Calia reared up, tears no longer threatening. "I could get married," she argued indignantly. "Someone could want me; I would make a more useful wife than most of the girls in this town."
Mrs. Thorne snorted. "Useful, yes. But young men aren't looking for useful, they want beautiful. Who's going to fall in love with a girl like you? You are nothing to look at, you aren't lady like in the least, your manners are atrocious and then there's the matter of your father." Her words hurt Calia so fiercely she could hardly breathe. She knew she wasn't the loveliest or politest or most charming girl but her mother's harsh assessment left her feeling as though there was nothing special or lovable about her at all. And the double meaning of her mother's words had not escaped her. The villagers hadn't chosen her to go, they had all chosen her, her mother included.
"And what about you?" Calia asked. Her lips quivered and she bit down before continuing. "Do you not need me?"
Her mother sighed. "Calia, it's time you moved on-"
"I am only seventeen!"
"Yes, seventeen. And next year all the girls your age will begin to receive offers of courtship and the year after that they will be married. They'll go on to have children and contribute to our town. What will you do here? You cannot live in my home forever and you cannot work and live on your own, it would be disgraceful."
Calia's thoughts were racing and she reached out for any argument that would keep her from being sent to the Cold King. "But who will help you? Surely you cannot do everything by yourself."
Mrs. Thorne poured steaming water over her tea leaves. "Your sister is old enough to take on more chores."
"Moli is only eleven; she cannot do everything I can do."
Mrs. Thorn slammed her cup to the counter. "She can and she will. Just as you will go to the Cold King tomorrow and be his servant. It's been decided."
Calia tried to pull a breath of air into her tight chest. Surely there was a way out of such a dire circumstance.
She tried to imagine what life was going to be like for her and couldn't. Silently, she cursed everyone for always ignoring her, never bothering to tell her anything. The only future she could picture was ruled by a looming mad man in a mask.
Calia shook her head, unable to even fathom it. She couldn't go. She wouldn't. "And if I refuse?" she whispered. "If I run away?"
Her mother arched an eyebrow. "This isn't a request. It's a demand. The Cold King keeps us safe and warm and fed and in return he asks for a few faithful servants. We are lucky he allows us to choose who will go."
"Not lucky for me," Calia mumbled.
Her mother ignored her comment and continued. "You have been chosen and if you refuse you will be killed."
Calia gasped. "Killed?"
"He isn't called the Cold King for nothing."
"But killed? Surely that cannot be."
Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. "It rarely comes to that. I'm sure most of the people that go to the castle find themselves quite comfortable in their new lives. Besides, if you don't go then I will drag you. You will not shame me any further." There was a dark gleam in her eye and Calia could only numbly nod.
Sensing her daughters brokenness, Mrs. Thorne relented a little and patted Calia's shoulder. "Try to get some sleep dear. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
Chapter Two
Calia slept but it was not restful. Nightmares of winter and diamond encrusted masks tormented her until she woke at daybreak in a panic, tangled in her bed clothes.
Breakfast was a silent affair and every moment reminded her of just how unwanted she was by everyone in the village.
"Show your sister how to complete her new duties," was the only thing her mother said to her before she left for the market.
Calia fumbled through the chores, whispering explanations when needed. She could tell Moli was quickly overwhelmed and felt sorry for her, but not as sorry as she felt for herself.
Exhausted and grief stricken, she let herself collapse in the armchair while her sister attempted to fix dinner.
"I cannot do this!" Moli wailed from the kitchen.
"You'll have to, dear. Because I won't be here tomorrow to do it and Mother won't accept failure." Calia tried to warm her harsh words but her sister continued to sob. She got up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Please do not cry. It's not so hard; I know you can do it. And if you can do this well then in a few years you can be married instead of having to go to be the servant of the Cold King."
Moli threw her arms around her older sister, surprising her and almost knocking her back against the counter. "I do not want you to go!"
Calia smoothed the girl's hair down. "It's going to be all right, I am sure that I will be fine-"
"No, not you, me! What am I going to do? I cannot be mothers slave!"
Calia's hand stilled on her sister's hair. It took her a moment to speak and when she did her voice shook with hurt and anger. "You aren't going to be a slave. You are going to help mother until you are old enough to get married and have your own family. I am going to be slave in that cold castle until I die."
Her younger sister sniffled and shook her off. "Well at least you won't have to put up with mother anymore."
Unable to tolerate any more unkindness, Calia left her sister to her own devices in the kitchen and didn't even stir when smoke began to permeate the room.
Dinner was silent, the family picking at the burned remains of meat and vegetables on their plates.
Calia didn't bother to attempt to eat. She stayed curled up on the small window seat until it was time for her to leave.
When the sun finally began to set, there were no gentle words of encouragement for Calia or well-wishers to see her off. She was given the rattiest cloak in the house and a broken basket to carry the few mementos of her family and life that she was allowed to take.
Her mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before shoving her out the door and slamming it shut.
Tears burned her eyes as she stood on the stoop of her former home and no matter how she steeled herself, her knees shook. It took everything in her to take the first step and then the next and the next. No one said anything to her as she passed by on wobbly legs. No one would meet her eye. Calia had never felt so small and unloved. Every moment of cold silence endured while forcing herself through the village stabbed her in the heart.
No one cared.
But the pain strengthened and numbed her. She did not pause as she set foot on the paved road to the castle. It climbed higher into the mountains and soon her calves burned and she gasped in the thin air but still she continued. Birds chirped happily around her and the setting sun gleamed, casting a glow on all of the frost covered trees. It seemed even nature did not care for her sorrow or pain, she noted dully.
As the road wound out between two high mounts, the castle suddenly loomed over the road in the near distance and Calia jerked to a stop, her ashen hair flying over her shoulders. Her new home appeared as cold and magnificent as its king. The cool grey stones of the massive structure blended in eerily with the mountain behind it. One lone spire stood above it all and she wondered if anyone was up there watching for her.
She rubbed her suddenly sweaty hands on her ragged cloak and swallowed hard. Calia hadn't thought it possible to feel more out of place than she had at home but staring at the imposing castle made her reconsider.
In few minutes she would be at the castle to meet her king and his servants. She looked down at herself and grimaced. She couldn't meet the king with tangled, sun bleached hair and tattered rags for clothes. Her face flushed with shame and she set her basket down to try to make herself presentable. With shaking fingers, Calia combed through her hair and twisted it into a bun.
Her fingers stilled as she thought. She always wore her hair twisted into a bun when she was cleaning, surely that couldn't make the best impression. Calia started to take her hair down and stopped when a new thought came to mind – she was supposed to be a servant, so surely he would want her hair tucked up.
The bitter wind froze the tears into her eyelashes while she debated. Finally Calia admitted to herself she had no idea what the king truly wanted from her and wove her hair into the nicest braid she could manage before tucking the end under the collar of her ratty cloak. Then she wiped her face, straightened her dress, picked up her broken basket and took a deep breath.