Chapter 12
Kolfrosta’s fingers—cool, not warm—closed over Dalla’s forehead and tangled in her hair.
Dalla felt a straining at her temples, so much stronger than the unspooling of the first memory. That time, something of hers was being shared; this time, something was being taken.
Then the room began to shake. Dalla braced herself, steadying her legs, but Kolfrosta let go and she fell forward.
“He’s here,” Kolfrosta intoned.
Dalla scrambled back to her feet. She ran her hands over her body—all there. Her mind—all there, or she couldn’t tell what had been taken, if anything.
“What should I do?” Dalla asked.
“I don’t know.” Kolfrosta’s voice shook. “I will die. I’ll sleep in this bed for an agonizingly slow restoration. I don’t know how you fit into it. We don’t have time for…”
“I’ll go,” Dalla said. “I’ll go, and I won’t make another mistake. Please.”
“I don’t care what you do,” Kolfrosta said coldly. Even through her fear, she still felt the betrayal.
Guilt swelled in Dalla’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Kolfrosta. I didn’t understand.”
“If you go, do it before he gets here,” she said.
Dalla sprinted to the door. The footsteps of the servants were audible as they scuffled around, ready to lead her away. Dalla wondered if they felt protective of their mistress. Did they care about anything at all?
The palace walls shook once more. Dalla clung to the doorframe.
Back in the bedroom, Kolfrosta whimpered.
Dalla closed her eyes. She could leave, yes. But Kolfrosta was scared now, and about to go through something traumatic. And maybe Fonn was not the person Dalla thought she was, but she had taught Dalla to show kindness in response to fear.
Dalla turned and marched back into the bedroom.
Kolfrosta looked up at her, tears in her eyes. “I don’t like this part,” she said. “It hurts.”
Dalla encompassed Kolfrosta’s hands in her own. “I will stay here with you.”
“He’s dangerous,” Kolfrosta warned.
“So am I,” said Dalla, feeling the weight of the dagger at her hip.
Kolfrosta squeezed her hands. Dalla wasn’t forgiven, she could tell. But the gesture meant something, and that had to be enough for now.
Hand in hand, they walked out of the room.
They were not guided by the servants, but somehow Dalla understood, now, where to go, like she held dominion over this place as strongly as Kolfrosta.
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs before the door that led to the courtyard where winter life grew.
And Dalla had a terrible idea.
The double doors to the main hall sprang open. Gusts of snow swelled around Puck’s familiar silhouette. The mere sight of him filled Dalla with anger. He had lied to her, and he was here to hurt someone she cared about.
She would not let him.
Snow dusted his boots as he stepped forward. He was tall and dressed in green, and he smelled of dandelions. His radiant red hair fell to his shoulders, and his brow was furrowed, stern, set on his task.
Over his back: a sword.
Dalla squeezed Kolfrosta’s hand. She shivered against Dalla’s touch. The snow under her skin whirled furiously like a blizzard. She was still bright as the sun—or perhaps more like a candle waiting to be extinguished.
Puck reached the base of the stairs where they stood.
“Shall I make this one invisible too, then?” Puck asked. His voice rang out over the empty hall. “Your sick game is getting old.”
His eyes flickered to Dalla’s hand in Kolfrosta’s, and then up into Dalla’s face. Dalla’s skin burned under his gaze.
“She still knows who she is,” he said in awe.
“And I still remember how you lied to me,” said Dalla.
She released Kolfrosta and lunged forward, dagger in hand. In one practiced move, she sank the dagger into his chest and twisted. Light burst forth from the wound. Fragrant pollen exploded into the air.
He staggered back, and then laughed. “Only Kolfrosta can kill me,” he said.
“And only I can take your power,” said Dalla.
She removed the dagger and flicked it upward, severing the chain of his pendant. The pendant slipped into her open palm, and she stepped out of reach as he swung for her.
His face was red. Kolfrosta watched on, confusion knitting her brow.
Dalla held the pendant up for both of them to see. And then she closed her fist and squeezed.
The pendant shattered in her grasp. Blood dripped between her fingers. Puck fell to the ground, clutching his chest and coughing like he was choking on his own blood.
“Dalla…” Kolfrosta looked at Dalla, eyes wide with wonder.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Dalla asked.
Kolfrosta understood. She moved to where Puck moaned on the ground and grasped his head with both hands. She breathed in deeply and pressed her forehead to his.
Dalla made herself watch as Puck screamed.
When it was over, Puck’s eyes were closed, his body curled up on the ground. Dalla pushed forward and took Kolfrosta’s hand in her own.
Kolfrosta shook—with victory or with nerves, Dalla couldn’t tell. “Thank you,” she said, “but do you know what you have done?”
“Yes,” said Dalla. “I have stolen power from someone who used it wrong and given it to you, who I trust to do right.”
“It will never be summer again,” Kolfrosta said.
“Winter eternal. I figured so. The world is better for it, but we both have a lot of work to do to set things right.”
Kolfrosta lifted her chin. “You will help me, then? Will you rule by my side?”
“Always,” said Dalla. She bent to one knee and proffered her dagger with both hands. “My love, my life, my winter. This is my gift to you.”
Eyes glittering like snow crystals, Kolfrosta accepted the dagger.
THE END