Chapter 16
Talvie
Snow drifts across the pink sky in fluffy flakes.
The sun’s still up for a change—cleaning shifts end much earlier than my kitchen duties.
Judging by the other cleaner, who finished ages ago, it took me much longer than it should have to clean the dozen rooms assigned to me, but I got it done.
Now my body hurts all over, muscles I didn’t know I possessed making themselves known in bursts of pain as I walk.
I can’t wait to go back to the steady pace of the dish station and its predictable messes.
Leftover food may be disgusting, but at least I know what most of it is and where it came from.
I shudder and draw my scarf tight around my chin as I hurry across the courtyard toward the cottages.
“Lumi, please tell me I never left such horrible messes for the palace maids.”
Lumi would rather not lie.
Okay, ouch, but how many times did I cast aside clothes or abandon dishes without a thought to the people who would have to clean up after me?
“I swear to the Deep, I will never again be so careless. If I ever see my chambers again.”
Valkie knows better now, so you will do better.
Now, there is an admirable goal.
Light glows from the windows of Hollyhock Cottage, where the family staying there must be gathered in the cozy space. Sparkwillow Cottage is cool and dark—empty of guests. At the far edge, Redcurrant Cottage shows signs of its now-familiar inhabitants, but sits silent at the moment.
Casting my eyes around, I see no one, but depressions in the snow being slowly softened and filled by the falling flakes show me their path.
As I follow the trail, voices trickle between the buildings, getting clearer as I move down the side of Hollyhock Cottage to a hedgerow that extends past Sparkwillow and Redcurrant.
Beyond it, in a large clearing along the forest’s edge, I find the acting troupe in mid-rehearsal.
My approach comes to a quick halt as Juani runs in from one side, careening past the odd pairing of big Mikael and tiny Katja, who both still to a tableau at his entrance.
“It comes!” Juani yells, casting panicked eyes skyward. He points frantically, even as he tumbles backward onto his bottom. “The beast is here! It comes for us!”
His terror is so convincing that I look up, my heart thudding as if I expect to find a monster swooping for us. The sky is only a swirling mass of snowflakes against the usual purple-tinged clouds.
“Has no one called the Slayer?” cries Johannes, helping his brother to his feet. “Will no one protect us?”
With a dramatic thrust of her arms, Helkki mimes tossing open a door between the trees along the back of their makeshift stage.
“You called?” she chimes, her eyes following Juani’s extended pointing. “Not this again.” She rummages through a sack, searching for something. I have no idea what. “I’ll have this sorted in a toe tap, not to worry!” she singsongs.
Meanwhile, the other four on stage all gape at her, just as I do.
A familiar voice interrupts my bewilderment from behind. “I’ll add the illusions during the actual performance.”
I whirl, pressing a hand to my heart. Lark sits on a fallen log, observing with an amused smile.
“The attacking wyvern,” he explains, gesturing to the empty sky. “And I'll make the sack Helkki uses for this bit overly large for comedic effect.”
I glance to the stage, where the others are moving again. Mikael tucks Katja under one arm, playing the part of a doting couple. Meanwhile, the twins creep forward with frequent disbelieving glances at each other.
“Is that supposed to be the Slayer?” Juani stage-whispers. He turns an exaggerated, cynical look out toward us.
Lark speaks quietly beside me. “We break the fourth wall in this one. It brings the audience in on the joke with us.”
I nod slowly, piecing it all together. With another at Lark, I realize there’s an unexpected audience gathered in the tree line behind him, watching the play unfold.
A white fox sits closest in the light. Its beautiful fur and delicate face are as breathtaking as I imagined last night, assuming this is the same one.
Beyond it, a karku rests its big, furry body against a tree, paws resting serenely on its belly.
Two reindeer—the wild, grey variety—and a tall, shaggy hirvi stand nearby.
On the broad elk's antlers, several metso and grouse perch, their wings tucked tight to their bodies in the falling snow.
Even Hugo has roused from his daytime sleep to watch from his perch on Lark's hat.
“Friends of yours?” I ask softly, not wanting to scare off the fox. I want it to come closer so I can stroke its fur and see if it’s as soft as it looks. As if I wouldn't get bitten.
Then again, Lark seems to draw creatures to him, so who knows? Maybe they would be friendly. Or maybe the urge is only that I really want to touch Lark’s silky-soft ears again.
He merely pats the log beside him with a smile. “They’re just curious.”
“They’re not the only ones.” I take a perch to watch from his side, accepting the blanket he extends from his shoulders to tuck me into its warmth. “What's the play?”
“An ensemble comedy,” he tells me. “It's a group of friends who get themselves into precarious situations, bumbling through by luck and funny timing, culminating in their accidental taunting of the wyvern, which follows them home.”
“Aren't you in it?”
“A small part at the beginning. The rest of the time, I take care of the set and the effects.”
“Oh, but I wanted to see you act.”
He leans close and taps the end of my nose. “Then you'll have to come to our performance.”
He smirks, setting loose an odd flutter in my belly. I have to look away from the yellow and green tones in his eyes, catching the reflection of passing snowflakes. Hugo grunts once, and a reindeer blows out a breath.
“Wait, where are the other two?” I ask, directing my focus to the stage in front of us.
Lark points. “Aili is about to have her grand entrance. Eevi’s in the pram with her.”
I find the little girl off to the far side in the shadow of a tall elm.
“Don't worry,” Lark adds. “There's a warming charm on it.”
“Oh,” I say dumbly. It honestly hadn't occurred to me, though, of course, children need to be warm, especially the tiny ones. Normal people with normal lives would worry about that.
“They're lucky to have you,” I tell him.
He casts me a quizzical look, but before I can ramble out another bunch of words, he nods his head forward. “Look. Aili is up.”
Standing as tall as her teeny figure allows, she pushes Eevi ahead of her like a mother on a stroll. She acts surprised to stumble onto the scene, which has only grown more chaotic while I was watching Lark.
“Not my baby, you beast!” the little girl shouts so forcefully I startle. She turns the pram away from where I assume the invisible wyvern is supposed to be. Then she thrusts her hands high in the air. Her face is glowing…wait, actually glowing. “Uh. Is she—”
A fireball poofs out of Aili’s tiny hands, rushing into the sky where it burns out. Then another, and another.
My heart skips, my mind flashing back to the enormous druid with the bandits and the huge explosive fireballs he threw at us. Helkki steps up to join her.
“Right, I was about to do that.” She delivers the line so perfectly I can imagine the audience rolling with laughter at the so-called Slayer's incompetence, being upstaged by some tiny mother with a pram.
“Take that!” Helkki’s fireball goes wide, shooting over my head.
My scream is stifled by Lark's firm chest as I hide my face. The danger, the heat…
Too close.
“Hellion!” Lark’s hand closes protectively over my head. In a more soothing tone, he tells me, “Shh. You're okay.”
No, I overreacted. I’m ridiculous.
Lark’s arm around me soothes my tight lungs. He smells vaguely spicy, like cardamom, and I breathe deep to calm my racing pulse.
This is pathetic. Needy. Weak, Taynia’s voice says.
Straightening, I apologize. “I had a bad experience with fire recently,” I explain.
A shadow crosses his face, almost like regret or chagrin, but I'm the one being annoyingly silly.
“I’m sorry.” He holds me close as my breathing steadies. “Helkki usually has better control,” he says, louder.
“Sorry!” comes a too-gleeful shout.
“We don't singe our audience, do we?”
“I said sorry!”
“Val, you don’t have to come to the performance. The girls only cast small fireballs, but I use them to anchor the illusion of much larger flames. There's a bit of heat and wind added, too. I don't want to scare you.”
Hugo gives a soft grunt as if encouraging one or both of us.
“No, I’m being stupid.”
“Hey, no one thinks that.” He moves his hand to my thigh, warm and reassuring. “I’m sorry you had a frightening experience.” There's that look again, even though it's not remotely his fault I got chucked from my royal comforts into a fiery fight for my life.
I place my hand over his before he can take it away. With a smile, he laces our fingers together and helps me up, grabbing the blanket with his free hand. With a sharp whistle, he gets everyone’s attention.
“Great work today, little beasties! We'll be ready for opening day, no problem. Now go play with wolves or something. We’re off to start dinner.”
No one comments on our joined hands, but Aili frowns when she sees me looking. “I don't want to be eaten by wolves.”
Well, now…I can't exactly blame her, can I? Lark is teasing, but Ylvara’s name does mean place of the she-wolf, and those other animals did come rather close.
Lark lets go of me to gather several abandoned items and collect Eevi’s pram, so I offer my liberated hand to Aili.
“Come with us, then.”
The girl hesitates, maybe not expecting to get her way. Then, tentatively, she comes over and takes it. Lark's jaw pops open before he snaps it shut again. The others head off for pre-dinner adventures, and with a quick glance at Aili, all he says is, “Okay then. Home we go.”
Hugo gives an enthused squeak to send us on our way. It's all of thirty paces to the rear of the cottages, but the mood is adventurous. That's what counts.
“Can I sleep with you tonight, Val?” Aili asks.
“No, you have your own bed,” Lark answers for me.
“Where’s Val sleeping, then?”
“Good question,” I mutter.
Lark rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “Uh, I put your stuff in the main bedroom,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “I hope that’s okay with you.”
He busies himself opening the cottage door, avoiding the confusion surely written across my face. Isn’t the largest room already his?
Once inside, the cozy warmth of the cottage welcomes us. Lark gestures for us to pass him. “I can sleep out here on the sofa, of course,” Lark offers.
Aili's pout returns. “But Eevi sleeps with you. She'll wake us up, plus her crib will be in the way of my coloring table.”
I glance at the living area—crowded already with everyone's books and random items. It seems wrong to force Lark and an infant to sleep out here, taking up space meant for the whole family. It’s already full with just the three of us here.
“Lark, you should stay in the room.” I swallow before continuing. “I—I can sleep on the sofa.”
Lark tilts his head, an eyebrow raised. “You?”
“What? Am I too good to sleep on a sofa?” I shoot back a little defensively.
Except, souls to the Deep, I really am. Princesses do not sleep on sofas. But no, I’m not Princess Talvie here; I’m Val.
I can do this.
Aili scowls. “Aren’t you engaged?”
“We told you, sweetheart, that's not real,” Lark gently reminds her.
“Duh, I know,” Aili huffs. How one girl puts that much sass into three measly words is a mystery. “But everyone else is supposed to believe it. What if the breakfast lady sees her sleeping there? Or if muskrat-face comes again? Or when Juho falls asleep in here—like always—he'll be on her bed.”
Lark rubs his temple, considering this. “First, we agreed to stop calling Sentry Niemi ‘muskrat-face,’ remember? And second, you kind of have a point about people seeing one of us sleeping out here. But we aren't getting breakfast delivered anymore, so the risk is lower.”
Despite his words, worry flickers in his eyes.
A brief silence falls, broken by Eevi’s soft coos from the basket. Right—I forgot the littlest one again. I am so terrible at this.
“Aili is right. Eevi needs her room, and you need to be with her, Lark. I'm clueless about what a kid needs in the middle of the night.”
Lark’s gaze meets mine. “We…could share. It’s a large bed. Or I can take the floor, if you prefer.”
Ah, storms. I thought I was unnerved by the teasing, shameless flirt version of Lark, but this uncertain version is so much worse.
My hands want to smooth that wrinkle between his brows.
Maybe run through the unkempt hair that tumbles forward when he tugs off his hat to squeeze in his hands.
Touch those fuzzy ears again that made his eyes flutter.
Whoa. Where are my thoughts going? Lark is still staring at me with that hope-laced worry.
I square my shoulders. This is what I signed up for. A ruse. A performance. “I’m sure we can share, darling fiancé.”
Lark grins, that ridiculous dimple making its appearance. My belly squirms, but I’m in too deep to turn back now. Daria was right. This ought to be fun.