I am left unable to discern whether it was a heroic rescue or a dark crime, because I was not there!”

Roza stuffed the remains of the cream bun into her mouth, before wiping the evidence from her upper lip and smirking at Aryanna. Aryanna let out another pained sigh.

“Look, Roza - I hate being stuck with you as much as you hate being stuck with me. Can we just try to make this less painful for both of us?”

Roza swallowed. A saccharine smile lit up her face.

“I don’t know where you picked up the mistaken idea that I don’t like you, Aryanna. I don’t dislike you any more than anyone else. But if I am such a boring Subject for you, why don’t you just apply for another one instead of following me around like a kicked dog?” Roza’s tone might be sickeningly sweet, but her words made Aryanna’s bright blue eyes flash with anger.

“You know I can’t. That’s not how it works. And right now you might just be a spoiled brat worth nothing to anyone, but someday you will have to do something for your country - be it a political marriage, or taking a seat at court, or by some bad luck for Rin becoming their long awaited Champion. And I have to be here to record that.”

Roza’s gaze narrowed, her expression still.

“If I haven’t been of any use to Rin by the age of twenty, I doubt I will be, Shadow. So why don’t you stop breaking your oath on non-interference, and leave me alone to be worth nothing to anyone?”

For a moment channeling the regality she saw every day in her mother, Roza drew herself up, and swept out of the wardrobe.

————————————————————————————————————————

Roza sat down on the wall around the fountain. Snowflakes flurried through the air, landing briefly on the surface of the water, before fading into nothingness. The clouds were dark, and the rising wind forecasted a brewing icestorm, but Roza did not care, Her anger burned brightly, and she did not notice the pervasive cold.

How dare Aryanna accuse her of begin a spoiled brat? She had practically been ignored by everyone of importance in the palace since the age of fourteen. She had lived in a world of fantasy curled up on her window ledge in the library for six years - how was that spoiled?

And coming from Aryanna too. Just because she was a golden girl, didn’t mean everyone else could achieve as much as she did. She was just annoyed that she didn’t get the Dictator of Farell as a Subject, or someone equally exciting and challenging. Whereas with Roza? Even if Roza did listen to her advice, it wouldn’t make any difference in the world.

Roza let out a growl of annoyance, and stood up sharply. She felt, rather than saw, the jewelled clip that held her tangles of dark hair out of her eyes lose it’s grip, and fall towards the water of the fountain. She threw a hand out towards the surface of the water to catch it, and felt an odd tingling in her fingertips.

But, wait. It must have been colder than she’d noticed out there, as the surface of the water was frozen solid, her hair clip bouncing on the icy surface. She reached out, a little confused, to lift the clip. She could have sworn the fountain had not been frozen when she had sat down. She gripped the clip, and turned from the fountain to march back towards the warmth of the castle.

But with a short glance back over her shoulder, she confirmed it - there was water bursting forth once again from the top of the fountain.

————————————————————————————————————————

It was a distracted Roza who meandered back through the lower hallways of the palace. She wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but she had a horrible suspicion… and she refused to consider any further. She shook her head, curls tumbling around her shoulders. The fountain must have been frozen before she went out. The coming icestorm had obviously caused the temperatures to drop.

She slipped up a servant’s staircase, winding in a spiral up to the next floor of the palace. Roza had been very lucky that Aryanna hadn’t followed her after their argument - if she had been at the fountain… No, if she had been at the fountain, then Roza’s mind would have been laid to rest, that was all. That, and probably another lecture about disappearing.

Roza stepped out into the main corridor, lost in thought. She looked up, noticing that the thoroughfare was unusually busy. There was a large number of well dressed nobles promenading towards the main staircase down to the entrance hall. For a moment, she was puzzled, and then she brightened with rememberence: Uncle George had ordered a public meeting to discuss the Trials, and what they should do about its lack of Champion.

Normally, such a thing would have caused Roza to shiver, and feel a little nauseous, requiring an afternoon curled up in the Library to recover. But today, that strange restlessness would not allow her to sit still, and with a dark feeling of foreboding, she wondered if a little knowledge of the Trials might be a useful thing to have.

Feeling lighter than she had all day on finally deciding , Roza raced back to her rooms. Who knew that doing as was expected of her would make her feel so relieved? She changed from her shirt and trousers to a dress - nothing like the ones her mother and aunt would wear, or even Aryanna’s, just a demure dove-grey, elbow length and with a gentle rounded neck, that came to midway between her knee and ankle. A perfect dress for someone who did not wish to call attention to themselves.

Roza slipped out of her room, and turned to walk back down the corridor - but instead came face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes in a caramel-toned face. And most definitely not a happy one.

“Are you telling me that you were about to actually attend some kind of court function without informing me?”

Roza sighed.

“No, I wasn’t telling you. That was the whole point.”

Aryanna’s eyes darkened.

“You do realise that I’m not afraid of using Atiki’s methods? Neither of us will enjoy my sleeping outside your door, and following you to the privy. But if you refuse to keep our bargain, then I shall have to.”

Roza sighed again, but in an exaggerated, dramatic fashion this time.

“Fine. Fine. Come with me then to this stupid meeting. I won’t say a word, and might well sneak off halfway through, once the right people have seen that I’ve made an effort to attend. But even that has to be a milestone in your diary of my life, yes? So keep quiet and hurry up.”

It wasn’t a smile on Aryanna’s face - more a smug impression of having won. But at least she stopped complaining.

Roza stalked off down the corridor, her dark hair curling wildly out of its haphazard pins. Aryanna wisely followed at a distance.

“So, Lady Rozamund, have you any opinions on the matter of the Champion?”

Her voice sounded smug, and was definitely trying to incite Roza’s temper, but she could wield silence as deftly as Aryanna used words.

“There has always been at least one Champion for every Kingdom. Perhaps your cousin Edward or James might suddenly Inherit the power of our Kingdom just in time to represent Rin at the Trials?”

Roza rolled her eyes, despite the fact that Aryanna, behind her, wouldn’t see. Just having done it made her feel somewhat better.

“I wouldn’t think there is anyone else of an age. Even you are too old to Inherit - it usually comes as an early teenager I believe. At twenty, unfortunately, I believe you are past the point of being useful.”

Roza wanted to escape her. Aryanna’s presence was so draining, and it took all of her mental effort to keep smiling and silent and apparently unaffected. How on earth had she deserved such a viper of a Shadow? And worse, what had Aryanna done to deserve being stuck in an outer Kingdom, with conservative and traditional culture, with a completely uninteresting Subject like Roza?

They were approaching the top of the staircase, and suddenly, mischief lit up Roza’s face. She wouldn’t have Aryanna at her back, at least, not for much longer.

Five paces from the staircase, Roza leapt into an unladylike sprint, her skirts flying. She let out a bubble of laughter as she spun onto the handrail, and began a speedy descent away from her tormentor.

She threw her head back and let out a whoop as she slid down the bannister, whipping past the last few people on their way to the meeting. But on looking down again, her heart almost stopped. Instead of the smooth bannister end she was used to, a large, ceremonial ice sculpture of a bird taking off had been set in place on the curve of the handrail at the foot of the stairs. And she was flying toward it at high speed. She couldn’t crash into it - shattering something like that would bring her to her Uncle’s attention, which was the one thing she tried never to do. So Roza did the only thing she could think of - she threw herself sideways off the bannister.

She rolled across and down the stairs, elbows, knees and bits of her back impacting on the edges of the stone stairs with each bounce. She came to a halt by crashing, not into the ice sculpture, but into a large suit of ancient ceremonial armour - the metal stuff, not the lightweight plastic used for the guard now - stood at the base of the stairs. Roza panicked, imagining its sword and spear falling and slicing her in half, and threw her hands up to protect herself, feeling a strange tingling in her fingertips.

There was no crash. Instead, there was only a collective gasp. Roza opened her eyes to see her Uncle, with some of the more influential members of his court, standing in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, watching her with eyes wide and mouths open. But, they weren’t looking at her. They were looking above her. So Roza looked up.

Above her outstretched hands, the suit of armour and its weapons lay slumped halfway through the air. They were leaning on something, a translucent grey-blue something that domed over her head. She sat up, and pushed herself back from the strange shield that had protected her from the crash of the armour. The moment she was out of range, the shield vanished, and the armour came crashing to floor in an inexplicable puddle of water.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Richard, did that look like a shield to you?” her Uncle asked the man standing next to him.

“Indeed, sire. Not normally a Gift associated with Rin, but it did appear somewhat icy in nature, so perhaps it is merely an additional aspect to the Gift. Indeed, it would appear that we have found our Champion, sire. Our problems are solved.”

Uncle George watched Roza with an unreadable expression. For once, she knew she couldn’t smile her way out of this.

“Perhaps we have. However, Richard, I do not believe for a moment that our problems are solved.”

————————————————————————————————————————

Roza was coming to believe that perhaps she was never quite so completely ignored as she had always thought. Uncle George was certainly quick enough to have her escorted to his private meeting room rather than allowing her the chance to slither out from under the piercing gaze of himself and his cabinet. And she suspected that the toffee cheesecake and ginger beer on offer to her when she sat down was not the usual fare served to the King and his advisors when they met there.

And when she realised that not only had the King and his advisors failed to accompany her to this room, but that she could hear raised male voices coming from across the corridor, she was prevented from following her instinct to sneak out of the room and listen in on the conversation by a large and not particularly verbose guard - one of the King’s Guard no less, who unfortunately never joined in on the stakes on her daily escape and capture game.

Instead, Roza was left to contemplate what had happened in the hallway.

Obviously, from the behaviour of her Uncle and his entourage, it was fairly momentous. She had a sneaking suspicion that they believed that whatever had happened at the bottom of the stairs was related to the Gift that her grandfather had wielded - but she couldn’t let herself believe that. Roza was the most ordinary of the royal brood of children, and was by far the biggest disappointment to all, and if Rin ended up relying on her to represent them in the Trials…

Rpza remembered the swirling fireballs of the Tesnan Champion, the tornado that the Ilman Champion directed, the way the Letch Champion had disappeared and reappeared so suddenly - and worst, the shadows of the Colban Champion. How could she possibly face that? Especially as Roza had no idea what she had even done…

She stood up sharply, abandoning her cheesecake half eaten. If anything proved how disturbing that thought was, it was the lonely, rejected dessert on her plate.

It must have been a trick. Roza knew she probably deserved some karmic payment in kind for the pranks she had played in her life. But it just couldn’t be that the most disappointing, lackadaisical, and irresponsible member of the Royal family was the one to represent Rin at the Trials.

It was then that the door opened. Framed in the doorway stood a very familiar figure, but one whose bright blue eyes had never been so full of excitement in the whole time Roza had known her.

“Princess Rozamund?’ she enquired, in a surprisingly deferential voice, as she closed the door behind herself and took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs that surrounded the fireplace.

Roza’s years of etiquette training from Miss Reid had the correction out of her mouth before she even realised.

“It’s Lady Rozamund, Aryanna, not Princess.”

She raised a delicately arched eyebrow.

“I think it will be Princess after today, tradition or not,” she said with a widening grin, somewhat reminding Roza of an image she had once seen of a crocodile, “You can’t possibly have a Rinnish Champion, even in the furthest reaches of the family tree, who doesn’t have a direct royal title. I assume you remember enough of your lessons to understand the central tenets of the monarchy?’

Roza’s eyes narrowed.

“This isn’t a joke or a prank, Chronicler. Somehow the King has mistaken me for a… a Champion, but it isn’t true - it can’t be true. And the Trials are in eight weeks’ time. Even if they aren’t wrong, what else can we do? I can’t become a Champion fit to represent Rin in that time! I know this might be what you’ve secretly longed for all along, a chance to make a name for yourself, but quite frankly I don’t care - you are not supposed to interfere, and right now I need unbiased advice!”

Aryanna’s eyes softened.

“You’re right,” she said, simply and honestly, “This is exactly what I hoped for. But I never thought for a moment it would happen. I thought this was a test of my tenacity, and that the Great Library would assign me somewhere else once I had proved myself. And, to be honest, now that it has happened, I am concerned for you, Princess. For all the reasons you have already identified.”

Roza closed her eyes, and bit back a sob. Even Aryanna couldn’t see the good in this. What could she do?

“But, I am going to help you. I have all of the knowledge of the Great Library at my fingertips - I can teach you history, politics, etiquette and intrigue, and, unlike anyone else in this Kingdom, I have written accounts of your grandfather’s power, and every Gifted, Champion or not, that came before him. I can help you, Princess, but you have to work with me.”

Roza looked at Aryanna for a long moment. There was a light in Aryanna’s eyes, a bright, excited, honest light that she hadn’t seen in her ever since their first meeting. Could she trust the girl who had tracked her and baited her for so long?

“I think I probably need some help with my wardrobe, too,” Roza sighed, the closest she would come to admitting Aryanna was right. She needed Aryanna to teach her.

And teach her, Aryanna did.

————————————————————————————————————————

“Name the Nine Worlds of the Union of Kingdoms.”

“Rin, the Kingdom of Ice, Ilma, the Kingdom of Air, Tesni, the Kingdom of Fire, Leto, the Hidden Kingdom, Rahm, the Kingdom of Kindness, Cenric, the Kingdom of Strength, Colby, the Kingdom of Shadows, Farell, the Kingdom of Fear, and Fallon, the First Kingdom, and the Heart of the Union.”

“And what order do they lie in?”

“Tesni first, closest to the Sun. Then Farell, then Ilma, then Fallon. Rahm next, followed by Cenric, then Leto, then Rin, and Colby last of all.”

Day after day, Aryanna lectured and quizzed Roza on the other Kingdoms, their imports and exports, their political relationship with Rin, their cultures and their rulers. Not all were simple monarchies like Rin - Leto and Rahm were democratic republics, and Farell a dictatorship. No one had ever reported on Colby - the only world to never have a Chronicler pass its border.

“Why? Do they not invalidate the treaty of Union by doing so?”

“Colby is difficult. It’s strange that the Kingdom of shadows is more secretive than the Hidden Kingdom, but their culture is so private and unknown that enforcing the treaty on those terms would lead to its end, no doubt.”

Alongside studies of geography, politics and culture, were some lessons Roza was sure were unnecessary. Unfortunately, her Uncle George agreed with Aryanna when the matter was brought up to him at one of their dinners - it was now a standing arrangement to have the new Champion attend state dinner every evening - and so the lessons in dancing and courtly behaviour continued.

“No, Roza, glide! Don’t stamp! And don’t look at your feet!”

Needless to say, neither of Roza’s younger cousins, nor her Uncle, ever ventured within shouting distance of her rooms again, and the guards now studiously avoided her gaze.

But the most important and frustrating lessons where those where she tried to use her power. To begin with, she couldn’t do anything. She strained, she flexed, she imagined and visualised as hard as she could. But nothing came.

Then, one day, in frustration, Aryanna threw a perfectly good chocolate eclair at Roza’s head. Roza threw up her hand, squealing at Aryanna and turning her head away from the sweet missile.

“I spent too much time putting my hair up like this Aryanna to get cream in it!”

But then she felt a strange tingling in her fingertips, and when no confectionary impact came, she looked up, to see a perfectly frozen eclair, impaled with a large icicle that seemed to have grown upwards out of her floor.

“Oh,” she said, weakly.

“Oh, indeed,” said a smugly grinning Aryanna, “Let’s practice that again, shall we?”

Roza scrabbled for the plate of cakes.

“Leave the pastries alone this time, if you please!”