Chapter 7
Gentle hands guided Dalla down the eastern flight of stairs and through the main hall, past the magnificent tree, and back up the west stairs. Everything looked different illuminated in natural light, but she didn’t have time to appreciate the view.
She came to a stop at an unassuming door. The invisible servants knocked for her.
“Come in,” said Kolfrosta.
Dalla stepped through two sets of doors.
Calmly, Kolfrosta brushed her hair at a vanity. Her hair rolled in elegant waves past her shoulders. She wore a cloak that hung loosely on her body. As in the painting, her skin resembled a snowy sky during the day: a bright white with a faint blush of blue.
She raised her eyebrows at Dalla.
“Show me your hands,” Dalla ordered.
Kolfrosta set the brush on the table. “Why?”
Heat crept up Dalla’s neck as she approached. Perhaps shocked into obedience, Kolfrosta splayed her fingers on the table. She wore no rings.
One of Kolfrosta’s smooth legs dipped out of the cloak and settled back under it as she shifted. Flustered, Dalla forced her eyes to Kolfrosta’s face.
“There is a painting,” said Dalla, voice shaking, “in one of the rooms here.”
“There are many works of art in this palace,” Kolfrosta said steadily.
She thinks I’m overreacting to something, Dalla thought, and that made her angrier. From under her gifted cloak, she unsheathed the dagger and slammed the blade into the vanity table.
Kolfrosta did not flinch. She looked at the dagger and then back up at Dalla.
“The design,” Dalla said, breathless. “Do you recognize it?”
Gingerly, Kolfrosta extracted the dagger from her table. The blade was beautifully made, iron and all, and the engraved snowflake design caught the light. Kolfrosta’s fingertips turned red where she touched the metal, like it burned her.
So iron did hurt the fae.
She set the dagger back on the table and looked up at Dalla. The look in her eyes was enough of an answer.
“Where is my ring?”
Kolfrosta touched the pendant at her neck. She nudged it aside, revealing a chain so thin Dalla would have missed it. When Kolfrosta tugged the thinner chain, it popped out of her garment. The ring was looped around it, the weight of it swinging in Kolfrosta’s grip.
Kolfrosta lifted the chain and offered it to Dalla. Dalla grabbed it, turning it over. The ring was still warm from Kolfrosta’s skin, and it looked exactly as Dalla remembered.
“How did you get this?” Dalla choked.
“You gave it to me,” Kolfrosta said.
“That’s not possible.”
Kolfrosta drummed her fingers against the table. “All fae have some kind of power. Puck and I, we control the seasons and the harvest. But there are other things we specialize in.”
Dalla thought she would vomit. “Memories,” she said. “Like the ones on the tree.”
“Yes,” said Kolfrosta. “I can manipulate memories.”
Dalla slid the ring over her forefinger. It fit perfectly—as it should. It had been made specifically for her. For years, this object had been her most treasured possession.
So why would she give it to Kolfrosta?
The answer hit her, obvious and unyielding.
“I’ve been here before,” breathed Dalla. But she didn’t remember it at all.
“Yes,” said Kolfrosta again. “If you would like your memories back…” She reached under her bed and brought out a wooden box divided into squares. Each square contained a bauble like the ones on the tree.
Dalla considered. Her thoughts were already so jumbled. What kind of person would she be today if she had retained the memories of her first visit here?
“No,” she said. “I want answers. Why have I been here before?”
The pieces were coming together. That first night when Kolfrosta visited Dalla and then left had always puzzled her—but if that was the altered memory she was left with…
“I had to do something about the harvest,” said Kolfrosta, closing her eyes. “I thought if I stole one of your kingdom’s precious daughters and held her hostage, it would force the king and queen to act. I targeted their youngest daughter—you. And I brought you here.”
Dalla clenched her fist. “But you brought me back.”
Kolfrosta nudged the box back under her bed and stood, reminding Dalla of her much taller stature. “I did. There are times where I am…soft.”
Other than murdering my family, Dalla wanted to say, but she didn’t.
“When I brought you here, I couldn’t help but observe you. No other human had ever been to my domain. You were so taken with it. I thought… Well, I thought I could do you the courtesy of showing you around. It didn’t feel right to keep you as a prisoner.”
“So you let me go,” Dalla said, “because I liked the palace?”
Kolfrosta swallowed thickly. “No. I made the mistake of speaking with you. You weren’t anything like I thought a spoiled daughter of the royal family would be. You had a kind heart. I tried to tell you what your parents were up to, and you cried and cried.”
Like a child, Dalla thought with shame. She had been twenty-six, older than her father was when he ascended to the throne, and she had wept like a baby. Her tears may have saved her life.
“It was then that I realized how little they cared for you,” Kolfrosta continued. “How little affection you held for them, and how little was returned. They did not keep you abreast of their tyranny. You were just a woman.” She looked down. “A woman with a heart as soft as mine.”
Dalla closed her eyes. Hearing herself described like this, she felt like a fraud.
She had spent years hiding away from politics, avoiding the cruelty of her family herself.
She had not meant to subvert the tyrannical reign of her family.
She’d only meant to survive, and when the time came for her to take over, she had thought the goal of survival should extend to everyone else.
“Why do you care?” Dalla said. “How does the suffering in my world concern you?”
Kolfrosta took a step toward Dalla, and Dalla stood her ground even though she had to look up to meet Kolfrosta’s gaze. “I think we have much in common, Dalla,” said Kolfrosta. “I think you can’t stand to see people suffer any more than I can.”
As if they had a mind of their own, Dalla’s fingers crept forward and took hold of Kolfrosta’s cloak. Kolfrosta’s breath caught; her eyes widened; the snow flurrying under her skin stopped and then started again.
Kolfrosta leaned forward. Dalla stretched herself up on her toes.
Inches away, it occurred to Dalla to wonder if this was a good idea. But she might not remember anything tomorrow.
She balled Kolfrosta’s cloak in her fists and tugged. Kolfrosta’s eyes became heavy, half-lidded, the dark irises reflecting the same desire Dalla felt.
Dalla kissed her first.
Kolfrosta’s lips were warm as wassail and soft as freshly fallen snow.
Her hands wound around the back of Dalla’s neck, pulling her in, and Dalla stumbled forward into her.
She pushed, nudging Kolfrosta deeper into the room, and then pushed again.
Kolfrosta’s knees fell out under her and she landed on the bed.
Dalla drew back, breathing heavily. Kolfrosta sat looking almost meek, watching to gauge Dalla’s next move. With Kolfrosta’s cloak open, Dalla could see the translucent shift underneath. Every curve on display. Dalla so badly wanted to feel every inch of her body.
“I dream about you,” confessed Dalla. “I have dreamed about you ever since I first saw you.”
Kolfrosta licked her lips. Her eyes were alive, alight with some emotion Dalla couldn’t place. “You haunt my dreams too,” she whispered.
Dalla pictured her dreams reversed: herself biting Kolfrosta’s neck and drinking her blood, stealing her away in the night. But that couldn’t be right. Dalla posed no threat to Kolfrosta and the immortal fae life she lived.
What did Kolfrosta see in her dreams?
“Why?” Dalla asked.
Kolfrosta’s eyes were bright as if with tears. “Perhaps some things are better left in our dreams.”
“How would I have left that kind of impression on you? I’m like any other human.”
At this, Kolfrosta laughed. “Sure, you are.”
“What does that mean?”
But Kolfrosta shook her head. “Meet me in the courtyard, will you? I have to get ready. Please feel free to stop in the dining hall and get some food if you need any.” She pushed her cloak back up over her shoulders, covering herself.
“Very well,” said Dalla.
Whatever connection they’d felt was clearly over for the moment. How far would they have gone if Dalla hadn’t opened her stubborn mouth? As she was escorted out, Dalla wondered if it would have been better not to say anything at all.