Clutching it, she called to the Bear King, “Your turn.”
He looked aghast.
She laughed out loud. She felt better already. “Too undignified for you, Your Royal Ursine Highness?”
“Munaqsri are not royalty. I am merely Bear.” Spreading all four paws wide, Bear skidded across the ballroom on his stomach. With his legs splayed out, he spun a hundred eighty degrees to a stop.
Laughing, Cassie shoved away from the pillar and slipped to the center of the room. She smashed into Bear.
“Yikes, sorry,” she said, disentangling herself. What was she doing? He wasn’t her friend; he was a magical soul-transferring polar bear.
“Stand still,” he told her.
She tensed but obeyed. She shouldn’t have started this. She was supposed to be on her way home, not—Before she could complete the thought, Bear pushed. She careened across the ballroom.
Laughing, she caught herself on a pillar.
She looked back at the polar bear, sobering. One week, he’d asked for. Was that such an awful price for all the wonders she’d seen? “One week,” she said. “I’ll stay for one week.” EIGHT
Latitude 91° 00’ 00” N
Longitude indeterminate
Altitude 15 ft.
ONE WEEK SLID INTO TWO and then three and then four, and so on. As the days passed, it became easier and easier for Cassie to find excuses to delay returning to the station and facing whatever (or, more accurately, whoever) waited for her there. She hadn’t forgiven Dad for the heavy-handed way he’d tried to ship her off to Fairbanks, or for the way he’d lied to her for her entire life. As for her mother . . . Cassie wanted to see her, but every morning, she woke up and said, “Just one more day, and then I’ll go home.” And every night, she went to bed alone and dreamed of bears and ice.
As the weeks went by, she stopped thinking about home at all. One afternoon when they’d finished carving ice roses into the pillars of the ballroom (Bear carving and Cassie directing), they lay in the center of the floor admiring their handiwork.
“Why does this castle even have a ballroom?” she asked. “Did any Bear King ever hold a ball? Were there waltzing walruses? Say that ten times fast. Waltzing walruses . . .” Beside her, Bear pushed himself up onto his hind legs. Standing, he was loosely humanoid—if one ignored that he was thirteen feet tall. He held out his paw. “May I have this dance?” Cassie grinned at him. “Delighted, Your Royal Ursine Highness.” She put her hand in his. Her hand was minuscule in his vast paw. “Don’t fall on me,” she ordered. She could not reach his shoulder so she settled for putting her other hand on his forearm. Her fingers sank deep into creamy white fur.
Gently, he guided her across the ballroom. His paw covered half her back. They danced in silence.
Across the topiary garden, deep amber sunlight filled the horizon. Warm orange spread across the ice. It was . . . The word that popped into her mind was “romantic.” He spun her. She felt dizzy staring up at his fur.
I’m happy here, she realized. Thinking that, she felt as if she were on the edge of a sea cliff. “We need music,” she said, trying to break the mood.
“I could sing for you.”
“You sing?”
“No,” he said.
She grinned. He dipped her backward. I’m happy here because of Bear, she thought. She glimpsed the golden light, and a tear welled in her eye. He pulled her upright. “Sun,” she said quickly to explain the tear.
“It is the last of the light,” Bear said.
Startled, she stumbled over her feet. He steadied her. How could she have stayed here for so long?
What did Dad think had happened to her? And Gram? And her mother. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about her mother right now, not during the end of the light. She always loved the last glimpse of the sun’s rays before the long polar night.
“Come with me,”
He looked aghast.
She laughed out loud. She felt better already. “Too undignified for you, Your Royal Ursine Highness?”
“Munaqsri are not royalty. I am merely Bear.” Spreading all four paws wide, Bear skidded across the ballroom on his stomach. With his legs splayed out, he spun a hundred eighty degrees to a stop.
Laughing, Cassie shoved away from the pillar and slipped to the center of the room. She smashed into Bear.
“Yikes, sorry,” she said, disentangling herself. What was she doing? He wasn’t her friend; he was a magical soul-transferring polar bear.
“Stand still,” he told her.
She tensed but obeyed. She shouldn’t have started this. She was supposed to be on her way home, not—Before she could complete the thought, Bear pushed. She careened across the ballroom.
Laughing, she caught herself on a pillar.
She looked back at the polar bear, sobering. One week, he’d asked for. Was that such an awful price for all the wonders she’d seen? “One week,” she said. “I’ll stay for one week.” EIGHT
Latitude 91° 00’ 00” N
Longitude indeterminate
Altitude 15 ft.
ONE WEEK SLID INTO TWO and then three and then four, and so on. As the days passed, it became easier and easier for Cassie to find excuses to delay returning to the station and facing whatever (or, more accurately, whoever) waited for her there. She hadn’t forgiven Dad for the heavy-handed way he’d tried to ship her off to Fairbanks, or for the way he’d lied to her for her entire life. As for her mother . . . Cassie wanted to see her, but every morning, she woke up and said, “Just one more day, and then I’ll go home.” And every night, she went to bed alone and dreamed of bears and ice.
As the weeks went by, she stopped thinking about home at all. One afternoon when they’d finished carving ice roses into the pillars of the ballroom (Bear carving and Cassie directing), they lay in the center of the floor admiring their handiwork.
“Why does this castle even have a ballroom?” she asked. “Did any Bear King ever hold a ball? Were there waltzing walruses? Say that ten times fast. Waltzing walruses . . .” Beside her, Bear pushed himself up onto his hind legs. Standing, he was loosely humanoid—if one ignored that he was thirteen feet tall. He held out his paw. “May I have this dance?” Cassie grinned at him. “Delighted, Your Royal Ursine Highness.” She put her hand in his. Her hand was minuscule in his vast paw. “Don’t fall on me,” she ordered. She could not reach his shoulder so she settled for putting her other hand on his forearm. Her fingers sank deep into creamy white fur.
Gently, he guided her across the ballroom. His paw covered half her back. They danced in silence.
Across the topiary garden, deep amber sunlight filled the horizon. Warm orange spread across the ice. It was . . . The word that popped into her mind was “romantic.” He spun her. She felt dizzy staring up at his fur.
I’m happy here, she realized. Thinking that, she felt as if she were on the edge of a sea cliff. “We need music,” she said, trying to break the mood.
“I could sing for you.”
“You sing?”
“No,” he said.
She grinned. He dipped her backward. I’m happy here because of Bear, she thought. She glimpsed the golden light, and a tear welled in her eye. He pulled her upright. “Sun,” she said quickly to explain the tear.
“It is the last of the light,” Bear said.
Startled, she stumbled over her feet. He steadied her. How could she have stayed here for so long?
What did Dad think had happened to her? And Gram? And her mother. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about her mother right now, not during the end of the light. She always loved the last glimpse of the sun’s rays before the long polar night.
“Come with me,”
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