Chapter 8
The servants escorted Dalla back to her room and brought in more clothing to wear—more white fur and blue silk, the colors of the snowy season Kolfrosta commanded. The effect of wearing her colors was made worse when Dalla tried to exit the room and found the door once again locked.
Very well, then. A reminder that she was a captive here, and that kissing her captive did not make Kolfrosta less of a captor. Dalla knew how to take a message: she was being put in her place. She strapped the dagger back onto her belt.
She had half drifted asleep when someone shook her awake. The servants led her down the east stairs and through the door at the bottom between the staircases—a door Dalla had assumed was for the servants to come and go easily.
The sight that met her gave her pause: an enormous open courtyard with another dazzling tree in its center. The tree was decorated normally, Dalla noticed—shiny bits and tinsel, the kinds of things people back home would have used in their Yule decorations. Not a mystical memory bauble in sight.
Elaborate arches in the marble made the path around the courtyard particularly stunning. Her fingers grazed the cool marble of the railing wrapped with garland. Had she seen this same sight ten years ago, in the memories she no longer held? The idea haunted her.
It was a crisp day, but not so cold she felt the need to cover her hands. The sun was trying very hard to break through the cloud cover, and as a result the ice crystals of the snow in the courtyard glimmered.
Kolfrosta stood by the tree. She looked magnificent as ever, so put-together Dalla almost questioned the reality of the undone fairy she’d seen earlier.
Her hair was in an elaborate updo, leaving her long neck exposed.
The dress she wore was jagged as though made of crystals.
It was form-fitting, elegant, and loosely covered by a fur cloak clasped over her shoulders with a brooch.
Dalla moved to enter the courtyard, but Kolfrosta held up a hand.
“Wait,” she said. “Watch your step, please.”
Dalla looked closer at the snow. What initially looked like uneven snowdrifts was…tufts of something? She bent to it, dusted the top with her fingers.
And then she laughed.
“Is this an onion?” she asked.
“This whole courtyard is a garden,” said Kolfrosta.
“It’s not harvest season,” Dalla pointed out, and then snapped her mouth shut. This was a magical fae place—of course it would be possible to grow things you couldn’t grow in human soil.
“They won’t be exactly like onions in spring,” said Kolfrosta. “Taste or texture-wise. They have to be able to withstand the cold.”
Dalla carefully made her way over to Kolfrosta and the pine tree. The tree smelled magnificent, and Dalla took in fresh breaths of its scent. She felt homesick. Deep down, another part of her felt like she could stay here forever, like she would never tire of the wonders Kolfrosta had to offer.
Kolfrosta led Dalla to other crops, including some Dalla recognized and some sweet-smelling root vegetable she didn’t. It was clear that Kolfrosta cared for the crops quite a bit. She touched the tips poking out of the ground with care.
Bushes with juicy, ripe berries surrounded the courtyard, and Kolfrosta offered one of their fruits to Dalla. She crushed it between her teeth. The tart taste exploded on her tongue.
“Why are you showing me this?” asked Dalla. What lesson are you trying to teach me that I’m not understanding?
Kolfrosta paused. “Life flourishes with me too. It’s not only Puck’s domain. I can grow as well as he can. I wanted you to know.”
“Why don’t things grow well in winter where I’m from?” asked Dalla. “We make do—well, I mean, most of us—but I can’t imagine crops growing in this climate.”
Kolfrosta’s dark eyes glimmered. “I spend much of my time of the seasonal cycle undoing Puck’s sabotage of the harvest.” She turned to Dalla. “I know I am known for death, and Puck known for life. It is not so straightforward.”
“I see.” Dalla pinched a purple berry. The juice beaded out onto the pad of her finger like a drop of blood. “What happens to you when he kills you?”
Are you immortal? Dalla wished to ask, but knew that would raise concern.
“On Yule, he kills me and I am reborn. I gather my power for the next months until I’m strong enough to fight back, and then I come kill him on the summer solstice.” Kolfrosta rubbed her pendant between her fingers like a nervous habit. “It’s the way of things. Tradition.”
“Is it a huge battle like the legends say?”
Kolfrosta snorted. “More of an easy slaughter. We expect it to happen by now. When he comes here, there will be no fight. I will succumb, and then I will take my time to heal, and then he will do the same when it’s his turn. That’s how the cycle works.”
“So he’s immortal,” said Dalla.
“We are immortal to each other,” said Kolfrosta. “The gift of the fairy queen many, many years ago.”
The way she spat the word gift was enough to tell Dalla how she felt about it: like it was more of a curse. Kolfrosta wanted to break free of the cycle.
Ironically, she was complicit in trapping Dalla in a cycle of her own, bestowing upon Dalla’s family the same kind of curse she was subject to.
The wording she’d used was interesting, though: immortal to each other.
Perhaps it was possible for her to be killed another way.
The other factor, of course, was that she seemed to be working toward equilibrium when it was her turn to rule the seasons.
What would it look like if Dalla killed Kolfrosta, and then Puck had free rein over the entire food supply for not just Dalla’s country, but the whole world?
Dalla turned the berry over and over in her hand.
Across the courtyard, something rustled in the snow. Soundlessly, Kolfrosta straightened herself and made her way over to the noise. Dalla was tempted to follow, but she knew she would not be so quiet in her movements.
“Come,” whispered Kolfrosta.
Dalla went to her. Underneath Kolfrosta’s crouched form was a baby rabbit. Kolfrosta lifted one finger to its nose, let it sniff, and then gently swiped her nail over the top of its head. It thumped its leg at her, pleased.
Dalla watched on in awe. Her breath came out in white puffs, but she felt warm all over. She crouched down and reached to the rabbit too, thinking to let it sniff her hand.
The rabbit dashed away.
The level of rejection that washed over Dalla was silly, and yet she couldn’t keep it at bay. She looked up to find Kolfrosta very close, crouched so their foreheads nearly touched.
Dalla gathered her courage. “Are we going to pretend like I didn’t kiss you?”
“A moment of weakness,” said Kolfrosta unconvincingly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Better not get too attached,” Dalla said bitterly. “It will be hard for you when the time comes to kill me.”
Kolfrosta pursed her lips. “I think it’s time for another memory.”